ago. If Sicarius had been able to follow the craft somehow, he would have found a way on board by now. And he hadn’t.
The slit on the crate door slid open. Amaranthe hurried to wipe away her tears, though it couldn’t be Pike. He always had the machine yank her out of her prison; he didn’t crouch down to chat through the door.
“Amaranthe?” Retta asked hesitantly, as if fearing she might have passed on.
“I’m still here,” Amaranthe croaked, wondering if she dared hope her last words to Retta had somehow meant something.
“I have a question for you.”
“Unless it’s a new one, I decline to answer.”
Retta knelt beside the crate and leaned close, tilting her head as if to hear better. Amaranthe knew her voice was weak but couldn’t manage a stronger one.
“Why did you leave school to become an enforcer?” Retta asked.
A new question after all. One that surprised Amaranthe because it didn’t have anything to do with… anything. At least it didn’t seem to. It must though. Random curiosity wouldn’t have brought Retta here to voice questions.
“Why do you ask?”
“I just need to know.”
“My father-”
“I know that’s what you tell everyone,” Retta interrupted, “but Ms. Worgavic was right. If you’d wanted to finish school and continue on in the world of business, you could have found a way. Why didn’t you? Why choose the enforcers over a chance to craft your own destiny?”
Hm. For whatever reason, Amaranthe had been in Retta’s thoughts. That last talk had seemed scripted, as if Retta were only there because Ms. Worgavic told her to question Amaranthe. Now, though, perhaps Ms. Worgavic was gone, off to that meeting, and Retta could ask her own questions.
Amaranthe considered her answer carefully. The truth, the one she had once told Hollowcrest when he’d asked a similar question, probably wouldn’t win her Retta’s favor. Had she known what exactly the girl wanted to hear, she would have been tempted to provide the appropriate answer, even if it were a lie. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what Retta wanted to hear.
“I’m not… against the notion of capitalism,” Amaranthe said, “and I believe it’s possible to do good, both by providing a useful product or service and by putting the money one acquires along the way toward a noble purpose, but as we entered our latter years of study, I came to realize business wasn’t for me. I’d always competed at the races, and I preferred a more physical lifestyle. More than that, I wanted to help people. I wanted the satisfaction that comes from helping people. I like knowing that I matter, that the work I’m doing matters. I also wanted… to be someone history remembers. I thought I could earn that by becoming the first female enforcer chief in the empire. I didn’t want money, or business success, just immortality of a sort.”
Amaranthe waited for Retta to laugh or belittle her-no immortality for you now, girl, just a slow death at the end of Pike’s knife. Instead, she said, “It’s interesting that you didn’t start to gain any fame until you broke away from the enforcers and became an outlaw.”
“That is true,” Amaranthe said, still wondering what Retta wanted.
“My parents forced me to go to that school, to follow in my sister’s path, even though I had no interest in business myself. I wanted to study history and archaeology and explore the world, to see what the past could teach us.”
Amaranthe grunted encouragingly.
“When Ms. Worgavic offered me the chance to do all I wished to do, if only I worked on her behalf, I saw my opportunity. I could study as I wished and see the world, and the apprenticeship would please my parents as well. It seemed ideal.” Retta settled onto the floor, only her shoulder in view as she leaned against the crate door, her gaze toward a distant wall. “But when you tie your dreams to someone else’s wagon, and you agree to be bound by their rules, you’re never truly free. All the success you achieve is ultimately the result of someone else doing you a favor. And if that wagon starts down a course you wouldn’t choose, it may be too late to untie yourself. I wish… I’d been more patient and found a way to do it all on my own.”
“There’s still time,” Amaranthe said. “You’re young. Start now.”
Retta turned sad eyes in her direction. “I know too many of their secrets. They wouldn’t let me walk away.”
Amaranthe remembered worrying the same thing about Sicarius once, that he’d never let her walk away because she knew his secrets. How fortunate she was that she hadn’t wanted to leave him.
“If you let me walk away,” Amaranthe said, knowing full well that it was too early in this newfound kinship to make requests, but knowing too that she didn’t have the luxury of time, “perhaps my team and I can rock the wagon enough that the drovers wouldn’t notice someone slipping away.”
Retta shook her head slowly. The sadness in her eyes deepened, and that disturbed Amaranthe more than a snort or a “nice try” would have.
“Even if I didn’t fear reprisal, I can’t betray Ms. Worgavic. She’s done everything for me that she said she would, and, wishes for the future aside, I’ve benefited handsomely from the association.” Retta placed her hand on the crate door. “The only way I can release you is if you tell me what everyone wants to know. Ms. Worgavic said she’d let you go if you did, so I wouldn’t be betraying anyone. I could do it now, in the middle of the night, when nobody would be around who might… override Ms. Worgavic’s wishes for your continued existence.”
Amaranthe laid her head on her knees, the tears threatening to swallow her eyes again. She was tired of the fight and of the pain, and was more tempted than she would admit by the offer. “I can’t,” she whispered and was glad when Retta left without pressing further.
Chapter 8
They don’t make statues of people who walk behind others. You have to walk out in front.
The words floated through Maldynado’s head, though he wasn’t sure where they came from. An indignant snort came to mind-he’d tried to lead the way, to walk out front, and what had happened? He’d gotten himself and his comrades captured. Maybe killed. Nothing but darkness surrounded him. Was this death?
Something prodded Maldynado in the ribs. Hard.
In the distance, a woman said, “Now, now, no need for that. Don’t leave him with any more scars. He already looks battered for my tastes.”
Mari? Maldynado couldn’t tell. His ears seemed to have water in them.
“Not mine,” said a second woman, practically purring as she spoke. “Kill the others if you wish, but let’s bring him along. We’ll be on the river for several days, and I wouldn’t mind a cabin boy to entertain me.”
Maldynado managed to get his eyelids working. Not that the view was exciting. The corner of something stone filled his vision. The bench, he realized. He lay flat on his stomach, apparently where he’d fallen. He tried to roll over, to get a look at the speakers, but ropes bound his hands behind his back. When he attempted to move a leg, he found his lower limbs also immobilized with his ankles crossed, pulled up into the air, and tied to the ropes constraining his wrists. Thick moist cotton filled his mouth. A gag. How fun. A quick glance down his body assured him that they’d taken his rapier and knife.
“That is tempting. Ravido needn’t know whether he died here or at the end of our trip downriver. The boy’s not very bright, so I doubt if we’d have to worry about him masterminding any escapes.” The woman cackled.
Yes, it was definitely a cackle, a high-pitched one that ended with a snort. Maldynado remembered it well. Mari. The other voice didn’t nudge his memory with a sense of familiarity.
“We can keep him tied up to make sure,” the second woman said. “Though I’ve heard he’s skilled in the bedroom, so it’d be a shame not to give him free use of his hands.”
Yes, it would, Maldynado thought. He remained still while the women spoke, since they seemed to be working themselves up to the idea of taking him with them on the Glacial Empress. He’d be happy to play along as lover-slave until an opportunity to escape arose. Yes, escape. He dearly wanted to tell them to slag off and that he was bright enough to plan such a thing, though it was hard to boast of one’s intelligence when one was trussed up
