Maldynado looked over his shoulder at her, a question in his eyes. What now? He must have seen the lights too.
There weren’t any other doors within sight that they could escape through. Amaranthe eyed the stairs and finally nodded that way. They could go up to the loft, leave these two tied, and escape through that vent in the attic.
Still pressing the pistol into her captive’s ribs, Amaranthe guided him toward the stairs. They had to halt twice to duck behind machines. The two men who’d been carrying empty boxes earlier walked toward the door, their boxes full of pamphlets now.
Amaranthe and the others reached the staircase leading down without being seen. She was on the verge of releasing the breath she was holding when the back door opened again, letting more soldiers in. There were shadows around the stairs, but not that many shadows. Further, her captive took that moment to test her again. Maybe he’d figured out that she wouldn’t shoot after all.
He pretended to trip. She saw the ruse for what it was and adjusted her weight, pulling back to keep him up and on his feet.
“Someone’s looking this way,” Maldynado blurted and went for the closest set of stairs, the one leading down.
Still struggling to keep her captive on his feet without shooting him, Amaranthe almost tumbled down the stairs after him. If not for Maldynado, pushing his man down at a more measured pace, she would have ended up somersaulting down the hard stone steps, her limbs entangled with those of her prisoner. His broad back acted as a nicely meaty barrier, though, stopping their progress, and she found her balance. Her soldier had a harder time righting himself, and his foot slipped off a step. He lurched to the side, smacking his head on the stone wall. Amaranthe failed to feel sympathetic toward him.
“Anyone coming?” Maldynado whispered at the bottom, all four of them crowding onto the tight, musty landing, hemmed in by looming stone walls and an old but solid oak door.
“Not yet.”
The two soldiers were muttering something to each other. Amaranthe, fearing her threats with the pistol weren’t proving effective, caught one of his arms with her free hand, digging her thumb into a pressure point in his wrist and twisting the limb behind his back until he sucked in a pained gasp of air. He stopped muttering. One of Sicarius’s comments drifted through the back of her mind: the promise of pain is often more effective than the application of pain, for the mind conjures fears greater than reality. Sure, that worked for a scary-looking fellow dressed in black with a reputation darker than an eclipse, but for her? It was ever a struggle to convince men that she’d go through with her threats, hence her preference for avoiding the taking of prisoners. But they could hardly let these men go now. They’d charge right up the stairs, and, judging by the numbers of orders shouted above, there were more soldiers than ever up there. At least nobody had come over to peer down the staircase at them. Yet.
“Why’d you dart over to that press?” Amaranthe asked.
“Sorry about that,” Maldynado said. “Seeing Mancrest and that woman surprised me. What are we going to do with these two? They’ve seen our faces.”
Amaranthe was more interested in finding out more about “Mancrest and that woman,” but she could ask him for details once they escaped the building. Maldynado’s point was pertinent. She didn’t want Forge, or anyone else, knowing her team was back in town already.
“If we can get out, we could take them with us,” she said. “Tie them up back at our hideout for a few days so they can’t blab.” Having to guard prisoners would reduce the number of team members she could employ in the field, but maybe, given a little time, she could convince the soldiers to throw in their lot with Sespian. They were young. They might be influenceable.
“We don’t have a hideout yet,” Maldynado pointed out.
“I’m sure we do.” Amaranthe trusted the others had found something. “We just don’t know where it is yet.”
“How is that-”
“Discuss later. Is that door unlocked, by chance?”
Before he could answer, two people walked into view. No, they stopped within view. Ugh.
Amaranthe tightened the arm hold on her soldier in case the urge to call out revisited him. He sucked in a pained breath and rose to his tiptoes. Maldynado’s prisoner made a similar hiss.
The people who had stopped up above weren’t soldiers. It was a man and a woman. The man, a gray-haired fellow in a black and gray suit of immaculate cut, leaned his back against the wrought iron railing at the top of the stairwell. His face wasn’t visible, though he seemed to be talking and pointing to his comrade. The woman… she was facing the man, her arm linked with one of his, so Amaranthe could see more of her features. She sucked in a breath almost as sharp as the one her prisoner had made, for she recognized the short, buxom woman with the spectacles perched low on her nose. Ms. Worgavic. Amaranthe’s old teacher and one of the Forge founders, Worgavic had been the one to allow-no, order-her interrogation.
Anger surged into her chest, a hard tight ball of emotion that dug in behind her breastbone. She forgot about her prisoner. Her hand tightened so hard around the pistol that her fingers ached. She lifted it, no longer aiming it at her captive but at the woman leaning against the railing above.
Had Maldynado not grabbed her arm, pulling it down, she would have fired. The couple pushed away from the railing, disappearing from sight, and it was too late. The door must have opened again, for a cold draft wafted down the stairs, startling some of the thoughtless fury out of her system when it hit her cheeks.
“What were you doing?” Maldynado let go of her arm, but his whisper was harsh. “I thought we weren’t letting anyone know we were here. If you’d shot Mancrest, that woman probably would have gotten away. Not to mention everyone left up there would have heard you fire.” He jabbed his hand upward.
“Mancrest?” Amaranthe stared at him. What was he talking about? That hadn’t been Deret.
Despite her and Maldynado’s distraction, the prisoners were being still. Maybe because she was waving her pistol around with a crazed look on her face.
“Lord Colonel Armott Mancrest, retired. Deret’s father.” Maldynado peered into her eyes. “You didn’t recognize him? Why were you going to shoot him then?”
“Not him, her. That was one of the Forge founders. The one who-” Amaranthe’s voice cracked and she looked away. She was still clenching the pistol like a carpenter bent on smashing an irritating nail into oblivion. Calm down, girl, she told herself. We’re past this.
“Tortured you?” Maldynado asked, all the harshness gone from his tone.
Not trusting her voice, Amaranthe nodded. Her prisoner peered back over her shoulder at her.
“Blast it,” she said, “let’s get these two tied up, so they can’t…” What? Hear about this? “Escape,” she finished.
Maldynado started removing belts and shirts to obey her order. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… Cursed ancestors, I should have helped you shoot the hag.”
“Don’t worry about it. It probably wouldn’t have fixed anything.” Besides, she didn’t want to become an assassin herself. That was no way to create a better Turgonia. Instincts, angry vengeful instincts, had been guiding her hand.
Maldynado finished tying up the men and lifted an arm, offering a hug if she needed it.
Amaranthe waved a hand. She appreciated the gesture, but said, “I’m fine.”
She was relieved it had been Maldynado here with her instead of Sicarius. That fit of rage… that had been a moment of weakness. She didn’t want Sicarius seeing her like that. Not when she was working hard to make him believe she was all right. And she was all right. She would be. She just needed to finish with this mess and take a vacation.
And remember how to sleep through the night, the voice in her head added.