The Emperor's Edge (25 page)

At least she was in a less condemning place than she had been for the last hour. With no better alternative, Amaranthe pushed open the door and stepped out, abandoning her attempts at stealth.

“…don’t know,” came Maldynado’s voice, now distinguishable. “She said the blood was making her sick.”

Emperor’s warts, he was trying to explain her absence. She shut the water closet door loudly, to ensure it would be heard. Going along with his story, she dropped a hand onto her stomach and hunched over. She shuffled forward, sculpting her face into an expression of discomfort.

“A shame,” responded a cool masculine voice. “One expects a stronger stomach from an imperial woman. We are a nation born of warriors after all.”

Amaranthe recognized the voice at the same time as she entered the foyer. Arbitan and Larocka were facing Maldynado at the top of the basement stairs. The scarred security man also stood in the room, muscled arms folded across his chest. Though pale beneath the light of the chandelier, Maldynado portrayed little of the nervousness that had to lurk in his thoughts.

Amaranthe wiped the alarm off her face as the Forge folks turned toward her.

“Now, now,” Larocka said, “there’s no need to be snide, dear. Some women are more interested in numbers than war.” She smiled at Amaranthe, who could not tell if genuine warmth backed the gesture. Doubtful.

“I’m sorry to have been gone so long,” Amaranthe said in a raspy voice she hoped connoted illness.

“Apology accepted, my dear.” The pleasure Maldynado exuded at her approach seemed unfeigned.

That security man regarded her with narrowed-eyed suspicion again. Maybe that was his usual expression. Either way, it did not inspire one to linger. A wild part of Amaranthe wanted to stay and stir up a conversation with the couple, see what she could learn about them, but she had already drawn far more attention than was safe. Also, she suspected Arbitan might learn more about her than she did about him.

“We must be going, dear,” she said to Maldynado.

“I was saying just the same thing,” he said, “a half hour ago. Women—what they do in the water closet for so long is beyond me.” He tossed an aggrieved brotherhood-of-men look at Arbitan, who did not acknowledge it with anything more than a chilly stare.

Amaranthe stepped on Maldynado’s foot as she sidled out the door. He winced but managed a goodnight for the hosts as he backed out.

“Do come again,” Larocka said.

The door thudded shut. Outside, the lanterns burning along the walkway allowed Amaranthe to read the incredulous expression Maldynado fixed on her as they walked.

“Where were you for that long?” he asked.

“Exploring,” Amaranthe said. “You could have left without me.”

“Hah! You need a keeper to watch over you.” He paused, face twisting with displeasure. “I sound like my mother.”

“Careful, you may turn into a responsible fellow.”

“Never!” His ferocity startled her. He cleared his throat. “No responsibility for old Maldynado,” he added in a lighter tone.

They turned off the walkway and onto the wide street. Stars glittered in the clear night sky, and their breaths fogged the air. Infrequent streetlights burned, more like beacons to guide one from point to point than lamps illuminating the darkness. Hedges, thick and dense despite a lack of leaves, lined one side of the street.

“I can see working for you is going to be an adventure,” Maldynado said.

Movement stirred branches ahead of them.

“Looks like we’re in for one now,” Amaranthe said.

When the figures stepped out of the shadows of the hedges—in front of and behind them—it was too late to avoid being surrounded. An icy gust hustled down the street, swirling powdery snow about eight sets of enforcer boots.

Maldynado drew his sword. Amaranthe, though she feared the effort futile, held her arms up, palms out. She did
not
want a fight with enforcers.

One of the figures turned up a lantern. The light glinted off brass buttons and insignia, revealing the face of the bearer.

“Wholt,” Amaranthe blurted.

Sergeant’s rank pins shone at his collar. His face was grim, but an inkling of hope entered Amaranthe’s mind. This was his squad, his command. If she could convince him Hollowcrest’s charges were false, perhaps she and Maldynado could leave without a fight.

“I knew you weren’t happy about being passed over for promotion, Lokdon, but I didn’t think you’d turn criminal.”

“I didn’t. Listen, Wholt. I stumbled onto a plot against the emperor. It’s Hollowcrest. He’s the one—”

“Don’t listen to her, Sarge,” the enforcer at Wholt’s side barked. “Remember what the report said? Kill on sight. She’s a witch! She’ll turn our blood to stone!”

