Books kicked aside the other firearm they’d taken from the fallen men. The train rolled to a stop, and Starcrest nodded and waved to someone out of Amaranthe’s sight.
That made her nervous until he holstered the pistol and stepped inside. “Mind if we let these two go?” He spread a hand toward the soldiers.
“Won’t they go off and tell that colonel that you’re in here alone, being suborned by outlaws?” Amaranthe asked.
“Suborned?” Starcrest’s eyebrows rose.
“I was going to say wooed, but I’ve been told that word is ‘sissy.’” She glanced at Akstyr.
“Well, it is,” he muttered.
“I simply wish to have a private discussion with you,” Starcrest said. “I’ve already expressed this desire to Colonel Fencrest, and he’s already expressed his vehement disapproval over the notion. What these two report back will matter little in regard to our ability to converse privately until we reach Stumps, which is, if I recall correctly, less than a half an hour away.” He stepped inside and sat on a crate. “We’ll be departing shortly, as nobody’s boarding here in Willow Pond and only two passengers have departed.”
Two fifteen-year-old siblings too young for the dangers of the capital? There was a north-south train that ran through Willow Pond, heading to numerous quiet rural towns along the way. Maybe Starcrest had relatives in the area, or his own lands might be nearby too, if he still had lands.
Amaranthe used one of the soldiers’ purloined knives to sever their bonds. Shoulders slumped, heads bowed, they shuffled for the door.
“My lord,” the corporal said, avoiding Starcrest’s eyes, “we… we were tricked. They-”
“I’m not in command of anything here, Corporal.” Starcrest said Corporal in the same tone a father might say son. “I suggest you report to your superior for orders.”
“Yes, my lord.” The corporal shambled the last two steps to the door, but paused again. “My lord, are you going to tell Sergeant Nastor… uhm.”
“I doubt I’ll have time to tell your sergeant anything before we arrive in the capital.”
“Oh.” The corporal exchanged glances with his private, who shrugged back at him. “Thank you, my lord,” he said with more spirit upon realizing that he wasn’t going to be outed for his inability to keep the prisoners secured.
They hopped from the car and jogged out of sight. A whistle blew outside.
Before the train chugged into motion again, a woman climbed up to the doorway and hesitated on the threshold until she spotted Starcrest sitting on the crate. Her thick blonde-gray hair fell in a braid down her back, spectacles framed her blue eyes, and freckles splashed cheeks that Amaranthe would consider pale, despite the tanned skin. She wore a soft gray felt dress with wool leggings and heavy boots to thwart the cold.
“Have a seat, love.” Starcrest gestured to a crate next to his. “These are the outlaws I told you about, people who have unlikely knowledge about our first adventure together.”
This must be Tikaya Komitopis, the Kyattese linguist and cryptographer. Amaranthe immediately wanted to pump her for information on the Behemoth and what she knew about Forge, specifically Suan and Retta. The sisters had both been to the Kyatt Islands on Forge’s behalf, Retta to study the ancient language, and Suan to purchase submarines for her wealthy colleagues.
“Outlaws.” Tikaya sat next to Starcrest on the crate. “And here I thought an excursion into the empire in your wake would mean a chance to meet aristocrats and military leaders from the highest echelons of society.”
“That might have happened if you’d married me when I was an upright young officer. These days… well, I don’t think anyone has scribbled out the exile mark next to my name. These-” Starcrest spread a hand toward Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr, “-should be precisely the sorts of people you expected.”
“Should we be offended?” Akstyr muttered to Books.
“I believe so, yes,” Books said. “Word of my sublime work mustn’t have reached the Kyatt Islands yet.” He sighed.
Amaranthe swatted him on the arm.
“I haven’t been informed of their names yet,” Starcrest said, “but they know Sicarius.”
Tikaya grimaced. “Is that association as precipitous for them as it is for most people?”
Starcrest’s eyes sharpened as he regarded Amaranthe. “I don’t think so.”
“It is for us.” Akstyr pointed to his chest, then Books.
“Do you actually know what precipitous means?” Books asked him.
“Dangerous, right? You’ve used it before. You’ve even used it when talking about Sicarius.”
“I didn’t realize you’d listened.” Books sounded pleased.
“Sometimes. If I’m not doing something more important.”
Books’s eyes narrowed, some of the pleasure fading.
Amaranthe shushed them and said, “My name is Amaranthe Lokdon, and this is Akstyr and Books, formerly Professor Marl Mugdildor.”
Books’s back straightened, and he glanced at Tikaya, as if hoping she’d heard of him. She merely gazed back at the three of them with an expression of polite wariness. Outside, the train had started up, and Starcrest slid the rolling door shut before resuming a seat next to his wife. Enough light slanted through the slats in the walls that the two parties could see each other.
“You already know who I am,” Starcrest said, “but you can call me Rias. This is my wife, Professor Tikaya Komitopis.”
“Just Tikaya,” she said.
Sure, like Amaranthe was going to be on a first-name basis with people out of the history books.
Starcrest slipped a hand into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. “Do you recognize this?”
Books and Akstyr shook their heads.
Amaranthe didn’t. “Was it, by chance, postmarked from Markworth a few weeks ago?”
“It was indeed.”
“Sicarius didn’t tell me what was in it or who it was going to. I got the impression that he hoped for an answer, but didn’t expect one.”
Starcrest and Komitopis exchanged wry looks, and Amaranthe had the sense that there’d been quite a discussion as to whether to respond to that letter or not. “Can I see it?” she asked. “It doesn’t mention me, does it?”
Starcrest’s brows rose.
“I ask because there was a hasty postscript penned after I… ah, I was there when he wrote it. It’s possible my plans had some influence on the information contained within.”
“As in,” Akstyr whispered to Books, “please help, Admiral, before my crazy girlfriend blows up the empire.”
Long accustomed to their teasing, Amaranthe might not have flushed, but the topic-and the agreement implicit in Books’s smirk-made her self-conscious. “It doesn’t say that.” She eyed Starcrest. “It doesn’t, right?”
“Show her the letter, love,” Komitopis said.
The pair exchanged looks again, and this time Amaranthe couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it’d be like to be married to someone-not someone, Sicarius-long enough to understand each other so well that words weren’t needed. She knew Sicarius better than most, but that wasn’t saying much. It was rare for her to have a clue what was going on behind his facade.
Starcrest held out the crinkled envelope, distracting her from wistful thinking.
It was addressed in Sicarius’s precise hand to Federias Starcrest at 17 View Ridge Loop, Eastern Plantation County, Kyatt.
“We weren’t anywhere we had access to records.” Amaranthe opened the envelope and pulled out the single page inside. “I wouldn’t have guessed he knew your address.”
“Nor I,” Komitopis said. “I was alarmed to learn that.”
Starcrest spread a hand. “It’s not surprising. The emperor has surely kept track of me over the years, and he was the emperor’s man.”
“Henchman.”
Amaranthe’s lips flattened. She was glad Starcrest didn’t share his wife’s unveiled rancor toward Sicarius.