Deadly Games

not, but Idon’t know of an ideal situation. I’m beginning to think ourcircumstances preclude those. But maybe it’s always been that way.If the legends are anything to go by, being a hero doesn’t meanbeing perfect. Being a hero means overcoming those imperfections todo good anyway.” There that sounded plausible. Or pompous. Was shetruly comparing the two of them to the great heroes of old?“ Anyway, I think Sespian is far more likely to admire someone whoeschews the easy solution, however efficient, in favor of the onethat does no harm. I’m sure of it.”

Sicarius said nothing at first, and shewinced in anticipation of a cold reaction. Surely thephilosophizing of a twenty-six-year-old woman could only make himsnort in derision. Inwardly anyway. He would never deign to be thatexpressive outwardly.

“I see,” Sicarius finally said. “And areyou?”

“Am I what?” she asked. Her own thoughts hadsidetracked her.

“More likely to admire someone likethat.”

Huh. Did he care what she thought ofhim? Enough that he might make a humane decision instead of apractical one? For her? She found herself reluctant to test thathypothesis, for she might be disappointed-and hurt-if it provedfalse down the road. “I know it’s the nature of women to try andchange men, but you don’t have to do anything on my behalf. I’mjust trying to help with Sespian. In my arrogance, I think I’m morelike him than you are, and I may have more insight into what wouldmake him…interested in knowing you.”

“Not arrogance. Fact. They’ve completed theircoitus. Let’s go.”

Amaranthe blinked at his abrupt switching oftopics, but she recovered and jogged after him. They skimmed downthe drainpipe, waited for a couple of locals to enter the eatinghouse, and crossed the street to the apartment building. Sheslipped past Sicarius to open one of the double doors and stepinside first.

Nobody occupied the shabby parlor, and halfof the gas lamps on the walls were out. She headed for a hallway atthe back. Doors lined both sides, and the staircase she sought roseat the far end. A faded gray runner had collected so much dirt, shebarely recognized the repeating sword pattern. She did know it hadbeen one of the early themes woven on the first steam looms, makingit a testament to the rug’s age.

At the base of the stairs, she stopped nearone of the working lamps, intending to check Sicarius’s uniform.She trusted him to get the details right, but she needed to know ifhe had any rank pins or badges that would mark him her superior. Ifso, she would have to amend her spiel to pretend she was takingorders from him. But, when she saw him in the light, she froze andstared.

Clad in the crisp, clean lines of a grayenforcer uniform, he looked…good. Handsome, yes, but heroic, too.Not like some assassin who lurked in the shadows, ready to jab adagger into someone’s back, but like someone noble who helpedpeople.

It’s just fabric, girl, she told herself, butthe thoughts brought a lump to her throat nonetheless. What mighthe have been had his childhood been different? Normal.

“Something inaccurate?” Sicarius asked.

“No.” Amaranthe cleared her throat. “No,you’ve got it right.” She lifted a foot and placed it on the firststair, but paused again. “Do you-or did you ever want to besomething else? For an… occupation? When you were a childmaybe?”

Anyone else would have given her a perplexedfrown over such a random question. He…gazed at her without a hintof his thoughts. Floorboards creaked in a room nearby. A muffledconversation went on behind a door. In the hallway, he neithermoved nor spoke. She searched his eyes. Did he spend even half asmuch time wondering what she was thinking as she did wondering whathe was thinking?

“Never mind,” Amaranthe said. “I just meantyou’d be…believable as an enforcer.”

She headed up the stairs.

“A soldier,” Sicarius said quietly.

Amaranthe halted. “You daydreamed of being asoldier?”

“When it was necessary for my focus to beelsewhere, I thought of it occasionally.”

He caught up with her and kept climbing,perhaps considering the conversation over. Focus to beelsewhere. As in to block out the pain of some torturouschildhood training session? He did not expound, and she did notask. She matched him, and they ascended the steps side by side.

“Like Berkhorth the Brazen?” she asked,wanting to leave him with better thoughts than of some past need towill his mind elsewhere. “The third century general who was sogifted with a blade that an entire city surrendered en masse whenthey saw him walk up with a single squad of soldiers?” They roundedthe second-story landing, and she kept talking, warming to the ideaof Sicarius as the legendary hero. “The man so fearsome that noneof the soldiers guarding that city realized his squad was coveredin blood and wounds and had only a single, battered sword betweenthem because they’d just escaped capture and torture?”

Sicarius slanted her a faintly bemused look.“Starcrest.”

Her toe bumped a step, and she caught herselfon the railing. “Fleet Admiral Starcrest? Really? I picture youmore as a warrior general than a brilliant naval strategist.”

They reached the third floor and anotherempty hallway.

“You believe I lack intelligence?” Sicariusasked.

Amaranthe jerked a hand up. “No, no.” It hadbeen some time since he had thrown a knife at her, and she did notwant to give him a reason to consider it again. “It’s justthat…ah, you lose to me three out of four times when we playStrat Tiles.”

“Because you cheat.”

“How do I cheat?” she asked, trying to readhis face to see if he was irked or merely giving her a hard time.She never should have given him permission to tease her.

“You talk,” Sicarius said.

“Talking isn’t cheating.”

“It is when you seek to wheedle my strategyfrom me under the guise of learning from my greaterexperience.”

She blushed. She hadn’t realized he sawthrough that so easily. Though it had worked.… Several times.

“I should be flogged, no doubt,” Amaranthesaid.

A rare gleam of humor entered his eyes.“Perhaps.”

Amaranthe counted doors until they reachedthe flat she had been observing, the one she hoped belonged toRaydevk and his wife. The building could very well house otherfamilies with two young sons.

She pressed an ear against the door beforeknocking; she did not wish to interrupt a second round oflovemaking. Voices murmured, male and female, the words too low tomake out. They did not sound ardor- filled.

She knocked. Out of habit, she straightenedher uniform and patted down her bun. Looking the part of aprofessional enforcer might no longer be a requirement, but sometics failed to die.

The door opened, and a moon-faced womanleaned into the gap. When she spotted the uniforms, her eyesbulged. Even a rookie could have interpreted the guiltywe’re-caught expression.

Amaranthe stuck her foot into the gap, lestthe woman’s first instinct be to slam the door shut and lock it.The woman stepped back, but bumped against one of the piles offurniture, boxes, and clutter that were used to delineate separatespaces in the single room.

“Peaceful evening,” Amaranthe greeted. “I’mCorporal Lokdon.” The name was sewn on her name tag, so she darednot change it, but she said it quickly on the chance the woman readthe newspapers. Amaranthe nodded to Sicarius. “And this is CorporalJev.” Or so his uniform said. “We have a few questions for yourhusband, ma’am.”

“Who is it, Pella?” a man, presumablyRaydevk, asked. “One of the boys? They weren’t supposed to comeuntil nine.” He snickered. “Or is it old Ms. Derya complaining thatthe fire escape isn’t a suitable place for sex play? Again.”

Since the woman-Pella-seemed stunned withindecision, Amaranthe pushed the door open. The smirk on theminer’s face dropped. He held a book-a journal? — in his hands, andhe hid it behind his back. Yes, the guilt hung in the air like smogaround a factory. Though that meant it was probably good that shehad come, it also made her fairly certain these weren’t themasterminds behind…anything.

“Mister Raydevk?” Amaranthe asked. “We have afew questions for you.”

“I’ve done nothing illegal,” he said.