Forged in Blood II (35 page)

“Nearly twenty years ago, I sent sealed letters to old colleagues and relatives over here,” Starcrest said. “They included instructions not to be opened until a certain date which came and went some years ago. Emperor Raumesys was alive at the time. I had assumed there’d be, if not retaliation, at least some action taken when the contents were revealed to him. I believe you were still working for him then. Do you know anything about this matter?”

“Yes, sir,” Sicarius said. “It was revealed that the Kyatt Islands were originally claimed by Turgonian colonists, and that when the first Kyattese explorers landed, they sought the chain for themselves. They used a plague to weaken our ancestors, then kill them, so they couldn’t report back to the mainland.”
Our
ancestors, he’d said without thinking, forgetting that Hollowcrest’s records proclaimed him half Kyattese. But he’d been raised here. He’d never think of himself as anything other than Turgonian.

“I see. You know quite a lot about it then.”

“I was there when the emperor and Hollowcrest read the letter.”

Starcrest cocked his head. “What was their response?”

“Hollowcrest seemed indifferent, though he rarely grew impassioned about anything, at least not visibly.”

“Yes, the few times I met him, he struck me as… passionless, yes.”

Sicarius sensed that was a more civil word than Starcrest had first thought to use. “The emperor was livid. He wished to attack the Kyattese and reclaim the islands. Our ships were on alert in the Gulf at the time, due to all of the pirate raids, and Hollowcrest talked Raumesys into delaying hostilities. The emperor reluctantly agreed, but did wish to send an assassin to kill you.”

No hint of surprise made its way to Starcrest’s face. He nodded as if he’d expected nothing else. “You being the assassin who was in the room, I’ll assume he wished to give you the job.”

“Yes, sir. I refused it. That was when I looked up your postal address and tried to mail a warning. Your questions now lead me to believe it never arrived. I am not surprised.”

“Yes, either the emperor’s spies or the Kyattese government may have intercepted it. The Kyattese were particularly twitchy then—though presidents have come and gone, their government remained aware of the threat. I must thank you then for—” Starcrest looked at himself, then Sicarius, and gestured to chairs. “There is no reason to stand in military stances while we speak. Please, relax.” He sat in one of the chairs.

Sicarius hesitated. Relaxing wasn’t something he did while discussing important matters with people, nor had he ever found sitting in chairs particularly calming. People could sneak up on someone sitting in a chair with its back to a door, and one could not easily spring into action from the seated position. As a boy, one of his tutors had always squatted when he grew weary of standing, and Sicarius had adopted the habit.

“They’re not as comfortable as a hammock on a Kyattese lanai, I’ll admit,” Starcrest said, “but they aren’t booby trapped. You needn’t look at them so suspiciously.”

“Yes, sir.” Sicarius shifted one of the chairs around so his back wouldn’t be toward the door and perched on the edge of the seat.

“As I was saying, I thank you for refusing to assassinate me. Twice now.” Starcrest gave him a dry half smile. “Or is it three times?”

“Three.”

“Last night, a few years ago, and… in the tunnels? Did you have orders to kill me if I didn’t accept the emperor’s offer?”

“Yes, sir. But you used your superior strategic mind to outmaneuver an inexperienced young assassin.”

“That’s what you told the emperor?” Starcrest asked.

“I thought I might receive less punishment that way. ‘I let him escape’ sounded unpromising.”

“Ah, and did you? Receive less punishment?”

“It is impossible to judge since I have no way of knowing what the punishment may have been had I voiced the more succinct phrase.”

“Of course.” Starcrest leaned back in the chair. “Sicarius, I regret that your associations with me have always resulted in pain for you.”

Sicarius almost whispered, “Me too,” but only gave another, “Yes, sir.” Those punishments were long past and inconsequential at this point.

“Is there anything I can do for you now? I would offer you the use of a guest bungalow on Tikaya’s land on Kyatt, but if you can’t relax in a chair, I can’t see you swimming in the surf and lounging on a beach. Though I do recommend the practice. After years of constant fighting, the tranquility is a relief. At least for a time. Until your mind grows restless and dreams up a new challenge. Note, I do not recommend taking up surfing as said new challenge. Well, perhaps in your case, it would not be disastrous. You’re an agile sort.”

Surfing? For… relaxation purposes? How odd. “I would find it difficult to lie on a beach, visible from afar, vulnerable to anyone who walks past on a bluff above.”

“Perhaps a deserted island would be more amenable to you than one full of people who might wish a Turgonian assassin… a bad day.”

“Yes, sir. Amaranthe has suggested seeking such a place.”

“Good. You two should go somewhere after this is over. Time out of the empire would do you both good, I suspect.”

“I… don’t think she’ll wish to go off with me now.” Sicarius didn’t know why he’d admitted that. He hoped his voice hadn’t sounded as plaintive as it had in his head. He should have simply repeated another, “Yes, sir.”

“Oh?”

