just a government; it’s a way of life. Our citizens know they’re a part of something greater than them. Without the empire to define an ideology for them, they would be lost. Take that away and the next zealot with a vision would end up creating something with all of the tyranny and none of the benefits. Sespian’s idealistic world doesn’t exist. It can never exist as long as men live in it.” Hollowcrest returned his glasses to his nose and curled his lip. “Nineteen year olds. They shouldn’t be allowed to tie their own shoes much less rule a nation.”
Amaranthe groped for an argument that would sway the old man. It was hard because she wasn’t sure he was entirely wrong. But Sespian wasn’t wrong either. These two stubborn men ought to be working together to find a middle ground, not trying to force their visions on each other.
“I’m ready, sir,” the surgeon announced.
“It’s not too late,” Amaranthe said, forcing herself to meet Hollowcrest’s now-withdrawn gaze. “You don’t have to do this. I’m loyal to the emperor, but have no designs on his future. You don’t need to kill me, and you could stop drugging him-involve him in his own rule. You make some good points. Maybe his enthusiasm just needs to be tempered with your experience, not stifled by it. He’s smart. He’ll learn in time. You have to give him a chance.”
Hollowcrest did not immediately reply. Amaranthe had no reason to think her words would mean anything to him, but she found herself hoping anyway, for her own life and for the emperor’s.
“Once battle has been engaged,” Hollowcrest said, “you cannot call back your armies and say never mind. You are committed. There can be only victory or defeat.” He nodded to the surgeon and said, “Go ahead,” before leaving.
“The emperor’s not an enemy to be made war upon,” Amaranthe called after him. “He’s a man.”
Hollowcrest’s soldiers stayed behind. That left five guards plus the surgeon. Not good.
Two men forced her to her knees. One unlocked her shackles to free her arm for the surgeon. Though she had no hope of escaping, she elbowed the guard in the gut and lunged for the gate. Another simply caught her and threw her down, forcing her back against the cold floor.
“This will go easier if you relax,” the surgeon said.
Amaranthe eyed the jar in his hands. Inside, the malignant black bug bounced around, reminiscent of both wasp and lizard. Its wings flapped, and its agitated tail hammered at the glass with audible ticks. Strange that such a healthy-looking bug could carry a disease that would kill her.
“What is it?” she asked morbidly.
The surgeon loosened the jar’s lid. “The desert nomads call them Fangs. They transmit the infection with their bite.” He cocked his head and studied her as if she were an exotic fungus growing on a damp wall. “It will be interesting to examine your cadaver and see if the disease affects women differently than men.”
“Interesting. Right.”
The surgeon pushed up her sleeve. A part of Amaranthe wanted to face the moment with dignity, but when he removed the lid and set the mouth of the jar against her skin, fear surged through her. She twisted and jerked her arm away.
The surgeon cursed and flung the lid back on before the insect could escape. “Hold her!”
“Sorry, sir. She’s stronger than she looks.”
Another joined the first two, leaving a guard on her legs and one on each arm. The surgeon descended, ready with the jar again.
She tried to thrash free, all sense of strategy forgotten in pure desperation. Despite her frenzied struggle, Amaranthe felt the bite of the insect.
At that point, she deflated. Tears formed in her eyes.
“You can let her go.” The surgeon screwed the lid back on and returned the jar to the cupboard. “She won’t fight now. There’s no point, eh?”
He was right. Amaranthe became as inert as the wheezing forms on the cots. When the guards released her and backed up, she made no lunge to her feet. Their heads receded, and she only stared up at the reinforced concrete ceiling.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” the surgeon said in parting. “There’s water in a jug over there.”
Amaranthe did not move her eyes to follow his pointing arm. A part of her mind registered the clank of the steel gate shutting, the throwing of the lock. The insect bite burned, and a hot tingle spread toward her shoulder.
So, this was defeat.
She had always imagined death would come at the end of some criminal’s sword during a battle for a worthwhile cause. Never had she pictured dying amongst strangers, forgotten by the world. Was anyone even wondering where she was? She had no family in the city, but surely some of her enforcer comrades would be curious why she had disappeared from work without a word.
What about Sicarius? Would he wonder what was happening to her? No, he had predicted she would end up in the dungeon. And why not? She was an amateur next to him. She had walked into Hollowcrest’s office without any sort of plan. What had she expected would happen? That she would talk her way out of a death sentence and get Hollowcrest to stop drugging Sespian while she was at it?
After a time, Amaranthe grew bored of staring at the ceiling and feeling sorry for herself. She still had a reason to escape. Even if she was going to die, she could tell Sicarius what she had learned.
She staggered to her feet and plucked her hairpins from her sagging bun. The lock was set into the corridor- side of the door, which made it awkward to probe. It only took a moment to discover her pins were too large to reach the tumblers in the back. Opening that door would take a key or a professional set of lockpicks. She had neither.
While mulling her next act, she took some water to the men on the cots.
They smelled of urine and sweat, and cracks like canyons marred their lips. The men were an unsettling preview of her own last hours, and she wanted to crawl into the corner as far from them as possible. Instead, she tried to get them to drink. One opened his eyes briefly, but stared through her, not at her. She took his hand. With the splotchy rashes covering his skin, it felt like rust-licked metal under a summer sun. She fumbled for something comforting to say. All she could think of was how soon this would be her.
A smooth patch on the man’s hand drew her attention. She rotated his arm. A gang brand marked his skin. The Panthers. He was one of Mitsy’s. Amaranthe checked the other two men. They bore brands for the Black Arrows, another gang in the city.
“They’re using our own people,” she whispered, chilled.
One of the men sighed, exuding tangible pain.
“I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you,” Amaranthe said.
She wished for a book or something to read aloud to them. The thought triggered the memory of the note she had stolen from Hollowcrest’s office. She dug it from her pocket.
Hollowcrest, you said the emperor was under your control. Your puppet hasn’t made any of the changes we discussed, primarily to exempt key businesses from taxes in order to foster growth. Forge also demands a voice in the government. The empire is a defunct warrior aristocracy out of touch with the modern world. Your recalcitrance forces us to make threats. If the emperor does not pass the laws we have requested, he will be eliminated during his birthday celebration. The people will not accept you as a ruler. Since Sespian is the only Savarsin left who claims royal blood through both paternal and maternal lines, he is the only legitimate heir. His death will create civil war, giving us the opportunity to back a more amenable prospect.
How do we go forward? The choice is yours.
– Forge
Amaranthe slowly folded the note and returned it to her pocket. She dropped her chin to her chest. Not only was Sespian being drugged, but his very life was at stake.
She could not imagine Hollowcrest giving in to those demands, not after that lecture he had given her. He was warrior caste through and through, and he would only raise his hackles at the idea of government power for businesses. But if he did not give in to this Forge group, the emperor’s life could be forfeit.
Amaranthe slammed her palm against the wall. I can’t die now.
More than ever, she had to escape and warn Sicarius. If the emperor truly meant something to him, perhaps he could be counted on to pass on this information to someone with clout. Even if she died, perhaps the ripples from the pebble she tossed in the lake would create change by the time they reached the shore.
