Starcrest nodded, and Sicarius believed himself dismissed. He headed for the door.
Starcrest spoke again. “Sicarius?”
“Sir?”
“Perhaps you already know this, having read the book, but Captain Orndivit was killed at the Battle of Savage Harbor.”
Sicarius nodded. “He fell in action along with his first mate, and you had to take command of the ship. Even though you weren’t the senior officer remaining, your force of will and what became known as the Wricht’s Channel Tactic caused the others to listen to your wisdom.”
“Force of will and wisdom, eh? That author certainly put a grandiloquent slant on me and those events. Regardless, my point is that Orndivit died before I had a chance to thank him for the encouragement that he gave me. Being eighteen and still having some of the surly stubbornness of youth, I was occasionally… if not disrespectful, then sullen about the lengths he forced me to-I often felt he was picking on me, over the other ensigns. It didn’t occur to me that he might have seen something in me that was worth drawing out. Anyway, it is one of my longest standing regrets-dear ancestors, it’s been over forty years now-that it was only after he was gone that I fully learned to appreciate the man.”
“I understand, sir.”
Hand on the doorknob, Sicarius didn’t move for a moment, wondering if he should let Starcrest know he appreciated him and his counsel, but he sensed that Starcrest would wave in dismissal of the idea. The admiral meant his story to apply to Amaranthe, not himself.
Still… “I appreciate your advice.”
The half smile returned, and Starcrest inclined his head once.
Sicarius stepped out of the office and approached the one two doors down. He knocked lightly, but didn’t receive a response. The door wasn’t locked so he eased it open.
There weren’t any lanterns burning, but some daylight crept in from the factory’s tall outside windows. Four sharpened pencils, all the same length, all in a tidy row, lay next to a sheet of paper with notes written in Amaranthe’s neat hand. Plans for the Barracks endeavor? It was too dim to read the page. He was more interested in checking on her, anyway. She occupied the blankets on the floor behind the desk, scrunched in a ball again, her back to the wall, though she wasn’t thrashing about this time. Her chest rose and fell with soft, regular breaths. Perhaps she’d been too exhausted for the nightmares to take hold.
Though Starcrest had inspired him to talk to her-to offer to teach her the meditation he’d promised before-Sicarius would not wake her up to do so. She desperately needed sleep. He thought of returning to his perch in the rafters to find rest of his own.
Or, you could lie down with her, he mused.
Would she mind, if he presumed to do so? He had promised to stand guard the last time they’d been alone together in this room, and she’d been amenable to the notion.
Careful not to touch her, lest it waken her, Sicarius lay down beside her and closed his eyes.
He drifted in and out of his meditative rest. Many hours passed before Amaranthe stirred. Her eyes remained closed, but she yawned and stretched out a hand. Her fingers bumped against his leg. Her face scrunched up, and she patted about, trying to identify the unexpected object.
“Musharup?” she mumbled, then blinked bleary eyes.
“I suspect I would need to consult Professor Komitopis for a translation before finding a suitable response for that,” Sicarius said.
“Oh. Hello.” She pushed the dyed hair out of her face, rubbed her eyes, found them crusty, and grimaced. “I see I’m looking my best for you. I wasn’t drooling, was I?”
“No.”
“Good.” Amaranthe pushed herself to a sitting position, the blanket falling about her lap. She looked him up and down, perhaps noting that he hadn’t removed his boots or knives. “Are you here to… stand guard?”
Sicarius knew what she meant, but pretended to misunderstand. “I have been doing that for several hours now.”
“Hours, eh? By yourself?”
He contemplated whether to respond. With her, there might be hours. By himself? Such needs could be taken care of more quickly. The topic seemed too crude to voice to her in blunt terms, and he was not practiced in coming up with humorous innuendoes.
When he didn’t answer, she blushed and waved away the joke, a sheepish expression on her face. He should have risked the faux pas and replied with an answer.
“Do you know what time it is? Or how much time we have before… er, what do you have in mind anyway?”
What did he have in mind? To see if she slept better when he was there, holding her in his arms. To see if she might sleep even better after a couple hours of vigorous horizontal exercise. All he said was, “Teaching you meditation.”
Her shoulders drooped. “Oh. It’s not that I don’t need that-and I appreciate your willingness to teach me-but I thought… I had something else in mind.”
“I did as well when I entered your room hours ago, but you were sleeping. Hard. You may have been drooling.”
Eyes chagrinned, she lifted a hand to her mouth. “I was? That’s not-you shouldn’t just… No, wait. I want you here. No matter how pathetic I look. It’s not as if you haven’t…” She squinted at him. “Are you… smirking?”
“No.” Sicarius flattened his lips into their usual deadpan expression.
“You were. I saw it. You’re teasing me, aren’t you? Was I really drooling?”
“No,” he said, more softly this time, and lifted a hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “I did not wish to wake you. We will be up all night.”
She swallowed and leaned her head into his hand. He cupped her cheek.
“How long do we have until it’s time to go?” she asked.
“A half hour.”
“That’s long enough to do… things.”
“Some of the others are milling downstairs, making preparations. Someone will doubtlessly come to ask you a question before it’s time to go.”
Amaranthe opened her mouth to voice some protest.
“I do not know if I could keep from throwing a knife at Sergeant Yara a second time,” he said bluntly.
She stared at him, her open mouth forming the word, “second,” though no noise came out. It didn’t take her long to remember what he was referring to, and her lips curved into a smile.
“Besides,” he said, letting his eyelids droop halfway. “I want those hours.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Days, perhaps.”
“Days?”
Still cupping the side of her face, he brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Days. I’ll bring water. Rations.”
“Not those awful bars,” she blurted.
“Hm.” Sicarius lowered his hand.
Amaranthe caught it and held it in her lap. “All right, you can bring them, but I insist on a couple of pastries as well.” She stared into his eyes, serious as she made this proposition.
She’d started stroking the back of his hand, her fingers tracing the tendons, and it distracted him. What had they been discussing? Appropriate food for sustaining physical exertion, yes. He ought to tell her that sugary treats weren’t suitable for activities requiring stamina, but a memory flashed through his mind, that smudge of frosting on her nose and his interest in… cleaning it off.
“A compromise would be acceptable,” he found himself saying.
“Good.” Her gaze lowered to his lips.
Was she contemplating a kiss? Her strokes to the back of his hand were already stirring sensations in his body, along with thoughts he’d been quelling while she slept. If she kissed him, he might forget his resolve to postpone their amorous acts until they had more time. Much could be done in a half hour. But a frenzied rush? Surely she’d want more. He wanted more for her, and for himself.
Amaranthe dropped her gaze to her lap. “Ah, meditation, was it?”