The annoying upstart rattled the others. The seven men lifted their sword arms, blades reflecting the flame of the lantern. A single word from their commander would send them charging.

“You
know
me, Wholt,” Amaranthe said, still not reaching for her knife. “We worked together for six months. If I knew anything about magic, you’d have seen proof surely. Besides, you
have
to know I wouldn’t betray the empire.”

“Also,” Maldynado said, “just to be clear before this all starts, no one has a poster out accusing
me
of magic use, so that kill on sight thing need not apply here.”

“Have your man drop his weapon, Lokdon,” Wholt said. “We’ll make your death quick.”

“No, thanks.” Maldynado sketched a fencer’s salute and dropped into a ready stance. He was probably a better swordsman than any of the enforcers, but they would not attack one at a time in a sporting manner.

“This isn’t your fight,” Amaranthe whispered to Maldynado. “If you drop your sword, they probably won’t hurt you.”

“No talking!” Wholt barked, his gaze shooting back and forth between them.

“My two weeks isn’t up, boss,” Maldynado said. “What’s the plan?”

Good question. Amaranthe searched her old partner’s face.

“You don’t have to do this, Wholt,” she said.

“I have my orders, Amaranthe,” he said. “I have to…”

Wholt didn’t want to do it. If there weren’t seven men standing behind him, he would have turned his back and let her walk away. She was sure of it. But if he let her go in front of them, his career would be destroyed. Wind gusted, tugging at her hair as Amaranthe sought a solution.

“Kill them, Sarge?” the most vocal enforcer asked.

“Why not just capture us and take us in?” Amaranthe ignored the others and kept her eyes locked on Wholt. “Let the chief put us to death if that’s the order.” And, with luck, she would have time to think of something else before that happened. “No innocent blood on your hands.”

“Kill on sight, Sarge! We shouldn’t be yapping.”

“Bet she’s weaving magic right now with her words,” another muttered.

“Witch,” someone behind Amaranthe whispered.

Boots shifted nervously and the circle tightened. The sword tips behind Amaranthe and Maldynado loomed closer. Another moment and whatever order Wholt might say would be lost in yells and clashes as fearful men attacked without waiting.

“Wholt,” she whispered. “Give the order. We’ll surrender if you agree to take us in. None of your men get hurt. You’re still doing your job.”

Wholt opened his mouth to speak.

A dark shape loomed behind him, and a dagger appeared at his throat.

“No!” Amaranthe shouted.

Too late. Blood gushed from severed arteries.

The lantern clattered to the ground.

A fast-moving head of short blond hair identified the newcomer. Amaranthe had already known.

“Back to back,” she barked to Maldynado. There was no way out of a fight now.

Chaos erupted, and swords slashed in multiple directions.

“Get the witch!”

“Watch out for—”

“Over there!”

Metal screeched behind her as Maldynado engaged someone. Amaranthe held her knife before her, but she only parried when a blade streaked at her chest.

How could she attack enforcers? They were on the same side as her!

Her opponent lunged again, slashing at her face. She ducked the blade and angled into his body. With her knife in hand, she could have finished the fight with a stab to his chest, but she struck with her free hand. She hammered a palm strike into his solar plexus and drove her knee into his groin.

His breath whooshed out, and he bent double. He reflexively brought his elbow down, clipping her shoulder. Wincing, she rammed the heel of her hand into his nose. This time, he pitched backward, hitting the street and curling onto his side.

All around her, deafening screeches of metal tore through the night. Darkness hid the details, and she struggled to tell friend from foe.

“Try not to kill them!” she called, wondering if Sicarius or Maldynado would hear.

An enforcer stepped out of the shadows of the hedge. “Witch.” It was the one who had egged Wholt on. “You die!”

He lunged and attacked, not with an efficient fencer’s stab but like a logger hacking at a tree. She leaped backward, then jumped in again while the enforcer was trapped by the momentum of his great swing. When he tried to recover, he bumped the foot of the man she had downed earlier.

His attention flickered to the ground, and she kicked his sword hand. The blade flew into the hedge. Branches rattled and snow flew.

