Basilard to leave them in the cell.
Basilard reentered, clutching a pen and paper. He scrawled a note:
Hollowcrest brought a shaman to break through the wards and has surrounded the house with a company of soldiers. He is waiting to negotiate with Arbitan in the Upstairs Parlor.
“What about Larocka?” Amaranthe asked.
More scrawling. No one knows.
“We could escape in the chaos,” Books pointed out.
“Probably, but where does that leave us?” Amaranthe asked.
“It leaves us escaped,” Akstyr muttered.
“And the emperor still in danger.” She turned back to Basilard. “Would it be possible to spy on the meeting in the parlor without being seen?”
Basilard’s hand rocked in a ‘maybe’ motion.
“Let’s try.”
Basilard found a lantern, led them back to the hall behind the kitchen, and eventually to a spiral staircase. Two floors up, they entered a series of attached rooms and a closet that turned out to be a secret entrance to a narrow passage. Dust-cloaked and cobweb-draped, it twisted through the house like an abandoned mine shaft. Amaranthe pinched her nose to stave off sneezes.
Basilard stopped at a wall comprised of wide wood panels. He put a finger to his lips for silence. He slipped a knife into a seam in the wall, then turned down the lantern. Blackness swallowed the passage, but the seam soon expanded as he eased the panels apart a couple inches.
Amaranthe pressed her face to the gap.
Hollowcrest stood by a large window, looking out at something-his troops perhaps. Gaming tables, sofas, and club chairs stood between him and the secret entrance. Kerosene lamps illuminated his side of the room, but no lights brightened the back half, and Amaranthe hoped she could observe without drawing attention.
No one else occupied the parlor yet, and only the crackle of a wood fire in a hearth on the far wall broke the silence.
Amaranthe chewed on her lip. Maybe she should talk to him, see if she could turn him into a temporary ally. He had men, a magic user, and every reason to want to stop Arbitan and Larocka.
A dark figure stepped out of the shadows behind the main door. Sicarius.
Amaranthe twitched with surprise. Hollowcrest, still facing the window, did not notice the movement. Sicarius glided around the furniture and stopped on a shaggy rug in front of the fire. His reflection appeared against the dark window. Hollowcrest’s startled jump was impressively high considering his advanced years.
“Sicarius,” he blurted.
Hands clasped behind his back, Sicarius regarded him without expression. Back to the fireplace, he had positioned himself so he faced Hollowcrest, yet kept the other door within view.
“Where have you been?” Hollowcrest said. “Didn’t you get my message? Did you know what that enforcer girl was doing? Why didn’t you kill her when I sent her to you? Never mind. That’s not important now. It’s good that you’re here. Forge must be eliminated. I want the whole insidious group terminated, Arbitan in particular.”
Amaranthe felt hope that Sicarius had not run straight to Hollowcrest after receiving that letter. Whatever the exact nature of their estrangement was, it seemed Hollowcrest’s promise of forgiveness had not alleviated it. She wondered who had originally broken whose trust.
“I do not work for you anymore,” Sicarius said.
Good.
Hollowcrest patted the air. “Just because we had a…disagreement a few years ago doesn’t mean we don’t still need you. I’ll drop the charges Sespian placed on your head, remove the bounty. The boy won’t be a problem.”
“Yes,” Sicarius said softly. “I understand you’ve been drugging him.”
“All we need you to do is help with Forge,” Hollowcrest said. “And then it’ll be as it once was. Simple, efficient times where the-”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Sicarius vaulted over a sofa, landed without a sound, and blended into the shadows behind the door again. When Arbitan entered, he gave no indication of realizing Sicarius was in the room.
“Hollow.” Arbitan poured a glass of brandy from a decanter. “I thought I told you to get out of the city.”
“I don’t take orders from common-born sewer rats.”
“Common. I assure you, I am anything but-where I come from.” Arbitan sniffed the brandy, took a sip, and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. He did not offer Hollowcrest a glass. “You’ve brought quite a few soldiers with you, I see. Wherever did you find a shaman gifted enough to slip your men past my wards?”
“You forced this on yourself,” Hollowcrest said. “Did you really think I would stand aside and let you replace my emperor and dictate policy for Turgonia?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t plan for your every contingency?” Arbitan smiled, a frigid smile that sent a chill through Amaranthe even though she was not the recipient. “This house is protected by more than wards.”
The creature.
“Your shaman is insignificant, and your army will not survive the night,” Arbitan said.
Hollowcrest snorted. “You’re bluffing. There’s no-”
Outside, someone screamed.
“Run!” multiple voices cried.
The smiling, superior expression that branded Arbitan’s face left little doubt to who was responsible.
Hollowcrest turned back to the window. His fingers came up and pressed against the glass, and his jaw dropped. More screams pierced the walls of the house, cries of pain and terror. Amaranthe’s stomach sank. Without looking, she knew what carnage Hollowcrest witnessed.
Curses in a foreign language rose over the din. The voice switched to screams, which broke off abruptly.
“Oops, was that your shaman?” Arbitan asked.
“What is that… thing?” Hollowcrest demanded.
“A pet.” Arbitan sipped from his glass. “I instructed it to eat your shaman first, but it’ll chase down and slay all your men shortly.”
Amaranthe wondered if this might be the best time to make a move. The creature was distracted, and Arbitan might not be prepared for an assault. Too bad the guards had taken her team’s weapons.
She scanned the room, searching for inspiration. Her gaze landed on the shadows by the door. Maybe if she charged out of the hidden passage, it would distract Arbitan-break the concentration he needed to weave his defenses-and Sicarius could sink a knife into his back. Of course, it might also see her incinerated by wizard fire or whatever magic Arbitan could throw.
She had to take the risk.
Only Sicarius’s eyes moved, watching the interplay between the two men. She willed him to look her direction, but as Arbitan lifted his glass again, seemingly oblivious to any threat, Sicarius blurred into motion.
One of his throwing knives whirled toward Arbitan’s back, and a second weapon appeared in his hand instantly. He raised his arm, poised to strike again.
Arbitan was not as defenseless as he appeared. Like the crossbow quarrel, the knife stopped before it sank into his torso.
It bounced away as if it had struck a stone wall and landed on the plush carpet with a soft thump. Amaranthe sagged against the panel. She, too, had hoped he wouldn’t have his defenses up here, in his sanctuary.
Sicarius’s arm drooped. He did not throw the second knife.
“Your pet is not as effective as mine, Hollow,” Arbitan purred. He glanced over his shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, assassin.” Arbitan turned his head to look at Amaranthe. “And the escaped prisoners lurking in the passage may as well come out too. Along with my treasonous Basilard.”
Scuffles of surprise sounded behind Amaranthe. After recovering from the shock of being discovered, she considered fleeing instead of obeying, but Arbitan’s sure gaze conveyed the futility of such an action. She pushed the panels farther apart and stepped into the parlor. Her team slunk after her. Basilard hung his head like a beaten hound.
Arbitan pointed for the group to join Sicarius.
