Blood and Betrayal (32 page)

As she yanked it from its sheath, the snake slithered down her body, its head angling for her neck again. Hanging upside down, Amaranthe gripped the knife like a lifeline, knowing she’d only get one chance.

The beast’s massive maw gaped open, again displaying that row of fangs. Amaranthe plunged the knife upward, stabbing at the flesh on the roof of the snake’s mouth, angling the blade toward its brain. The jaw snapped shut. She yanked her hand out before teeth closed about her wrist. The knife remained, wedged in the snake’s mouth.

Heart pounding in her ears, she stared at the creature. Had the knife done enough? Had she reached the brain?

For a long moment, the snake didn’t move. Then it slumped, head thumping against Amaranthe’s chest. Seeing that massive maw so close to her neck almost made her pee on herself—and wouldn’t that have wonderful implications when she was hanging upside down?—but a dullness had come over those vibrant yellow eyes, and she knew she could relax. Sort of. She still had to retrieve her rifle and check on Sicarius.

Amaranthe expected that, with death, the snake’s grip on her leg would loosen, but its muscles remained tight, and it held her fast. She swung her arms below her head and managed to reach the rifle. Then, with lack of a better idea, she used the snake’s body like a rope, climbing back up to her perch. It took precious time to pry her leg free. With its grip finally broken, the snake fell out of the tree, landing with a thud that sent birds flying. Bloody ancestors, she might as well have shot the thing if it was going to end up causing that much of a stir.

Amaranthe wriggled back onto her belly and was horrified but not surprised when she found Pike gazing straight at her. His knowing stare sent a chill through her, but, after surviving the advances of a woman-eating snake, she refused to act cowed. She didn’t know how many details he could make out over the intervening distance, but she gave him an insouciant smile and a cheery wave. Rude gestures might have been more appropriate, but she thought a bright attitude from a former captive might bother him more.

Pike lifted a long-barreled pistol, and Amaranthe dropped her hand, ready to scurry backward and use the tree trunk for cover if he aimed it at her. He bent his elbow and let the barrel rest against his shoulder, the muzzle pointing skyward. A man ready to fire, not at her but at whomever approached him. He gazed out at the clearing.

Amaranthe eyed the area as well. Even from her lofty perch, she couldn’t see through the grass and cattails to spot Sicarius on the ground. She searched farther about, in all the directions she could monitor from the tree. She’d best not forget that there were dozens of men out there hunting for her.

A dark spot behind a tree drew her eye. Sicarius. He wasn’t in the clearing after all, but some fifty meters away from Pike. He seemed to be… tying a shoe? No, when he stood, she spotted Pike’s partner. The man wasn’t dead but tied to the base of the tree with a gag in his mouth. The two other men Amaranthe had assumed Sicarius killed shared the spot. Huh. She hadn’t been certain Sicarius had heard her comment about only needing to take care of the wolf’s head, but he must have. This time he was going to do as she wished and not kill every enemy he crossed.

However inappropriate the timing, emotion swelled in Amaranthe’s throat. He was doing his best to please her when she’d utterly failed him.

Sicarius stood, using the tree for cover, and gazed toward Pike. Amaranthe wagered he hadn’t seen that protective cylinder flash into existence, not if he’d been busy dragging men away to tie to trees. She had to warn him.

Amaranthe scooted out farther on the branch and propped the rifle in a crook. She lined up the shot and, this time, had no trouble firing. A small burst of orange flashed a few feet in front of Pike’s head. He didn’t so much as flinch. It took Amaranthe a second to realize what the orange represented. Flame. Her bullet had been incinerated.

She glanced at Sicarius, hoping he’d seen. Still behind the tree, he lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Amaranthe jerked her gaze away, realizing she risked giving away his hiding spot. Indeed, she caught Pike glancing in that direction. Sicarius had already disappeared, though, back into the grass.

Perhaps Amaranthe shouldn’t have been watching him, for, as she refocused on Pike, he fired the pistol. At her.

A bullet tore off a branch above, and leaves and twigs pelted her. The pistol cracked again. Amaranthe scooted back and buried her face, one arm slung over her head for protection. If she let go with the other, she’d end up on the ground next to the dead snake. Of course, with someone shooting at her, maybe that’d be a better place to be.

