“Stop, and I’ll ask,” Starcrest said.
He climbed out gingerly, his bandaged arm cradled against his abdomen. In a hasty bit of field surgery that Starcrest had insisted upon, Komitopis had removed the musket ball from his shoulder while his daughter had filled the role of nurse. Their practiced professionalism-and the way Komitopis had shaken her head while glaring and tsk-tsking at her husband-had led Sicarius to believe it wasn’t the first musket ball they’d removed from Starcrest’s body.
“Root cellar,” Starcrest said when he climbed back into the cab. “It was undamaged, aside from the addition of a smelly makarovi den.” He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if Sicarius already knew about this and of the cellar’s location. When Sicarius nodded, Starcrest added, “It’s been claimed as the headquarters suite for now. Most of the troops and staff that were in the Barracks were evacuated to hotels in the area.”
Sicarius barely heard the addition. He would have simply run to the root cellar, but there was enough light in the courtyard that people would spot-and recognize him-so it was best to get closer using the vehicle. Besides, Amaranthe and the others would want to rush in to see the rest of the team too.
Four soldiers stood guard around the reinforced root cellar door. Sicarius stopped the vehicle.
“I’ll talk to them,” Starcrest said.
Not interested in waiting-or being the recipient of rifle fire when the soldiers figured out who he was-Sicarius slipped out of the cab and used the vehicle to cover his approach to the ragged hole in the lawn. He hopped into the tunnel, breathing the makarovi scent anew. It was almost better than the smoke that lingered in the courtyard, the smell of wet, charred wood dominating everything else.
Sicarius heard voices as soon as he landed, and he found himself sprinting up the slope and into the makarovi cage. Numerous lamps burned in the root cellar, and the number of bodies holed up inside made the room warm. Sespian, Yara, Maldynado, Basilard, and a handful of officers were standing around a food crate turned into a table. Their backs were to him. Another man lay bound and gagged in a corner by a box with air holes. Ravido.
Sicarius paused only long enough to make sure nobody with a pistol stood ready to shoot him, then slipped through the bars. “Sespian.”
A profound relief filled him when Sespian turned, his hair tousled and his uniform rumpled, but with no injuries marring his flesh. Before his rational mind caught up to his reflexes-his feelings-he’d grabbed Sespian and wrapped him in a hug.
Startled, Sespian leaned back, as if to pull away, but he decided to accept the embrace and offered an awkward back pat. It warmed Sicarius’s heart.
The door creaked open. “Fleet Admiral Starcrest and Corporal Lokdon here to see you, sir,” a soldier called.
“Thank you,” Sespian said. “Send them down.”
It wasn’t until footsteps sounded on the earthen stairs that Sicarius released Sespian and stepped back. A faint furrow creased Sespian’s brow.
“We saw your explosion from the waterfront,” Sicarius said, realizing the hug had been out of character and likely puzzled his son. “I did not know if you lived.”
“Ah,” Sespian said, nodding in understanding.
“What’s this?” Maldynado asked. “No hugs for us?” He smirked at Sicarius and opened his arms in an invitation.
Basilard’s eyebrows twitched up, and Yara stared at Maldynado as if he’d grown a new eye in the center of his forehead, right under that idiotic tentacle hat that he’d managed to retain throughout the night’s action.
Sicarius was almost tempted to take a step toward the man, to see what he’d do, but he must have taken too long to act, for Maldynado shrugged and faced the stairs, his arms still spread. “I know the boss will hug me!”
Amaranthe was on the steps, but she was coming down behind Starcrest, and he was the one to receive the enthusiastic smile.
The admiral raised his eyebrows at the proffered embrace. “Given my injury, I’ll pass.”
“Er, yes,” Maldynado said. “Quite right.”
Yara pulled him out of the way of the people coming down the stairs. “Are you always going to be a frivolous buffoon?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t want a serious old stick, would you?” Maldynado flicked a glance toward Sicarius.
Before the conversation could go further, and before Sicarius could decide if he wanted to rebut with anything more than an icy stare, an ear-splitting yowl made most people in the cellar wince.
Ravido, his ear inches from the box that housed whatever feline beast was emitting the noise, groaned through his gag. He tried to say something too. It sounded like, “Just kill me; it’d be less torture.”
“I know, Trog,” Sespian said, “and I apologize, but we’ll find you some food soon and a place where you can roam.”
So that was the cat Sespian had been looking for. Another eardrum-assaulting screech blasted from the box. Sicarius wondered how he could have missed hearing the creature on his first trip into the Barracks.
“Is that your cat?” Amaranthe asked. “I’m glad you found him. Or is it a her?”
Another yowl.
Yara scowled. “Only a male would complain that much.”
“I was worried he wouldn’t make it,” Sespian said, “that nobody would take care of him with me gone, but he’s a survivor. More than that. Apparently, he’s been harassing the new troops since Ravido presumed to move onto our floor.”
Ravido groaned again, cursing vehemently behind his gag. He might have said, “Piss and cat hair everywhere,” but it was hard to tell.
“The makarovi?” Sespian asked over the noise of the belligerent cat.
“Dead,” Sicarius said.
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
“We paid a price though.” Amaranthe so rarely gave anyone a glare of hatred that Sicarius almost didn’t recognize it as such; it was directed at Ravido.
Sespian sighed. “With such powerful monsters, I’m not surprised.”
Amaranthe exchanged hugs with Maldynado and Basilard. “I’m glad you made it out of the building. All of you.” She lifted her head to include Yara and Sespian.
“Where’s Books?” Maldynado asked. “Up poking through musty old tomes somewhere with Akstyr?”
“Books…” Amaranthe swallowed. “He was our price.”
“Our price?” Maldynado removed his hat to scratch his head, either not comprehending-or choosing not to comprehend-her point.
Basilard’s shoulders slumped. He knew.
“We were able to retrieve the body,” Amaranthe said. “We’ll plan the funeral pyre as soon as…” She waved vaguely toward the Barracks. “As soon as enough is resolved that we can do so.”
“Oh,” Maldynado mouthed, his body as limp as the drooping tendrils of his hat.
Starcrest joined the officers, and their heads bent together over papers scattered on the table. Sicarius found that he cared little as to what was on that table and what they were planning. Sespian and Amaranthe were alive, and in this tight cellar, he could keep an eye out and ensure that they stayed that way. An unexpected sense of contentedness came over him. It was strange, like nothing he’d ever felt before. What an odd time for it to visit him, in the aftermath of all that chaos, at the end of a night with no sleep, and in the face of the death of one of their comrades. Yet there it was, nonetheless.
Because, Sicarius realized, it’s finally over, and the two people who mattered most to him had survived. He leaned against the wall where he could observe all and watch the room’s entrances.