you have connections with everyone in the city.”
“Quite, quite, the old boy actually got something right.” Avery assumed the edged smile again, this time only directed at Maldynado.
Maldynado sneered back.
“I’ll arrange the invitations,” Avery told Amaranthe. “Be careful on the Ridge at night though. There’s something hunting the streets.”
A boy with a bin came in and cleared their plates.
“Yes,” Amaranthe said, “I’ve read about it in the newspapers, but I didn’t think this neighborhood had seen any deaths.”
“It hasn’t,” Avery said, “but yesterday before dawn, Sassy Inkwatercrest said she saw a giant brown creature run across her yard and leap the ten-foot fence as if it were a street curb. Others on the Ridge have made similar claims over the last couple weeks.”
Amaranthe leaned forward. “Anyone able to identify it? Say for sure what it is?”
“Nobody knows. It’s nothing that’s been seen in the city before.”
Avery insisted on paying for the cider and pastries. Amaranthe thanked him and signaled to Maldynado it was time to go. She almost tripped over the dish boy as she left. She frowned at him, finding it strange he had lurked and listened to their conversation. After starting guiltily, he scampered into the kitchen.
Chapter 13
A s the wan winter sun dropped below the horizon, Amaranthe and Maldynado hopped off a trolley on Mokath Ridge. Mansions dotted the plowed streets, each on a park-sized lot with a view of the lake. On the sloping lawns, children skied, sledded, and hurled snowballs. A lovely neighborhood on the surface, but Amaranthe did not expect Larocka’s house to be so idyllic.
They strolled along the sidewalk checking addresses. Squirrels chattered in maple branches overhead, and one darting critter dislodged a clump of snow. It smacked Amaranthe’s cheek and slid down the front of her blouse. With an amused Maldynado watching, she wriggled and untucked to free herself of the icy intrusion.
“I hope that isn’t some indication of how the night’s going to go,” she muttered, smoothing her clothing.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Maldynado offered a lazy wink as he pointed out an errant button. “I rather enjoyed the show.”
After a brief glower, she checked to make sure she still had not dislodged the small pad of paper tucked inside her parka. If she had the chance to take illuminating notes tonight, she would not be unprepared. Her knuckles brushed against her grandfather’s knife-also tucked inside her parka. Note-taking could be dangerous.
“I wish we had Sicarius along,” she said.
“Why?” Maldynado tapped the emerald-jeweled hilt of his saber, a different weapon than he had worn to the Onyx Lodge-he probably had a sword to match every outfit. “I’m not big and intimidating enough?”
“You’re…big, and you do tower over people nicely. It’d just be reassuring to have Sicarius watching our backs. I didn’t realize the invitations would have our names on them.” She had almost handed Sicarius the second invite anyway, but Akstyr had implied the house’s guardian wards would detect name swaps.
“We’ll be fine,” Maldynado said. “These aren’t the kinds of people who loiter at Enforcer Headquarters, eyeballing the wanted posters.”
“I’m more concerned about the Forge folks than enforcers,” Amaranthe said.
“We have invitations. And we’re just going to their party to watch the fun. What could happen?”
“I’m not going for fun; I’m going to snoop.”
“Snoop? This morning you said you were going to observe.”
“Maybe it’s the enforcer in me, but I’ve always thought the terms have a great deal of overlap.” Amaranthe veered to avoid branches with more frolicking squirrels. They were fat. Someone in the neighborhood must run a nut buffet.
“Well, I don’t think Sicarius would fit in up here. These sorts of events have dress requirements.”
“Perhaps with the right costume,” she said.
“Not unless you could separate him from his knives. He sleeps with them, you know.”
“Does he?” Amaranthe asked. “I’ve yet to see him sleep.”
“I’ve yet to see you sleep.”
Amaranthe yawned. Too true. When she returned that night, she hoped to succumb to a twelve-hour slumber. The others could handle the press and watch shifts while she did.
“There it is.” Maldynado pointed to a mansion.
Like something from ancient history, the five-story structure boasted stone walls, arrow slits, turrets, and even a crenellated rooftop. Modern additions such as picture windows, glass doors, and new wings crafted from brick and timber suggested the building had seen numerous renovations over the years. They did little to dilute the impression that Amaranthe and Maldynado were visiting a fortress.
They headed up a long walkway with gas lamps burning at intervals. Flagstone steps led to a vast porch swept clean of snow. Waterfalls on either side of the entrance emptied into steaming pools, and the smell of lilacs wafted from them. Amaranthe rolled her eyes at the ostentatious display. If the house was any indication, Larocka was not in need of extra funds. Then why is Forge blackmailing Hollowcrest for tax breaks?
Before Maldynado could knock, the door opened. A majordomo dressed in a crisp red uniform held out his hand. His thick arms and the pair of long knives at his waist suggested he was as much security guard as greeter.
“Invitation, please,” he said.
Maldynado offered the envelope Avery had supplied. The majordomo opened it and inspected it as if forgeries were common.
No, we don’t counterfeit invitations. Only money.
“Very good, Lord, ma’am. The other guests are downstairs.”
A grand foyer opened before them, but the majordomo directed them to stairs directly to the right of the door. There was no chance for snooping around the mansion or even the main floor. They went down a long flight and turned a corner to travel another batch of stairs before reaching the bottom.
The cavernous basement reminded Amaranthe more of a construction zone than a chic entertaining venue. Pallets of bricks, slabs of limestone, a steam-powered cement mixer, and other lesser tools and materials cluttered the floor along the walls. Massive posts and reinforced steel beams supported the high ceiling. Vehicle doors almost as high stretched along the back wall.
More than a hundred people milled, gravitating toward a central pit with wooden bleachers on two opposing sides. Like Maldynado, many of the men bore swords, gold- or silver-gilded affairs they wore as a woman might jewelry. Women modeled flowing dresses draped with exotic furs such as grimbal, tiger, and black leopard.
On the way to join the crowd, Amaranthe and Maldynado skirted a second pit, a recent excavation with a mound of dirt piled next to it.
“Not done with your renovations yet, Larocka?” someone called.
Recognizing the name, Amaranthe searched for the speaker, or more specifically to whom he spoke.
“Not yet,” came the response, a female voice, “but before long, this place will be ready for two fights at a time and it’ll hold five times as many spectators.”
“We’ve been busy planning a big celebration for the emperor’s birthday,” a male voice added.
Amaranthe located the speakers, a couple with linked arms, just in time to see the man give the woman a knowing look. A big celebration indeed. The innuendo screamed at Amaranthe. He had to be in on the assassination threat. What had Sicarius called the business partner? Arbitan Losk, that was it.
Larocka and Arbitan were in their forties or early fifties. Though not beautiful, Larocka Myll oozed warmth and good cheer. Arbitan had a handsome face that drew smiles from the women, though his lifted chin gave him an unattainable feel.
“That’s who we’re here to observe,” Amaranthe murmured to Maldynado. “Let’s get closer.”
Before she could walk far, a bare-armed, bald man stepped in front of her. Scars crisscrossed his pale-
