“Sir,” she said to the corporal who restrained her. “I can see you’re a man who appreciates the delicious taste of a fresh flatcake. My sweets use superior ingredients and-”
The corporal growled and jerked her around. He propelled her, not toward a jail cell, but toward the gate.
“How did you get in here? How many times have I told you people the fort is off limits to civilians? Sell your junk outside the walls if you must.”
“Sir, I protest,” Amaranthe said, as the corporal manhandled her through the gate. The two soldiers avoided glares the corporal sent them, no doubt wondering how they had let her pass. “How is a good businesswoman-and a loyal citizen, I assure you-supposed to make a living with such stringent rules? I have children in need of new parkas.”
“Not my problem.” The corporal released her with a shove.
“I’m going to complain to the emperor!”
“You do that.”
Thrusting her chin in the air, Amaranthe marched down the road away from the fort. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. There were still soldiers to avoid. Numerous men strode the snowy paths beyond the walls on some errand or another. If one of the soldiers who had captured her was about, it would mean trouble.
She had to reach the curve in the road ahead. Trees there obscured the view and would provide cover for her to run down to the lake. Only then would she relax.
Pounding boots thundered down the snow-cleared road behind her. Amaranthe winced. So close.
She turned, and a soldier bigger than Maldynado stopped before her. He was armed but by himself. Maybe she could…
“Two, please,” he said.
“What?” Amaranthe asked.
The soldier pulled out three bills. Relief made her smile genuine. She handed him two flatcakes. He gave her the money, a curt wave, and ran off, fingers peeling away the wrappers.
Amaranthe hurried down the road, certain she had surpassed her luck quota for the week. When she turned into the trees, she almost tripped over Sicarius. He was crouching on the balls of his feet, watching her approach.
“They let you go?” His gaze fell on the cakes and ranmyas clutched in her hands.
“Not intentionally.” An alarm bell clanged at the fort, and Amaranthe winced. “In fact, we should leave. Now.”
They ran down the slope and onto the lake trail.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting for nightfall so I could retrieve you.”
“Really? Like a rescue operation?” Touched, she smiled at him. “Is it possible the stodgy, emotionless assassin has perhaps grown to care about me?”
“You are needed to implement the final phase of the plan.”
Her smiled deepened. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it.”
“What?”
“You like me.”
“Since it’s your plan we’re following, it is logical to make a priority of your safety until Forge is thwarted.”
“Easy, Sicarius. If you’re not careful with all these affirmations of affection, I might assume you want to be friends.”
He gave her a sidelong look with the faintest hint of amusement seeping through his stony facade. “Did you warn the soldiers about the creature’s origins?”
“I tried. My new knowledge of magic only drew their suspicion.”
“We must focus on the emperor,” Sicarius said. “There’s nothing else you can do about this creature.”
“We’ll see.”
• • • • •
“Where’s Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked when she and Sicarius returned to the cannery.
She wanted to know if Akstyr knew anything about soul constructs, such as how to kill them. She peered past counters and drying bills but did not see him.
“Dunno.” Maldynado dropped the handle of the paper cutter to slice a new counterfeit twenty into existence.
“Nor do I.” Books was applying ink to the press. “I thought he was on watch.”
“No one’s on watch.” Amaranthe looked at Sicarius. “Can you check outside and see if there was a scuffle?”
Sicarius inclined his head and left.
“It’s not my fault,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe joined them. “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, but women like to blame things on me, so I figured I’d announce my innocence preemptively.”
“What type of things?” Books asked. “Their unwanted pregnancies?”
“Of course not. To father my offspring would be an honor. They know that.”
After trading eye rolls with Books, Amaranthe grabbed a pen and several sheets of paper. With stacks of counterfeit bills ready, it was time to see if her bluff would work.
She sat at a counter and penned a note:
Have a compromise that will benefit both our interests. Imperative we meet before the emperor’s birthday. Midnight three days prior in the scrapyard outside the Oak Iron Smelter.
Sicarius entered the cannery, and Amaranthe waved him over.
“Akstyr walked away of his own volition,” he said.
“Thank you for checking.” She pushed the note across the counter to him. “I’m in need of your artistic abilities.”
Silently, he sat across from her and read the note.
Amaranthe spread the crumpled reject she had removed from Larocka’s waste bin. “Could you make a copy of my note in her handwriting? And I need an identical note in Hollowcrest’s handwriting.”
She folded her hands on the counter and watched his face, half expecting Sicarius to deny knowing what Hollowcrest’s handwriting looked like, half expecting him to say nothing and simply stare at her.
He did give her a bland gaze, but picked up the pen and started writing. Both notes.
“The Oak Iron Smelter isn’t one of Larocka’s, correct?” His work complete, he set down the pen.
“No,” Amaranthe said. “A warrior caste family has owned it for generations; it should be neutral territory for all parties.”
Sicarius stood, but seemed to recall something. He withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Amaranthe. Remembering her wanted poster, she winced. What now?
She stared at the drawing and wasn’t sure whether to be amused or chagrined by the familiar image. “Maldynado, this one’s for you.”
“Eh?” Maldynado left the paper cutter and ambled over. “What do you-ho, I recognize that gorgeous fellow.”
“I imagine so,” Amaranthe said.
The wanted poster featured the picture the woman in the ink shop had sketched of him. This version came with a few words at the bottom: Maldynado Monticzhelo, Wanted Dead or Alive: 250 ranmyas.
“ Two hundred fifty ranmyas? That can’t be right.” Maldynado raked his fingers through his soft brown curls. “My last hair cut cost more than that!”
“I see you’re regarding this with the utmost seriousness,” Amaranthe said.
“It must be a misprint. Don’t you think it’s a misprint?” Maldynado gave Sicarius a pleading look.
Sicarius stared back without comment.
“Two-fifty.” Maldynado’s gaze shifted to Amaranthe. “Yours is for ten thousand! And Sicarius, they’re offering a million for him.”
“Surely you don’t put yourself in Sicarius’s league,” Amaranthe said, amused at Maldynado’s whining, despite
