Amaranthe did not notice Sicarius move. Between one eye blink and the next, he was simply there, standing in front of Akstyr, blocking Tuskar’s path. Sicarius did not draw a weapon or posture threateningly. He merely offered his cold stare.
The gang leader sheathed his knife and propped his hip against the edge of his desk as if he had never thought to do more.
Akstyr looked at Sicarius with wide-eyed surprise. That turned into a smug smile when he faced Tuskar again.
Behind Amaranthe, men stopped talking and the room grew silent. Her skin crawled under the gazes that had to be focused on the confrontation. She resisted the desire to turn around and look. No doubt by design, Sicarius stood at an oblique angle so everything in the room fit in his peripheral vision. Amaranthe shifted her own stance.
“Perhaps,” she said, “if we’re done menacing each other, we can talk business.”
Tuskar curled his lip at her and sniffed twice. “You smell like an enforcer.”
“Is that a guess?” Amaranthe asked. “Or is olfactory career identification your special talent?”
Akstyr snickered. Tuskar glared.
Amaranthe put a hand on Sicarius’s shoulder. “Can you smell his occupation?”
“Assassin.”
She hid a grimace. Yes, Tuskar knew who they were, and he probably knew how much of a bounty hung over their heads.
“You are good,” she said. “I bet you’re popular at parties.”
Tuskar withdrew his toothpick and flicked it into a corner of the room where it landed in a pile of similar discards. He took the stack of papers off his desk, shifted through them, and pulled out two sheets. He slapped down the wanted posters for Amaranthe and Sicarius.
“We like to keep track of criminals with bounties on their heads,” Tuskar said. “You never know when we’ll chance across one and have the opportunity to collect. Never had someone dumb enough to come to us before. Sure is convenient.” Tuskar perused the documents. “Looks like you two are wanted dead. That simples things up. No need to capture you and force march you up to Enforcer Headquarters.”
The door creaked open. Two men with muskets stepped in, the barrels trained on Amaranthe and Sicarius.
She lifted her hand to her mouth and yawned widely. Tuskar frowned at her reaction. If only she truly felt that calm.
“May I?” Amaranthe gestured to the posters.
Brow furrowed, Tuskar handed them to her.
“Sicarius,” Amaranthe read. “Assassin. Crimes include but are not limited to: murdering Satrap Governor Urgaysan and burning his residence to the ground, stealing priceless documents and blowing up the First Imperial Museum, killing enforcers, sinking a navy ironclad, and slaying a platoon of imperial solders.” Amaranthe looked at Sicarius. “A whole platoon?”
“Yes,” Sicarius said.
“Was that all at once?”
“One night. In a swamp.”
The musket men exchanged worried glances. Others in the room shifted uneasily.
“Reward: one million ranmyas,” Amaranthe said. “Impressive. I imagine you get lots of would-be bounty hunters stalking you.”
“Yes.”
“And yet, you’re still alive. Based on what I’ve learned about you, I’m guessing those hunters are not.”
“A correct surmise,” Sicarius said.
In the back of the room, one of the knife fighters set his weapon down on a crate. He edged toward the door.
Amaranthe flipped to the second sheet of paper. “Mine isn’t so extensive, but this is my favorite part: illegal magic user.”
“That true?” one of the musket wielders asked.
Tuskar scowled at the speaker.
“Would Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest print it if it wasn’t true?” Amaranthe smiled.
She let Tuskar mull for a moment before speaking again. “My friend, with this many people, you could possibly take us down. But is the reward worth the lives you’ll have to sacrifice to get it?”
Tuskar opened his mouth.
“Including yours,” Amaranthe said. “Sicarius always goes for the leader first.”
“Always,” Sicarius said.
Fury leapt into Tuskar’s eyes, and his fingers snapped into a fist.
He was going to let them go-Amaranthe saw that-but she did not like what else she saw. The quickest way to humiliate a leader, and make an enemy for life, was to force him to back down in front of his troops. Maybe she could let him save face.
“But,” she said, “I’m sure you’ve found that it’s always smart to make powerful friends. Even more, it’s smart to have others know you’ve made powerful friends.” She arched her eyebrows and looked Sicarius up and down. “Wouldn’t you like to brag to your associates about how you sat down and chatted with the infamous assassin, Sicarius, the last time he was in town? Drank some applejack together? Went out hunting for women?”
Akstyr made a choking sound and watched Sicarius as if expecting him to strike her down for her audacity. When she glanced at him, however, Sicarius’s expression seemed no fiercer than usual. She even thought she detected a hint of amusement in the glance he flicked her. Her imagination, no doubt.
“And what’s it going to hurt,” Amaranthe continued to Tuskar, “if you imply you have his ear?”
She watched Tuskar’s face for a reaction. His eyes grew speculative, and his fist relaxed.
“I can see how that maybe would be a smart decision.” Tuskar plucked another toothpick off his desk and slipped it into his mouth. He eyed the men in the back of the room. A few of them nodded encouragement. “What’s the job you want done, girl?”
“Two messages delivered to two different people,” Amaranthe said.
“That sounds doable.”
They negotiated the details, and the three of them walked away without anyone else pointing weapons at them.
Back in the alley, Akstyr said, “I can’t believe they’re going to deliver your messages for free.”
Amaranthe caught Sicarius’s gaze. “I’m sorry about using you that way.”
“You are not,” he said.
“You’re right.” She grinned. “You’re my biggest asset. I can’t imagine not using you.”
“They don’t do anything for free,” Akstyr said, still staring up the ladder.
Amaranthe murmured to Sicarius, “Can you make sure our notes are delivered?”
He nodded and disappeared into the shadows. Amaranthe and Akstyr headed out of the gang’s territory, setting as brisk a pace as the snow would allow. With Sicarius gone, she wanted to escape the neighborhood as soon as possible. Too many faces peered at them through broken windows. A fresh blood stain splattered the snow in front of a stoop.
“We’re out of Black Arrow territory now,” Akstyr said, perhaps sensing her feelings.
“Good, I-”
Two men stepped out of an alley. They carried clubs fashioned from broken boards jutting with nails. Akstyr cursed. Though she had a sword, Amaranthe stopped a generous ten feet from them.
“Is there a reason you gentleman are blocking our way?” she asked.
“Not you.” One slapped the wood against his palm and pointed the weapon at Akstyr. “Him.”
The two men wore brands on the backs of their hands, human eyes with Xs through them. A rival gang.
“We heard you was using magic,” the bigger of the two said. “Magic ain’t allowed in the empire, and we sure not gonna stand for you Arrows using none. We gonna smash it outta you like a potato.”
“This man is working for me,” Amaranthe said. “I need him fully functional, not smashed like sort of food item.”
