for the house. A pretty lady to distract male customers earning too much money?
“How would you like to take your winnings and go off to have some fun?” The woman started to reach an arm around Sicarius’s waist, not daunted by the number of weapons sheathed there.
Without looking at her, he caught her wrist. “Leave.”
In the next breath, he pointed at the appropriate shells. The table masters revealed his correct choices and shared sighs with each other.
Sicarius pushed the woman away. She was smart enough to go.
Someone two rows back grunted and tipped forward, as if bumped hard from behind.
Amaranthe smacked Sicarius’s arm. “Might be-”
A pair of swordsmen shoved people aside and launched themselves at Sicarius’s back. Amaranthe had no time to draw a weapon. She threw herself into a roll at the men’s legs, hoping to distract them long enough for Sicarius to take action.
A boot slammed into her ribs. One of the men toppled, landing on her. She grunted and managed to jab her elbow into his jaw as she squirmed away. He dropped his sword, and, ignoring her, jumped to his feet and lunged toward Sicarius…in time to receive a dagger in the chest.
The other man was already dead on the floor, a throwing knife protruding from his eye.
The crowd fell silent, staring at Sicarius.
Hand pressed to her side, Amaranthe climbed to her feet. Sicarius raised his eyebrows slightly. She nodded. Her ribs would hurt tomorrow, but she would be fine.
He collected his weapons and cleaned them with unhurried precision. A couple of his coin stacks had toppled. He fixed them, straightened the bills, and told the table masters, “Begin.”
Bouncers came to collect the bodies. A new buzz started up in the crowd, though the people continuing to watch Sicarius play stood farther back. Good. More space made it easier to see attackers coming up.
One of the table masters flagged a bouncer down and whispered something in his ear. Also good. That ought to be the message to the boss. In the meantime, Sicarius’s stacks continued to grow.
“Why have you been assassinating people all your life,” Amaranthe whispered, “when you can earn this kind of money in a single night?”
Sicarius pointed out another series of winners. “Gambling houses exist to profit; they quickly get rid of people who win too much. But your plan implies you already know that.”
Amaranthe smiled and put her back to the table again, wincing as she bumped her ribs. She hoped the blood staining the rug would deter further bounty hunters.
“Next time just warn me,” Sicarius added. “I can handle two men without you emulating a footstool.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. It had been a thoughtless move. She had martial arts and swordsmanship training; she ought not end up in a tangled jumble on the floor.
She groped for a face-saving comment. “So, I should wait until there are six men before trying to help you?”
She must have sounded stung, because he looked away from the game to meet her eyes. She thought he might say something apologetic, or at least conciliatory, but a table master called for bets-others were cashing in on his success now too-and he returned his attention to play. Amaranthe went back to standing watch.
Soon more bouncers showed up, the two from the hallway and two new ones. The one who had been most talkative gave her a why-am-I-not-surprised-this-is-about-you head shake.
“Will you come with us, sir?” he asked Sicarius, his tone far more placating than earlier.
Sicarius removed his winnings from the table. He lacked space for it all and handed half to Amaranthe. She ogled the stack of ranmyas before stuffing them into pockets and her shirt. If the house let them walk out the door with it all, she could think of a lot of gear and supplies she could purchase for the team. Sicarius might even get his steam carriage.
The bouncers led them into the rear hallway, and Amaranthe forced her thoughts back to the present. The owner would be scheming to keep Sicarius from escaping with his earnings.
The hall spawned several other halls, and they turned and turned again. Closed doors lined the walls, all with locks. She fingered the key in her pocket. Maybe she should have taken the time to go outside and talk with Akstyr.
A shirtless young man walked out of the door at the end of the hallway, his hair tousled and bite marks on his neck. He ducked his head as he passed the bouncers and hastened through a doorway.
“Guess we know why the owner is too busy to talk to folks without an appointment,” Amaranthe muttered.
The talkative bouncer grunted in what might have been agreement. He knocked at the door.
“Send him in,” a woman said.
Him. Guess that meant Amaranthe was going to be reduced to furniture in the conversation again.
A pair of bouncers strode in ahead of Sicarius and Amaranthe, and the two others crowded after. The office inside was spacious, but not that spacious. Elbows bumped her, and someone trod on her foot. The scent of musk oil thickened the air.
Responding to some gesture Amaranthe could not see, the four bouncers lined up against the wall, two on either side of the door. Sicarius stood so he could watch them and the woman behind the desk without putting his back to anyone. Amaranthe stepped onto a rug in the center of the office.
The woman sat in a chair, posture perfect, graying hair in a bun, and not a wrinkle marring her khaki dress. She had plucked her eyebrows out and drawn precise thin lines in their place. She was…not what Amaranthe expected, and she glanced about, wondering if someone else-someone younger-might be in the room. Maybe her assumptions about what the shirtless man had been doing in here were incorrect.
The woman smiled, and, despite her prim appearance, it did have a predatory edge. Her gaze settled on Sicarius. Her green eyes and the paleness of her skin suggested she was not a native Turgonian, but no hint of an accent clung to her words when she spoke.
“Imagine my surprise,” she said, “at having the empire’s most wanted assassin stroll into my humble establishment tonight.” She surveyed Amaranthe, though no recognition sparked in those eyes, and she focused on Sicarius again. “I wouldn’t think you’d frequent such busy venues.”
“We came specifically to talk to you,” Amaranthe said. “Ms…?”
“Ellaya,” the woman said.
“Makes Sunshine?” Sicarius asked.
Amaranthe crinkled her brow at his response.
The woman smiled, showing teeth this time. “Yes, that is the name my mother gave me. How rare to find someone here who understands Mangdorian. But then… I shouldn’t be surprised. They must have taught you some before they sent you to my country.”
Amaranthe watched Sicarius for a reaction, though she should have known he would give nothing away. Did he know what the woman was talking about?
“You didn’t expect me to know about that, did you?” Ellaya asked, though she must have been guessing, since Sicarius’s face never changed. “The canaries have been chirping in this dreary coal mine of a city. It seems you were the one to wrong my people years ago, and now you’re here, attempting to alleviate my coffers of hard-won coin.”
“We simply wished to gain a meeting with you,” Amaranthe said, putting aside the mystery of Sicarius’s past in Mangdoria in favor of the current mission. “It seemed a more expedient way than others.”
“Then you’re willing to leave the coin you’ve won?”
Amaranthe hesitated. They could use that money. Ellaya had been polite thus far-she must respect Sicarius’s reputation enough not to make careless threats-but that might not hold out if she realized they meant to leave with the money.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to discuss the purpose of this?” Amaranthe dangled the key fob and thumbed it so it glowed.
“No. Do you intend to walk out with the coin, or not?”
“I won it abiding by the rules of the game,” Sicarius said.
The bouncers shifted and eyed each other uneasily.
“Perhaps we could reach an arrangement,” Amaranthe said. “We could use that money, but you’re reluctant