Four more cracks sounded, somewhat muted by distance and the heavy swamp air, and bullets peppered the tree all around her. Fortunately, only leaves and broken twigs hit her. Given the hundred and some meters separating them, she ought not be surprised by the pistol’s lack of accuracy, but she thanked her ancestors for it nonetheless.

After the sixth shot, silence returned to the swamp. Absolute silence. Not so much as a mosquito whined.

Amaranthe lifted her head. Pike was reloading, his hands steady as he methodically slipped bullets into the revolving mechanism that held them. He wasn’t worried about Sicarius getting to him, and why should he be with that shield? If Sicarius even touched it, he might be incinerated. A quelling thought, that one. She was glad he’d seen her warning.

If she hadn’t been busy holding branches and weapons, she would have nibbled on a fingernail. Pike’s cylindrical barrier had flashed so briefly that she had a hard time remembering the dimensions. Six feet wide or so and perhaps fifteen feet tall. She didn’t know if it was open on top or closed. If it was closed, there’d be no way to get at Pike, unless Sicarius burrowed under like a gopher. And for all they knew, the barrier might extend underground as well.

Out in the field, not a blade of grass rustled, but Amaranthe knew Sicarius was somewhere nearby, studying Pike, figuring out a way to reach him.

Pike knew it too. His pistol again rested on his shoulder and he gazed around calmly. “I’m not the one you want, Sicarius. I’m not trying to kill Sespian. I don’t care if he lives, so long as he abdicates the throne.”

A new concern stampeded into Amaranthe’s mind. Had Retta volunteered what she’d learned? Or had Pike encountered her and, angered that his prisoner had disappeared, forced the information from her? Either way, Pike might be about to share his new knowledge with the whole world—or at least the one person that Amaranthe didn’t want to hear it. She would have told Sicarius that she’d let the information escape, but having an enemy tell him first… Her shoulders slumped and all the fight drained from her. She stared at her rifle, at the finger that had hesitated, giving the snake time to divert her. If she’d fired at that moment, Pike wouldn’t have gotten his shield in place, and he wouldn’t be talking now.

“I don’t care about Forge,” Pike called. “I just want my old job back and, all right, maybe a little more. Ravido has promised me Hollowcrest’s position along with the reinstatement of my title and lands. I’ll be Commander of the Armies, and the Marblecrests will be back on the throne. It was never meant for Sespian. You know that. You’ve
always
known that.” Pike cocked his ear, as if listening for a response. Even protected by his shield, Pike had to be worried. He couldn’t stand there forever. He’d run out of food and water eventually, and he must know Sicarius had the patience to wait. “You could take Sespian and disappear,” Pike said. “I have enough sway over Ravido to make sure neither of you are hunted. So long as Sespian can be publicly declared dead, he need not truly die. I’m the only one who can make you that offer. Now that Forge is ready to move, they want the boy dead.”

Amaranthe shot at Pike again. The shield ate the bullet, but the attack surprised him to silence, at least for a moment. She told herself she’d fired to distract Pike, in case Sicarius had thought up a way to attack him, but in truth she wanted to shut him up. She didn’t want him talking about how she’d blabbed. The bastard would probably take credit for getting the information out of her.

Pike faced her, a weary sneer twisting his mouth. But there was no fear or concern in his eyes. It was the type of sneer one gave to a mosquito. A mosquito might be annoying, but it had no power to kill.

“Eat street,” Amaranthe muttered and fired again, this time with more thought guiding her hand. She aimed for a spot about six feet above his head, trying to find the vertical boundary of the shield.

Another orange flash ate her bullet. For a moment, Pike looked like he might fire at her, but he returned his attention to the field.

Amaranthe fired again, higher this time. The bullet passed through without being incinerated, but a slight shimmer disturbed the air before it disappeared. Odd, that had been on the other side of Pike. Had she fired over the top of the barrier, but, because of her elevated position, caused the bullet to zip downward at an angle and catch the shield on only one side? Pike could obviously fire from inside. She tried to remember if the shield had shimmered when he’d been shooting at her, but she’d been too busy ducking to notice. No matter. She suspected she’d just proved that the cylinder was open on the top. Unfortunately, at fifteen feet or so, even Sicarius wouldn’t be able to leap that high, not when he’d have to throw his entire body over it without touching the barrier. Still, it was a starting point. If they could make an explosive of some kind and hurl it inside… .

Lest Pike notice her silence and attribute it to scheming that he should worry about, Amaranthe fired another shot, aiming for his nether regions this time, for amusement’s sake.