“We’re not enemies!” she yelled. “Let me explain.”

He reached for the utility knife at his belt, but she darted around him. She pressed her blade to his throat, keeping her body beside and behind his, so he couldn’t easily kick or punch. She need not have bothered, for he froze at the first touch of cold steel.

“Witch,” he breathed.

Not sure what she could possibly say to sway him, she opened her mouth to try anyway. A throwing knife thudded into his chest.

Stunned, she could only gape as he went limp in her arms.

Sicarius appeared to retrieve the weapon before the enforcer hit the ground.

Amaranthe stammered a moment before finding words, and even then they weren’t elegant. “What did you…why… He couldn’t do anything!”

“Any you leave alive today will be after you tomorrow.” Sicarius wiped his blade on the enforcer’s uniform and sheathed it with his others.

She could only stare.

He reached out a hand. “Are you injured?”

“No, curse your ancestors, I was never—damn it, you can’t try to save the emperor on one hand and kill his civil servants on the other. It doesn’t work that way, you—”

She cut off further expletives. Her voice rang, far too loud on the suddenly silent street. Besides, this wasn’t his fault. It was hers.

All the enforcers lay sprawled all on the ground, dead or dying. Only a blurry Maldynado stood, sword drooping, chest heaving, as he watched her uncertainly. Everything was blurry. Amaranthe cursed and wiped tears from her eyes.

How had this gone so wrong so quickly?

Legs so numb she could hardly move, she stumbled to Wholt’s prone form. With a trembling hand, she turned up the lantern light. There was no use checking for a pulse. He had been dead before he hit the ground. She brushed his eyelids down, closing the accusing gaze.

“I’m sorry, Wholt,” she whispered.

T
he moon had come up, and silvery light illuminated the canneries, warehouses, and docks crowding the waterfront. Amaranthe stared across the frozen lake without seeing any of it. Footsteps crunched on the snowy dock behind her. She winced and rubbed away tears, her wool mittens scratchy against puffy eyes. At least the noise meant it wasn’t Sicarius.

Books cleared his throat. “Maldynado told us about the fight.”

“Massacre,” she muttered.

“And that you…bellowed at Sicarius and cursed his ancestors.”

“He killed them all without a thought. He killed my
partner
, Books. Someone I worked with, someone I knew.”

“Someone who was about to kill you?” he asked.

“No. That’s just it. I was talking to him. I think he was listening. I think he was going to take us to headquarters instead of attacking, and then…well, there would have been a chance to escape. I don’t think it had to end this way. People didn’t have to die.”

“What if you
thought
incorrectly?” Books asked.

“He could have waited to see. He just slithered in and started—” Amaranthe swallowed and sank into a crouch, head buried in her hands as the experience flashed through her mind again. Wholt’s slashed jugular…. The shocked expression on his face…. She grabbed a fistful of snow and hurled it off the dock. “We just had to escape. There was no
need
to kill everyone for that to happen.”

“And then they would have come after you again.”

“You sound just like
him
.” For the first time, Amaranthe peered over her shoulder at Books. “Are you actually condoning the murder of those enforcers? Wholt was just doing his duty—something I told him to take more seriously. He didn’t deserve to die for following orders.”

“That was his decision. When he put on that uniform, he agreed to risk his life for the city, for something he believed in. A lot of men die for nothing at all.”

“Books!” She stood and slashed her hand in exasperation. “You were married; don’t you know how this is supposed to go? The woman doesn’t want you to argue or try to solve the problem with logic. The woman wants you to commiserate with her. You don’t have to
fix
anything. Just stand there and nod and say ‘uh huh’ and ‘I understand.’ That’s all you’re supposed to do.”

She dropped her gaze and brought her clenched fist to her lips.
Get a hold of yourself, girl. You’re going to drive them all away.
She opened her mouth to tell him she appreciated him coming out, but he spoke first.

“Is that really what women…?” He prodded thoughtfully at his beard. “Hm, maybe that’s why my wife left. I always thought I was helping, but she never appreciated it. I never understood why.”

At least someone was having useful revelations tonight. She managed a faint smile for him. “Do they not teach these things at professor school?”