“Before you go… does either of you know where Sicarius went to look for that soul construct?” Practically speaking, finding him shouldn’t be her priority, especially when he preferred to hunt alone anyway, but Amaranthe would worry about him until she knew he was safe.
Both men shook their heads.
Maldynado waved vaguely in the direction of the lake. “Sespian was the last one to talk to him. You should ask him.”
Basilard eyed the closed meeting door, then gave a parting wave and descended to the factory floor. Maybe he wasn’t certain whether having this legendary Turgonian admiral show up was a good idea or not. Maldynado was giving the door a wary look, too, though perhaps for other reasons.
A one-eyed, gray-haired man with a fierce glower stomped up the stairs. He pushed past Maldynado and entered the meeting room without a word. Numerous raised voices flowed out before the door shut again.
“That’s General Ridgecrest,” Maldynado said. “I reckon the meeting will really be getting started now.”
“I should join them,” Amaranthe said, “if they’ll let me.”
She reached for the doorknob, but peeked in the window first and paused, intimidated by all the uniformed men sitting around a conference table comprised of several desks and bookcases that had been pushed together. Lanterns blazed, lighting up the room, and general’s and colonel’s ranks glinted on all the uniforms. Sespian sat amongst them, his clothes as grimy, ripped, and stained as Maldynado’s, but he didn’t appear daunted by the company, most of it gray-haired and stern of face. By his choice or theirs, he’d taken the head of the table. Starcrest, also in civilian clothes, albeit much cleaner ones, leaned against the wall to the side, his arms folded across his chest, his eyelids half drooped, listening rather than talking. Or trying to talk. Judging by the gesticulating and the raised voices, three people were speaking at once. Maybe Starcrest had decided to absorb information for now. After all, he couldn’t be that current on events, if he’d been traveling for weeks. She could only guess at how much he’d kept up with Turgonian news in the years prior.
Amaranthe wondered where the professor was. She would have felt more comfortable walking in if there’d been another woman in the room-or if she didn’t have that pesky bounty on her head. Or if Sicarius were at her side, glaring over her shoulder at anyone who belittled her.
She sighed. She wouldn’t have relied on him so heavily in the past-when had she grown so gun shy?
“When everything started going wrong,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Maldynado asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not afraid to go in, are you? I’m sure Sespian won’t let anyone shoot you.”
“Comforting, thank you.”
Maldynado scratched an armpit, glanced back down the stairs, then met her eyes. “Want me to go in with you?”
“Do you want to go in with me?”
“Dear ancestors, no, those generals are intimidating.”
Amaranthe snorted. “Who’s afraid now?”
“Oh, that’d be me. I’m still disowned, you know. Those people are all… owned. They won’t appreciate my irreverent charm. Besides Yara might have my water ready by now. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure… you’re all right.” He raised his eyebrows.
All right? Not even close.
“I’m fine,” Amaranthe said. “You better not delay your bath. I can smell those armpits from here.”
Maldynado was kind enough not to point out that she hadn’t bathed recently either. He simply sniffed one of the offending pits, nodded in agreement, and wandered back down the stairs.
Amaranthe took a breath and slipped into the room. Hardly anyone noticed, as the officers were busy leaning on the tables, pointing sharply, and arguing with each other.
“The problem is his legitimacy,” a general she didn’t recognize was saying. “If we throw our men behind him and we’re not successful, if Marblecrest or Flintcrest or someone else comes out on top, we’ll be condemning every single one of our soldiers to the firing line.”
“He who controls the capital can force the issue,” said an earnest bald colonel with stubby sausage-like fingers that he waved about as he spoke. “It’s no longer about legitimacy, it’s about power.”
“I’m not disagreeing with that,” the general said. “I’m pointing out how meager our forces are in comparison with those that the other contenders command.”
“Especially now,” Ridgecrest growled. His single eye was bloodshot. He ought to be in a bunk somewhere, not staying up for this meeting. But then, with the nightmares he’d have, he’d probably rather work than sleep. Amaranthe understood that all too well. “But we do have an advantage that they don’t.” Ridgecrest lifted a hand toward Starcrest. “Even if he’s forgotten all he knew of military strategy in the last twenty years, his name alone will cast doubt into our enemies’ minds.”
“Thank you, Dray,” Starcrest said. “I see you’re as much the flatterer as you always were.”
“It’s just that I don’t know how useful a naval commander can be in a city siege. All those pesky buildings are wont to get in the way.”
This conversation caused the rest of the room to drop to silence, most of the men gaping at Ridgecrest for his audacity. Amaranthe recognized the teasing for what it was and guessed the general and the admiral had gone to school together or otherwise known each other for a long time. Starcrest appeared a little younger, but a missing eye could certainly age a man prematurely.
“All of those pesky buildings seem to be confusing Marblecrest,” the other general said-his tag simply read Wranz, making him one of the rare men to rise to such a rank without a warrior-caste surname. “Why is he bothering with the Imperial Barracks? The railways, river, and aqueducts will be the key to controlling the city, especially at this time of year with limited food stores within its boundaries.”
“Because his soft backside prefers imperial suites to camp cots,” Ridgecrest said. “Last I heard his priority was shopping for new uniforms for his troops, so they’ll look good while they’re parading around the city.”
“That’s a Marblecrest for you.”
“Flintcrest has the two major railways,” Colonel Fencrest said, “and Marblecrest does have the river mouth blockaded. I don’t think anyone has considered the aqueducts yet. It’s possible we could start with that. With the lake freezing over, the underground water supply will be all the more important. My lord?” the colonel asked, tilting his face toward Starcrest. “What are your thoughts on the situation? You haven’t voiced them yet.”
A dozen sets of eyes turned toward Starcrest. Amaranthe would have quailed beneath all those gazes, but Starcrest merely gazed back, hard to read. Something about his silence, and his position in the room, made her think he might consider the succession issue the secondary problem, at least for the moment. He’d had firsthand experience with that ancient technology and must have a good idea exactly what the Behemoth could do. Amaranthe may have denied Forge its two foremost experts on it, but as long as it was sitting out there in the open, anyone could come and poke around.
“I’ll want to see reports from your intelligence analysts before suggesting targets and troop placement strategies,” Starcrest said, “but laying siege on the city… nobody wins there. Not when it’s our own city. I’d guess the people are already restless and irritated at the martial law. Civilians will be starting to see uniformed men as enemies rather than allies. It wouldn’t take much to uncork the bubble cider bottle and let the contents overflow.”
Amaranthe nodded to herself. She, too, had thought the answer lay with the populace. The tens of thousands of soldiers out there seemed like a lot, but there were hundreds of thousands of civilians living in the city. If one could win their minds…
General Wranz shifted. “It’s true. There have already been incidents.”