Pike stuck a fist on his hip and faced her, leveling his pistol at her again. Unlike with the earlier rapid-fire shots, he took his time in lining up his aim. Amaranthe scooted backward on the branch, thinking it might be a good time to find Sicarius and explain what she’d learned.

Before Pike fired, a dark figure rose from the cattails several meters behind him. Sicarius. He sprinted for Pike, a long stick—a sapling?—in his hands. Before Amaranthe could guess what he intended, Sicarius planted the flexible pole in the ground and used the leverage to vault himself into the air. Amaranthe’s heart surged into her throat as he released the stick at the apex and soared toward Pike’s cylinder.

She gulped and held her breath. If he misjudged the spot by an inch…

Sicarius dropped out of the air without bursting into flame or disturbing the shield. At the last second Pike, perhaps watching Amaranthe’s expression, looked up. But he was too late. Sicarius landed on him like a boulder falling out of the sky. Both men disappeared beneath the tall grass and cattails.

Amaranthe tried to stand on her branch, to better see what was happening, but her foot slipped, and she almost fell again. She caught the trunk and steadied herself.

A scream tore through the swamp, only to end abruptly, cut off with a gurgle that left little doubt as to what had happened. Amaranthe was surprised, and, she admitted, disappointed at how brief that scream had been. For what he’d done to her—and to Sicarius—Pike had deserved to suffer, to have his own medicine forced down his throat.

An uneasy thought slithered into her mind. What if that scream hadn’t belonged to Pike? What if he’d been waiting for Sicarius with another trick in hand. She held her breath, waiting for the victor to rise.

Time trickled past, and nobody appeared. Amaranthe shook her head. What was going on? They hadn’t killed each other off, had they? They couldn’t have… .

She had reconciled herself to the idea of climbing down and going over there to look for herself when a familiar voice called up from below.

“Hiding is generally done from the ground, under or behind an object that can serve as cover as well as camouflage.” Sicarius stood beside the dead snake, at the base of her tree, gazing up at her. “Leaves provide camouflage but not cover. We have discussed the difference.”

Amaranthe grinned so hard it hurt her cheeks. “I was afraid to hide on the ground because of the snakes.”

Sicarius regarded the dead creature in the mud. “This appears to have fallen from a great height.”

“How odd.” Still grinning, Amaranthe tossed the rifle to him and shimmied down the cypress.

In her haste, she missed a branch and tumbled the last ten feet. Sicarius caught her and drew her into a hug that was far gentler than she would have preferred. Though her wounds protested, she snaked her arms around him and demonstrated how fierce a hug should be. She buried her face in his neck. His hug was a relief—maybe he hadn’t realized, from Pike’s words, that she’d betrayed him. She’d have to tell him eventually—soon—but she needed to feel safe for a while first. The words “cathartic collapse” floated through her mind. No, it was more than that. She needed to be held by someone who cared.

Sicarius laid his chin on the top of her head. He was being careful not to disturb her injuries, so it was hard to tell, but she thought the hug might mean as much to him as to her.

Too soon for her tastes, he drew back, though he didn’t let her go. Amaranthe braced herself, expecting him to question her about Pike’s speech, to demand an explanation.

“You were following a fresh trail through the swamp,” Sicarius said. “Are its makers the priority? Or is it the craft?”

“The craft?”

“Do you wish to destroy it so Forge cannot continue to use it against us? Or is it more important to follow those who left the trail?”

“Oh. I… think destroying the
Behemoth
may be beyond us. Remember that submerged laboratory? This thing makes that look like something a clumsy child assembled on the playground.”

Sicarius’s eyebrows twitched. “The
Behemoth
?”

“My name, not theirs.” Amaranthe supposed it was possible that she and Sicarius could do something to disable the craft,
if
they could figure out how to get inside, and
if
they could find Retta and question her. Amaranthe didn’t even know if Retta was still alive. She might have crossed paths with Pike when she shouldn’t have. Amaranthe shied away from the thought. Even if Retta had stolen secrets, she’d saved Amaranthe’s life. “I think the meeting is the priority,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t regret the choice later. “Ms. Worgavic and other Forge founders will be there. I heard a few things, but no details. Somehow they intend to control the future of the empire. To hear Ms. Worgavic talk, maybe the future of the world. We might want to put a stop to that.”