Thumps and groans reached his ears from the office next door-Maldynado and Yara, embarrassing rabbits all over the empire with their superior breeding instincts. Amaranthe blushed, apparently having no trouble identifying what the sounds indicated. Not for the first time that morning, Sicarius thought of the kiss they’d stolen in the smokestack of that steamboat. It’d been unprofessional, ill timed, and inappropriate. He wanted to do it again.
Amaranthe cleared her throat and sat up, drawing away from him. “I believe you mentioned news.”
“Yes.” Sicarius rose and plucked her gifts off the desk. He handed her the bag and held up the envelope. “This was delivered to a desk in a back office at Curi’s Bakery last night while I was waiting for your party to rendezvous with ours.”
Amaranthe started to reach for the letter, but something about the rumpled bag distracted her, and she opened it first. When she peered inside, her mouth fell open. “For me? You stole a pastry for me?”
“I paid for a pastry for you.” Albeit he didn’t know if he’d paid the right amount. He held the envelope out, offering her the chance to break the seal.
Amaranthe was busy staring into the bag. Her mouth continued to hang open, though it stretched into a wide grin. “Thank you.” She flung her arms around him, this time not worrying about whether knife hilts poked her in the ribs, then she pulled the pastry out of its bag.
Sicarius was still holding out the envelope, now somewhat crinkled after her embrace. Since she seemed unfathomably distracted, he slid out a dagger and broke the seal himself.
Ms. W. -
As requested, I am securing passage and will be returning to the empire within the next two weeks. While my sister is more than apt in handling the ancient language, I have been in contact with the Kendorians and the Nurians and can advise you more closely in person. The Kendorians are open to working with our bankers and your imperial figurehead, but the Nurians are enacting some plan of their own. I’ve traveled extensively in their country and may be able to negotiate with whatever spy they’ve sent to observe the action. It will be good to see you and the others again and finally bring our plans to fruition. Where shall we meet?
— S.
Sicarius would have expected Amaranthe to be at his shoulder, reading as he read, but she was near the window, holding the pastry to the light and squinting suspiciously at it.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No. I just thought there might be fish eyes or cut up bits of liver hiding under the frosting. You’re always trying to feed me healthy food. And you always have derogatory comments for anything sweet. Even fruit, which I’m sure has never looked at you in a threatening manner.” She lowered the pastry and studied his face. “This is… I want to adore you, but I fear a trap. Will I have to run twenty miles after eating this?”
Earlier, Sicarius had been dwelling upon how much she thought about everything. Clearly receiving a treat was no exception. He couldn’t blame her-he’d never brought her such a thing before. “If you fear it’s a trap, you needn’t eat it. I would approve of such a refusal, as it would indicate you’re finally coming to accept that superior foods must be consumed to ensure superior physical performance.”
Amusement touched Sicarius as Amaranthe’s slit-eyed gaze went back and forth from him to the pastry. Finally she took a chomp, and, after a few test chews, grinned broadly with frosting smeared across her nose.
“Oh, fantastic,” she purred. “The pastries on the steamboat were tasty, but nothing is as perfect as a Curi’s bun.”
“I trust your taste buds detected no hidden liver morsels.” Sicarius joined her by the window, intending to show her the letter, though his gaze did snag on that smear of frosting. She must not know it was there. Perhaps he should clean it off… somehow.
The catwalk creaked beyond the window, and a few seconds later, Akstyr shambled into view, heading for the water closet with his book stuffed under one arm. Sicarius straightened, adopting a professional distance between himself and Amaranthe, and held out the letter for her perusal.
“No liver.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she was quick to lower her face to read the note-perhaps she too had been thinking about frosting cleaning?
Often, she’d teased him about dragging him off somewhere private once they’d accomplished all of their goals. Since reuniting with Sespian and retrieving her from the alien vessel, he’d been experiencing similar thoughts. Often.
“You found this on Curi’s desk?” Amaranthe asked, anguish in her tone. She stared at the half-eaten pastry, an expression of betrayal on her face. “She’s part of Forge? She’s… she’s… seventy years old and matronly and plump and nice. She can’t be colluding with the villains.”
Sicarius refrained from mentioning that many people in the capital would consider Amaranthe and her men villains, and that few wouldn’t consider him one. “She may simply be allowing them to use her premises for message delivery purposes.”
“That’s still colluding.”
“They could be blackmailing her.”
“Oh.” Amaranthe brightened. “True. I’ll reserve judgment of the baker until I know more.” She took another chomp out of her pastry. “Thank you for bringing the letter. If they’re expecting Suan to show up, that’ll be perfect for my plan. Hm, mostly. It does mean I’ll need to get started more quickly than I’d had in mind.”
“This is your Forge infiltration plan?” Sicarius did not approve of her new scheme, since it thrust her into danger all over again. A part of him wished he hadn’t shown Amaranthe the letter.
“Exactly so. Would you mind using your artistic skills to make a copy of this letter? Only change the first line to say ‘S’ will be arriving in the next day or two. This is fantastic luck. Or is it too much luck? Is there any way they could have anticipated we’d visit Curi’s and see the letter being delivered? No, that doesn’t seem likely. Does it?”
“It is likely a chance occurrence,” Sicarius agreed.
“Great. I’ll grab Maldynado and go costume shopping today. Our world-traversing Forge founder is a blonde.” She touched her brown locks, which she hadn’t tied up in her customary bun yet this morning. “Maldynado probably knows how to dye hair nicely. Or he’ll know someone who does.”
“You should reconsider taking me with you.”
“To shop for clothes?” Amaranthe touched his sleeve. “Did you want to try on some outfits too? Something more daring and vivacious than your customary black? Gray perhaps?”
Sicarius let his eyes close to slits. He knew when she was feigning misunderstanding and attempting to redirect someone’s displeasure elsewhere. It was not an uncommon tactic for her. “You’ll need someone good at your back if you’re trapped on the bottom of the lake in that craft and your true identity is discovered.” He thought it unlikely that Amaranthe could pass for long, if at all, as a woman who shared a long history with her colleagues, however little visual contact they’d had. “I could also… wear a costume.”
“That’d be interesting to see, but I could be stuck down there for days. Do you want to leave Sespian for that long? He’s going to need someone good at his back as much as I do, if not more.”
Sicarius was going to retort that Sespian would be fine for a few days, but an image of the soul construct flashed into his mind.
“I know.” Amaranthe gripped her arm. “You wish you could be in both places at once. And I wish you could be with me.” Sincerity warmed her eyes as she spoke. “But your place is with Sespian.”
Sicarius exhaled slowly. He wouldn’t object to standing at Sespian’s back if she weren’t determined to fling herself into a smoldering volcano. “You should not go. Not into their lair. We could find Worgavic and kidnap her as an alternative. Question her or hold her hostage. Get the information we need that way.”