“No.” She made eye contact with Akstyr, silently urging him to do something to loosen their bonds. “I’m only suggesting that the plan could be modified to incorporate these new circumstances.”
“New circumstances such as us being trussed up like a leg of lamb about to go in the oven?” Books asked.
“Among other things.” Amaranthe shifted so she could gaze serenely at the door guards. “Who are you fellows working for, anyway?”
The younger of the two, a gangly private who had more growing to do, opened his mouth. The other, a corporal with a few years on him, stopped him with a glare and a, “Sh, don’t talk to them.”
“Why not? I’m sure it’s been a long, boring train ride.” Amaranthe assumed they’d come from the west coast, if they’d been toting Admiral Starcrest all the way. “We’re probably the most interesting thing to happen in weeks.”
“She’s got a point,” the private muttered. The nametag sewn onto his parka read Gettle.
“We’ll be in Stumps soon,” his comrade said. His name, Moglivakarani, must have challenged the seamstress who’d sewn the tag, shrinking the letters to fit. “Ignore them.”
“You’re not wearing any armbands,” Amaranthe observed. “Does that mean you haven’t sworn allegiance to anyone yet? You’re not working for Admiral Starcrest, are you? He’s not an officer any more, or even an imperial citizen right now, is he?”
“Not as I understand the situation,” Books said.
“We’re Colonel Fencrest’s men. That’s all that you need to know.” Moglivakarani squinted at her. “What armbands?”
A tickling sensation, like a kiss of air, brushed the hairs on Amaranthe’s wrists. Something plucked at the knot on her ropes. She struggled to keep any hint of discomfort off her face, though it was an eerie sensation, knowing her bindings were being untied without anyone being near her. “Flintcrest, Ridgecrest, and Marblecrest’s men are all wearing different color armbands on their fatigue sleeves. Someone asked Sespian if we should adopt a color for the troops he’s gathering to his side, but he objected, saying let the less legitimate parties change their uniforms. We are in the right here.” Actually, Amaranthe had said that when Yara asked, but Sespian, after hesitating over the “in the right” comment, had nodded.
“Sespian?” Moglivakarani asked.
“Emperor Sespian?” Gettle asked. “But he’s dead. That’s why all this… this.” His wave encompassed the train.
“The newspapers reported him dead, but I assure you, he’s quite alive.” Or was when she’d last seen him two days before. Or was it three now? Amaranthe needed a full night’s sleep. All the crazy events were blurring together, the days seeming unending. “My team is serving him. By detaining us, you place obstacles in front of him. He seeks to reclaim the throne even as we speak.”
The ropes fell away from her hands, and the ones on her ankles loosened as well. With her wrists behind her back, she doubted the guards could see, but she did her best to scoop the slack ropes in close anyway. Akstyr had his chin to his chest, hiding his eyes and the concentration on his face from the guards. Books gave her a slight nod. He was either free or would be shortly.
Several feet separated her from the men and the door. Since she was on her knees, with ropes tangled about her ankles, it was conceivable, no, probable, that the guards would be able to pull out their weapons before she could cross the distance and attack them. A distraction would be good.
“You could be telling us any sorts of lies,” Moglivakarani said, “thinking it’d improve your position.”
Akstyr sat up straighter, met Amaranthe’s eyes, and gave the barest hint of a nod.
“That’s true, Corporal.” She tilted her head. “I do have a letter in my pocket with his signature on it if you want to take a look. It’s dated so you’ll know it’s from this past week.”
Books gave her a curious look. She gazed blandly back at him.
“Which pocket?” Moglivakarani took a wary step toward her.
Belatedly, Amaranthe remembered she wasn’t dressed in her usual pocket-filled fatigues. Though the prosthetic nose had fallen off, she still wore her Suan costume, complete with blonde hair and a pocket-free dress. Oh, well. Improvise. The letter wasn’t real either, after all.
“It’s an inside pocket.” Amaranthe lowered her chin, eyes toward her bosom.
“I’ll get it,” Gettle blurted and hustled forward.
Moglivakarani lunged after him, grabbing his arm. “Private, you’re not going to grope the-”
Books and Akstyr leaped to their feet, each barreling into a separate man, as if they’d somehow coordinated their attack ahead of time. It didn’t take Amaranthe much longer to rise, but she needn’t have hurried. Akstyr and Books were both kneeling on the backs of their men, pinning arms behind backs and mashing faces into the worn floorboards. She gave them nods, admiring how efficient they’d grown in the last year, then collected the soldiers’ weapons.
“Perhaps I should wear dresses more often,” Amaranthe said. “That ruse doesn’t work as effectively when I’m in those figure-shrouding army fatigues.”
“Ruse?” Gettle muttered. “Does that mean there was no letter?”
“No pockets either,” Amaranthe said.
“Idiot,” Moglivakarani said.
“How was I supposed to know their hands were free? How were their hands free?”
“Tie them up, please,” Amaranthe told Books and Akstyr. She didn’t want to encourage the private’s line of thought.
The clacks of the wheels on the rails seemed to be slowing. Wondering if they were reaching the lake and the capital, Amaranthe clambered onto a crate and peered through a slat in the wall. They’d come out of the mountains, but were passing through white rolling hills rather than the farmlands west of the lake. “Willow Pond,” she guessed, naming the last stop before Stumps.
“Perhaps we should get out here and catch the next train,” Books said.
“And let a legendary war hero go without making a solid attempt to win him to our side?” Amaranthe asked.
“We did attempt that,” Akstyr said, “and we got thrown in here. We-”
The metal rollers of the sliding door squeaked, and light flooded the car. Amaranthe spun, raising her new army pistol. She halted, however, when she spotted a similar weapon already pointed at her chest. The hand holding it belonged to Starcrest. Books and Akstyr had finished tying the soldiers, and they, too, spun toward the door, crouching, fists curled into loose fists, ready for a fight.
“Interesting,” Starcrest said, taking them in, as well as the prone soldiers.
They groaned when they heard his voice, more in embarrassment than pain, Amaranthe guessed.
She lowered her pistol. Starcrest was the only one standing in the doorway as the train slowed, icicle-bedecked buildings passing behind him, but she couldn’t be certain there weren’t ten more soldiers lined up to either side of him. She didn’t want to fight with him anyway.
“We like to think so.” Amaranthe propped an elbow on a crate. “Won’t you come in? We’d love to discuss things with you.”
“That is what I had in mind.” Starcrest eyed her pistol.
Since he had the advantage anyway, his weapon still trained on her chest, Amaranthe set her firearm on the floor. If there was a chance she could earn his trust, she’d happily make the first concession. Besides, she always had Akstyr’s secret skills to draw upon if needed, so long as Starcrest didn’t bring his children in. They obviously had some mental sciences training and might sniff out Akstyr’s gift. For all she knew, they’d sensed him untying the ropes and that had been what drew Starcrest back here to start with. But, no, it must be more than that, or he’d simply have sent soldiers. If he’d come alone, he must want to talk to them about something. Maybe he’d believed what she said in the cab.