today.”
“But not your friend, I hope. You do realize how much easier it’d be to clear your name if he wasn’t on your team, right? I know you like to see people as better than they are, but you must be aware of at least a portion of the heinous acts he’s perpetrated in his career. Even if you’re not, I’ll wager the emperor is.”
A click sounded, and Amaranthe pushed the door open. She did not respond to his comments. She was spending too much time with Sicarius.
Books stepped into a hallway after her. He hoped Vonsha was not simply recovering in bed and choosing to ignore the door. But the air held a chill, as if no one had been there that day to feed the stove.
He and Amaranthe padded through the hall and explored rooms. Sparse furnishings adorned the home, all of a lower quality than one expected from the warrior caste. Common woods with few ornaments comprised the chairs and tables. He did nod with approval at a well-appointed library that overflowed into other rooms. Even the hallway had bookshelves. By the front door, a stack of tomes leaned precariously on a boot bench.
Amaranthe’s fingers strayed toward the haphazard pile.
Books cleared his throat. “It’s probably unwise to clean the house you’re illegally trespassing in, assuming you don’t want the person to know you were there.”
“I’ve heard that.” Amaranthe clasped her hands behind her back. “Though, if people invaded my home, I’d view the intrusion with less animosity if they dusted while they were there.”
The house was not dirty by Books’s reckoning, but he did have the impression of someone who devoted more time to her internal world than the external one. He brushed a finger across an easel as he passed, admiring the beginnings of a landscape of the Emperor’s Preserve.
Amaranthe detoured into an office and checked a filing cabinet.
“Should we be prying into her personal life?” Books leaned against the doorjamb, frowning disapproval. “I suspect her of being a victim, not a criminal.”
“I’m not prying.” She flipped through files, reading the labels. “I’m snooping, an activity we discussed outside and of which I thought you approved.”
“It’s true I’m curious about her, but…”
“As for the rest, don’t you find it suspicious she was there, checking lot lines, at the same time we were investigating the adjacent parcel?”
“I doubt it’s coincidental, but I don’t find it suspicious,” he said. “Perhaps her family is being vexed by the same people who killed the appraiser.”
“Hm.” Amaranthe flipped through a dusty file she had pulled from the back. “Vonsha earned a lot of accolades in school and received her professorship at a young age. As Sicarius said, she was recruited by Imperial Intelligence to work on encryption keys during the war. Ah, this is interesting.”
“What?” His disapproval forgotten, Books joined her and peered over her shoulder.
“She was the first woman and the first civilian invited into the intelligence office at the Imperial Barracks, and she was quite the star. Lots of praise from Emperor Raumesys. Less from Hollowcrest. He probably couldn’t acknowledge that a woman might be useful. But then things changed when that Kyattese cryptanalyst started cracking her ciphers. She was under increasing pressure and her position was terminated after a final failure led to the Nurians gaining the upper hand. Looks like a permanent demerit was added to her record, and she wasn’t able to return to the University.”
“Permanent demerit?” Books asked. “It’s not her fault an enemy nation fielded an equally capable cryptographer. The Kyattese are known for academic achievements.”
Amaranthe flipped through more files from the past twenty years. “Since then, she’s made a living as a math tutor.” Her gaze lifted to take in the room. “Hard to imagine that job paying for this house.”
“If she’s warrior caste, she may have inherited it.”
“True.”
“I, for one, find her recovery from her falling out admirable. The emperor’s disapproval must have come with a huge stigma, social as well as professional. She’s an intelligent and fascinating woman.”
Amaranthe smiled. “You’re not falling in love after one evening with her, are you?”
“No.” He sniffed. “But, if I were, I’m sure there are worse people I could fall for.”
Amaranthe looked away, face unreadable. “Yes.”
A rattle came from the front of the house. The doorknob.
“Vonsha!” Books whispered. “We can’t let her find us trespassing.”
He jumped into the hallway while Amaranthe remained calm, replacing the files. The front door was still closed, but a shadow moved beyond a curtained window. Maybe there was time to flee out the back.
He raced down the hallway, toward the rear exit.
“Books, wait,” Amaranthe whispered after him.
He was already at the door. He flung it open and started through.
Amaranthe caught him by the shirt tail and yanked him back.
A crossbow quarrel thudded into the doorframe, passing so close it buzzed his eyebrow. He lurched backward, scrambling for the safety of the hallway.
Amaranthe shut the door and threw the bolt. “Vonsha would have the key.”
“Good point.” Books touched his eyebrow. His finger came away blood-free, but he still snorted in disgust. He kept waiting for Sicarius’s training to turn him into someone whose brain functioned during tense situations.
“I’ll check the roof and windows.” Amaranthe slid the dagger out of her hidden sheath and grimaced. “See if you can find me a decent weapon, please.”
“What kind of weapon am I going to find in a woman’s home? It’d be odd to see a sword-most ladies aren’t fighters.”
“Are you calling me odd, Books?” She jogged for the stairs.
“Eccentric, perhaps.”
“Just check, please,” Amaranthe called over her shoulder.
Books peeped through the small window in the back door. A shadowy figure lurked between two houses on the other side of the alley. He pulled the curtain across the window.
Hoping they had time, he trotted around the bottom floor, checking rooms. Nothing so obvious as a sword or musket perched on a wall. He headed into the kitchen and grabbed the fireplace poker leaning against the wood stove.
His wrist brushed the cast iron. It held a hint of warmth.
Books tapped the stove thoughtfully, an idea germinating. He peeked into the firebox, prodded the ashes with the poker, and unearthed a few orange coals. He tossed dried moss and kindling inside, then turned his attention to ingredient hunting. A canister on the counter held sugar. No problem there. As for the other ingredient…
He lifted a trap door in the back of the kitchen. A narrow stair led to a low-ceilinged root cellar with a packed-earth floor. Jars of pickled vegetables lined shelves, while bins of apples, potatoes, cabbage, and onions sat in the back. A few strings of salami hung from the ceiling. Books nodded. If Vonsha had cured the meat herself, she would have-there: a box on a shelf read “saltpeter.”
“Perfect.”
He grabbed it, returned to the kitchen, and selected a pan in a pot rack hanging from a thick wooden ceiling beam. He poured in sugar and saltpeter and placed it on the cooktop. Amaranthe came in to find him stirring his concoction.
“I’m fairly certain I said look for weapons, not make lunch,” she said.
Books handed her the fireplace poker.
“This is my weapon?” She arched her eyebrows. “Or are we skewering meat for kabobs?”
“It’s all I could find. Do you want my sword?” He plopped spoonfuls of the gooey brownish mixture onto pieces of paper. He grabbed a few matchsticks out of a box behind the stove.
“No, you keep it. We’re not getting out without a fight. There’s one watching the alley, one at the front door, and one on the roof.”
“Are they here for Vonsha? Or is it possible they recognized you through your disguise and are after your bounty?”
