“Write down some landmarks. My new pet seems bright enough to follow such instructions.” Kor Nas smiled at Sicarius, a strange caress in his eyes, like a man gazing fondly at some treasured prize won in a contest of skills.
After a lifetime of hiding his thoughts, Sicarius had no trouble keeping his face expressionless. He didn’t know if the opal shared what lay in his mind with the practitioner, but doubted it mattered. Kor Nas could surely guess that his “new pet” would like to stick a dagger in his chest.
“Yes, saison.” The seer picked up the pen and bent over the notebook.
“Write down directions for other ones as well.”
“Speak in Turgonian,” Flintcrest snapped.
And thus the general answered the unspoken question, as to whether or not he understood the language. The seer winced at his tone, but kept his head bent, and scribbled furiously with the pen. As Sicarius waited to see what assignment they’d give him, he tried to decide if he cared. Not really. Maybe it’d be something ridiculously dangerous, something impossible to accomplish, something that would get him killed. If so, he’d have the end he’d expected in that aircraft. Perhaps he could manage it even if the task weren’t that dangerous… Odd that the idea of displaying any sort of ineptitude still pushed his hairs in the wrong direction, but he didn’t want to spend the next year-or decade-enslaved to this Nurian.
“Here.” The seer unfolded from his kneeling posture, stood, and extended the notebook.
“Give it to him.” Kor Nas pointed at Sicarius.
The seer licked his lips and eyed Sicarius for several long moments before creeping forward, his arm extended as far from his body as possible, as if he feared an electric shock-or worse. Sicarius would have ignored the offering, but his hand came up of its own volition. No, of the practitioner’s volition. Inwardly, he sighed, but outwardly, he didn’t let his expression change.
“Kill those five women tonight,” Kor Nas said. “Get as much information as you can before you cut their throats. Then report back to me. I’ll expect you by dawn.”
Sicarius eyed the list. The directions were written in Nurian, landmarks to lead him to three residences, a hotel near the waterfront, and a sublet by the University. A surname was scribbled above each set of landmarks.
“You do read Nurian, do you not?” Kor Nas asked.
Sicarius wouldn’t have answered, but, again, the response was plucked from his lips without his assent. “Yes.”
“Thanks to my intelligence-gathering team, you’ve got three of the Forge founders on that list,” Flintcrest said. “If you truly control him-” he eyed Sicarius like one might eye a rattlesnake poised to escape its terrarium, “-and he gets rid of them, we’ll be close to the end. Once Marblecrest’s female allies have been disposed of, he’ll have nothing except those fancy firearms, and we can take those from him. The man’s a joke as a general and as a candidate for the throne. Even if nobody had heard of Forge, everyone would guess he’d been bought.”
One of Kor Nas’s silvery eyebrows rose, as if to remind Flintcrest that he, too, had been bought, or at least had a deal in place with an outside entity.
Flintcrest read the gesture clearly, for he glowered back at Kor Nas. A long moment passed, the men staring at each other. Surprisingly, it was the practitioner who broke eye contact first.
“If five assassinations will bring this organization to its knees,” Kor Nas said, “it is not so formidable as my government thought.”
“Oh, I’m sure its tendrils have slithered all over the world, but the founders are the ones we have to worry about. With them gone… it’ll take time for them to reorganize. By then, the issue of the throne will be decided.” Flintcrest’s chin jerked up, and he thumped his chest.
“As you say.” Kor Nas pointed at Sicarius. “You understand that note? Can you find those people?”
“I want their heads as proof of the deed done,” Flintcrest said.
How like Raumesys and Hollowcrest. Truly, the empire would change little if Flintcrest found the throne, though Raumesys never would have dealt with the Nurians. What other concessions had he promised them?
“Understood,” Sicarius found himself responding.
“I’ll have my spies continue to research and get the rest of the founders’ names,” Flintcrest said.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Kor Nas smiled slightly. “I’m sure a trained assassin can extract the needed information before cutting the final throat.”
“Yes,” Sicarius heard himself saying.
The founders names. Amaranthe had known them, Sicarius recalled, though she hadn’t shared them with him. Out of fear that he’d take it upon himself to assassinate them. And he would have. To protect her and Sespian. It was too late for that now, but he’d kill them anyway, without fighting the practitioner. He hadn’t thought it was within him to hate, to care enough about any one thing to have such a strong feeling, but loathing welled up in him now as he studied the names. Yes, he hated the Forge people for their role in Sespian’s and Amaranthe’s deaths.
He recognized one of the names on the list, the person staying in the hotel by the yacht club, and decided he’d take particular satisfaction in killing her. Neeth Worgavic.
Chapter 4
Sleep continued to elude Amaranthe, and dawn saw her no better rested than the night before. It was just as well. Her nightmares were sure to take on a whole new vile bent now. For hours, the talk had continued in the office next door. She hadn’t tried to make out any of it. She’d been busy with her own thoughts, though they’d stopped spinning so rapidly through her brain at some point. They were fewer and farther between now. For the last hour, whether or not she should get up to use the latrine had been foremost among them. She didn’t want to go out there. Perhaps the trash bin in the corner of the room would suffice…
A feminine screech cut through the door, and Amaranthe bolted up. Who could that have been? Starcrest’s wife? And had that been a cry of surprise? Or pain? Maybe their hideout had been discovered, and the factory was being attacked.
Amaranthe scrambled to the door, then out onto the landing. Every inch of floor space below was taken up by packs, hastily spread bedrolls, and weapons, everything from rifles to cutlasses and short swords to crossbows and longbows. She didn’t see any sign that the factory was being attacked, though a few amused soldiers were gazing toward the door, where…
She stumbled forward and gripped the railing. Surprise and delight lifted her spirits, and she grinned like a fool. She couldn’t imagine how it could be possible, but Maldynado stood a couple of paces from the threshold, or at least he was trying to remain standing. Yara had flung herself at him, wrapping her legs and arms around him, and her face was buried in his shoulder. That screech… had been her?
Maldynado’s face was grimy and unshaven, his eyes weary with dark hollows beneath them, his clothing ripped and stained with dirt and blood, but he was undeniably standing and breathing. After a startled moment, he smiled and wrapped his arms around Yara in return.
Amaranthe thought to call out, to ask where he’d been and how he’d survived, but Yara was kissing him by then, showing more naked enthusiasm than Amaranthe had ever seen from the woman, and he probably wouldn’t hear her.
Sespian and Basilard walked through the door, appearing equally battered and tired. Amaranthe started for the steps, intending to run down and grab them both in an embrace, but Basilard noticed her, and their eyes met from across the building. Something in those frank blue eyes made her halt, an uneasy premonition sinking into her stomach.
When no one else walked in behind them, Amaranthe signed, Sicarius?
Basilard hesitated, then shook his head.
She stumbled back to her door. How? How could the others have made it out and not Sicarius? She loved Maldynado and couldn’t wish for anything but happiness between him and Yara, but cursed ancestors, why couldn’t Sicarius have walked in so she could fling herself into his arms?