Was it too late to voice that, “Yes, sir?” Sicarius suspected so. “During the short time I was Kor Nas’s slave, I killed and tortured many people for him. I did these things once for the emperor too, but found them less palatable this time. Of late, I have been less inclined to…” Sicarius was used to being able to say what he meant in a succinct manner. Why couldn’t he find the words to explain this? “This last year, working with Corporal Lokdon…” he’d already used her first name—why try to put distance between them now? “I resented the lack of a challenge in capturing and torturing the Forge women. They were not worthy opponents.” There’s more to it than that, Sicarius forced himself to acknowledge. “Amaranthe would not have used such tactics on them. She would not have needed them. Through working with her, I have not needed them. I have grown… accustomed to not needing them.”

“So, she’s made you a less cruel man, and you appreciate her for that.”

That was succinct enough, Sicarius supposed, though he’d always seen himself as pragmatic, rather than cruel. “Yes.”

“But you fear she’ll see this relapse as an unforgivable failing.”

“I did not fight Kor Nas as hard as I could have,” Sicarius said. “While he was sleeping, I could have killed myself to prevent him from using me so.”

“I doubt she would have wanted to see that.”

Sicarius said nothing.

Starcrest leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “When I was a junior officer, I had a captain who took an interest in developing my career, as good captains are wont to do. I performed my duties diligently, but he saw that I preferred my books or the machine-filled solitude of the engine room to working with other men. I was teased a bit in school, you see, for being younger than the others, and smaller, and rather bookish. I had faith in my ability to become an officer, but I’d always figured I’d be an engineering officer, someday to command a small crew below decks, a crew that I assumed would be made up of bookish sorts not dissimilar to myself. Captain Orndivit had other ideas. He forced me to spend time above decks, ordering around grizzled enlisted men twice my age and commanding the cannon crew when we went into battle. It was because I was up there that my ideas were heard, and I even took command once when the captain and first mate were injured and all manner of chaos descended upon us.”

“
Ensign Starcrest and the Blockade Runners’ Revenge
,” Sicarius said.

Starcrest blinked. “Pardon?”

“It’s a book.” Sicarius wasn’t one to blush, but he did feel a tad mortified at bringing up a fictional account of the story the admiral was trying to tell. He shouldn’t have spoken. Some delight at recognizing the favorite childhood tale had bestirred him.

“Ah, yes,” Starcrest said. “I’d forgotten about those. They don’t turn up much in Kyatt.”

“It details your adventures with Captain Orndivit. It doesn’t mention you being bookish and teased.”

“No, I’d imagine that some authors think military admirals are born knowing how to command men and outmaneuver enemies.” Starcrest pressed a finger to the desk. “My point is that Orndivit was the sort of man who made you uncomfortable by demanding the application of skills and traits you didn’t believe you possessed. It tended to make one a better man.”

“Yes,” Sicarius said. Starcrest understood. Amaranthe had been that person for him. Not just for him. Maldynado, Books, Akstyr, and Basilard were all different men—
better
men—than they had been a year earlier.

“Now, I don’t know Corporal Lokdon well enough to know which types of men she likes to go off to deserted islands with, but it’s my understanding that she’s taking personal responsibility—
blame
—for the crash of the ancient ship and the subsequent deaths of those trapped in Fort Urgot.”

“Typical,” Sicarius said.

“Command tends to be glorified, especially here in the empire, but it’s been my experience that the downsides often outweigh the upsides. In fact, the so-called upsides are typically greater responsibility, more pressure, and more work. Recognition from your superiors can be heartening, but it can never fully make the downsides go away. Those who are injured or killed as a result of your decisions, their spirits haunt you for the rest of your days, even when they belong to nameless people whom you’ve never met. Sometimes those are the worst. People whose deaths were incidental, part of the power plays of puppet masters they never knew and never cared to know.”

Sicarius thought the admiral should be having this discussion with
Amaranthe
rather than with him. More sensitive than he, she needed it more. He’d learned to harden himself long ago, and though he might have regrets now and then, few spirits haunted him. Perhaps, he mused, because he’d so rarely been in command. Always a puppet, never the master.

Starcrest seemed to be waiting for a comment.

“It is curious that people choose to seek out command positions,” Sicarius said.

That drew a sad chuckle. “Indeed, it is. Some people are driven to it though, by seeing unfairness or injustice in the world and believing that such calamities could be lessened if they took on the responsibility of leadership.”

“That is Amaranthe, yes.”

“I hope that in the end she will find that the prize—if there is one to be achieved in this situation—was worth the cost,” Starcrest said. “In the meantime, I suggest to you that she is probably not going to feel she’s in a position to judge
you
for anything you did under this wizard’s control. From what little I’ve seen of her, I doubt she would have anyway. Decisions you make under your own control, that might be a different matter.”

Yes, she’d always been disappointed in him—even when she hadn’t said it, he’d sensed it—for killing as a solution, even those who’d declared themselves their enemies. “I shall consider your words, sir.”

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.