“I know, you don’t need my advice on how to navigate battles, but women say things like ‘be careful,’ when we mean, ‘I care about you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.’ It’s our way of keeping feminine sentimentality to a minimum. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
Sicarius said nothing to that, though his gaze seemed to soften a tad.
The clouds had blown away, revealing a quarter moon. Amaranthe leaned back against the wall of the rail car and pulled her watch out again. Two and a half hours to the pass. “Maybe… once we have Sespian on our side… we can help him fix the empire and turn it into a place where you don’t feel compelled to kill people anymore.”
Sicarius sat back against the wall as well, this time letting his shoulder touch hers. “What would I do for a living?”
Amaranthe squinted at him, suspecting him of making one of his oh-so-rare jokes. With all of his skills, he could qualify for countless jobs. “I understand Maldynado is still acquainted with that lady who runs the male escort service. With your physique and agility, you ought to be able to entertain her clients effectively.”
“At what rate of payment?” he asked in his usual monotone.
The prompt and unexpected response made Amaranthe fumble her watch and drop it. Now, she knew he was joking. She thumped him on the arm and said, “Never you mind. If we fix the empire, you’re not entertaining anyone except me.”
Sicarius picked up the watch and pressed it into her hand. The warmth of his fingers brushing hers made her think of… Well, she wasn’t thinking of the mission.
Something clanked at the end of the coal car, and Amaranthe jerked away with a start. Had that been a door opening?
She sank deeper into their hollowed valley. Sicarius stayed low, but he shifted into a crouch.
“Corporal Kevelak?” someone called from the door to the first passenger car. “You up there?”
Across from them, Maldynado stirred as well. Amaranthe lifted a hand, hoping he saw it and wouldn’t take any action. She didn’t want anyone thinking it would be a good idea to impersonate the corporal. Nothing in the soldier’s voice sounded alarmed. For all he knew, his comrade had gone to water a bush and been left behind in Forkingrust. Amaranthe had a feeling the army would do a thorough search, but she hoped it would take time. It’d be far better for her plan if they could wait until the train reached the pass and the distraction of the blocked railway before her team had to make its move.
“You seen Corporal Kevelak, Sergeant?” the soldier called, louder this time. From the sound of his voice, he had poked his head over the lip of the coal car.
“What?” someone bellowed from the side door of the locomotive cab.
“Corporal Kevelak! Is he up there?”
“Not since we left Forkingrust,” came the return call.
“He was here, though, right? He handled the refueling?”
“Yes.”
After a moment, the door clanged shut again. The soldier had gone back inside, but whether to search for his colleague or alert a superior that something was going on, Amaranthe didn’t know.
She leaned close to Sicarius to ask him his opinion, but his hand covered her mouth as soon as she opened it. She squeezed his arm to let him know she understood the message. Be quiet.
Amaranthe tried to hear or sense whatever he’d heard or sensed. Wind blasted past the train, and the mounds of coal beneath her reverberated in synch with the wheels pumping below. She couldn’t detect anything out of place, but, from Sicarius’s vigilant posture, she assumed someone was coming from the other side.
She laid one finger on his wrist and turned her face toward him, so he’d know it was a question. He pressed two fingers against her wrist, then released her and disappeared over the side of the coal car.
Amaranthe figured he was going to skirt the outside, crawling along the moving train like a spider to come up behind the soldiers. She had better plan to handle the lead man.
Across from Amaranthe, Basilard and Maldynado had risen to crouches. Yara, back against the wall, looked like she meant to stay out of the way. Probably a good plan. Amaranthe waved to her men and pointed toward the locomotive, though she wasn’t sure they’d see the gesture in the poor light.
Coal crunched a few feet away, near the front of the car. A man came into view above Amaranthe’s hill of coal. Clad in the black uniform of the emperor’s personal guard, he loomed, a dark shape against the cloud-filled sky, his shoulders wider than a meter stick, his neck as thick as an oak tree. He had to be seven feet tall.
Crouched so low her butt skimmed the coal, Amaranthe hoped the shadows hid her. And she hoped she could surprise the guard. Because Maldynado and the others were farther back, she should move first. Out of habit, her hand drifted to her sword, but she caught herself. They were subduing people without injuring them here. That had to be the goal. That and not being crushed by the behemoth.
A second guard stepped into view. Correction, Amaranthe thought, two behemoths. They walked one after the other down the center of the coal car, unaffected by the wind or the train’s reverberations.
The first man drew even with Amaranthe’s hollow. They didn’t have lanterns, and they were moving slowly, their heads swiveling from side to side. Searching.
Amaranthe thought of the knockout gas. Would it work out here in the open air?
The first man stopped. The shadows hadn’t cloaked Amaranthe enough-he was looking straight at her. Too late to dig out the knockout gas.
The second man disappeared from view behind him. It happened so quickly, Amaranthe almost missed it. The head and shoulders were in sight, and then they simply weren’t.
The first man’s rifle shifted toward Amaranthe, but his comrade must have made a sound, for he glanced back. She didn’t hesitate. She might not get another opening.
Amaranthe skittered up the hill of coal in front of her, both to get closer to the guard and to escape the rifle’s sights. Before the man could spin to track her, she rammed a sidekick into the edge of the man’s knee. The blow might have sent a lighter opponent stumbling to the ground, but he merely growled and whipped his rifle toward her head.
Figuring he expected her to run or dodge to the side, Amaranthe ducked and lunged in closer instead. She turned sideways and rammed her elbow into his groin. He bent over with a grunt and dropped the rifle, but that didn’t keep him from reacting. His arms came down, attempting to grab her and crush her-or maybe hurl her from the car.
Amaranthe skittered between his legs and spun toward his back. He wasn’t as slow as she’d hoped, and he was already whirling about, his huge hand curled into a fist. She jumped and caught a handful of his uniform at the back of his shoulder, then scampered up his side like a mountain goat. Before he could recover and tear her off, she reached the top of the “mountain” and drove her elbow into the sensitive vertebrae at the back of his neck. Fear and nerves lent power to the strike, and he dropped like a sack of coal.
That was all she needed to do, for Basilard and Maldynado were there by then, swarming over the guard. While Maldynado forced the man into a neck lock, Amaranthe fished out a gag and bindings.
“What took you two so long?” she whispered.
“We stopped to watch,” Maldynado said, a grin in his voice. “You were all over him like a pack of cats on a saucer of cream. We didn’t want to make a mistake and hit you. Besides, you looked like you had him under control.”
“Of course, I did.” Amaranthe was glad the darkness hid the post-fight tremor in her hands. She wouldn’t want to face one of the emperor’s bodyguards on even terms. That one had probably been night blind, after being inside the cab with lanterns and a furnace, and had struggled to follow her movement. “Also, I think cats are a clowder, not a pack. Unless you’re thinking of large wild cats, in which case it’s a pride. I’m not sure if they’re cream zealots though.”
“Did you intend to sound like Books, there?” Maldynado asked. “Or was that an unfortunate mishap?”
“Er.” Yes, Amaranthe was fairly certain Books had been the one to share that tidbit of information with her. When nervous, she had a tendency to babble-or burble, as Sicarius said-but this wasn’t a good time for verbosity. “Never mind, let’s move on.”
A few feet away, the second bodyguard lay on his back, a gag stuffed into his mouth. Of course, nothing intimidated Sicarius.
But he’d disappeared. Into the locomotive?
