did he have to feel guilty about? Maybe it bothered him that it’d taken days to catch up with her and that she’d been tortured in the meantime. If so, that wasn’t his fault. She was the fool who’d gotten herself thrown out of the dirigible and washed up onto the beach where Pike and his men happened to be loitering.
“It’s not that bad now,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius eyed her, and she remembered that he’d seen her sans clothes.
“Did Pike have a shaman?” he asked.
“A concoction that a shaman had made.”
Sicarius grunted. “Advances in Science.”
Amaranthe tried to decide if there was bitterness in his tone. Did he know about her newfound knowledge of his past? He must suspect. Would he be concerned that she’d think less of him? Or had he long since put the experiences behind him? A selfish part of her wanted to remind him of the indignity, if only so he’d be more understanding when she admitted her failure. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I… understand you were as much his victim as his student.”
Sicarius’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Not that you’re worried about it, but I wouldn’t… judge you for anything that happened back then.” Amaranthe paused. When she didn’t receive a response, she lightened her tone and said, “Your own personal shaman, eh? I often wondered how you’d gotten so far in your career without gaining any scars. Until you met me, anyway.” She waved toward his back and the soul-construct claw marks that lay beneath his shirt.
“Yes. The wounds were healed by an expert.” His tone had grown unreadable.
Fearing she was angering him, she finished with a soft, “The ones on the outside, anyway, eh?” and resolved to leave it there.
Sicarius nodded and turned dark eyes that had grown somber in her direction. He came around the fire to sit on the boughs beside her. Amaranthe realized that, while she was talking about him and his internal scars, he must think she referred to herself and what she’d suffered. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. For so long, she’d dreamed of him lowering his defenses and letting her see what lay beneath that flinty exterior. Now, he was finally doing it when she least deserved it. She wanted to bury her face in her knees and cry.
“Before you take up the hobby of offering ministrations-” Amaranthe’s voice cracked, so she pointed to the canteen and rag, giving herself a second to recover, “-you should know I… may not be deserving of your care.”
His eyebrows dove for his hairline. It was the greatest indication of surprise she’d seen from him. She tucked it away, along with the image of his eyes full of concern, to remember later, in case his icy, expressionless demeanor returned soon.
“I… did my best,” Amaranthe said. “I don’t mean to make excuses, but I want you to know I am disappointed in myself. You always think you’re tough before you’ve been tested and that you’re too smart to be tricked.”
“Of what do you speak?”
Right, Amaranthe thought, get to the point. As Basilard said, cleaning a fish didn’t get any more pleasant for having put the task off.
“I resisted Pike, but Ms. Worgavic’s assistant had some Kyattese device that got into my head and… ” Amaranthe poked at some of the needles on the boughs beneath her. “I didn’t know how to thwart it. By now, Ms. Worgavic may know and perhaps all of Forge does. Pike certainly did.” She risked a glance at Sicarius.
He wasn’t giving much away, but she got the feeling that he wasn’t certain what she was talking about. He’d heard Pike, hadn’t he? The suggestion that Sespian had never been meant for the throne?
“They know Sespian is your son and not the rightful ruler of Turgonia,” Amaranthe said.
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“You did? I mean, I thought you should have, but you didn’t react. You didn’t… ” Amaranthe swallowed. “Aren’t you… angry with me?”
The long look Sicarius gave her reminded her of those she’d often received from the men upon announcing her crazy schemes, the ones where they wondered if her brain existed in the same world as theirs. “You are the one with the right to anger,” he said.
“Uhm?”
“You were captured because of me. You endured torture because you held my secrets. All along, your difficulties in achieving your goals-in earning your exoneration-have come because you’ve chosen to associate with me, because you’ve been trying to help me achieve my goal.” Sicarius picked up a branch and prodded at the fire. “In the beginning, I stayed because I thought you could help me with Sespian. Later, when you ceased to simply be a means to an end for me, I thought to leave because I knew I was making your journey more arduous, but I found myself unable to walk away. I… ”
Amaranthe had so rarely seen him uncertain about anything. She found herself holding her breath, waiting for his next words as he nudged one half-burned log closer to another.
“Though I have studied psychology and am familiar with the notion of love, it has always been an academic familiarity, not a personal experience. Perhaps because of this, your loyalty has perplexed me at times. I have not always… appreciated it as I should have. Or, more correctly, I have not always… demonstrated my appreciation of it. But I have appreciated it.”
Sicarius captured her gaze with his, and Amaranthe had to fight not to melt into a puddle in his lap. Easy, girl, she thought, he’s not declaring his love. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d just said he didn’t know how to feel love. But from him, appreciation was something, wasn’t it? Especially if he’d never appreciated anyone else…
Sicarius seemed to notice he was fidgeting with the logs and laid down his poker. “I have on occasion admonished you for impulsive actions.”
“I’ve noticed,” Amaranthe said dryly, then wished she hadn’t said anything. He was speaking of feelings, for the first time ever, and she was rewarding him with irreverence. “I’ve deserved it,” she added in a more serious tone.
“My reaction, upon finding out that Forge was responsible for implanting Sespian with that device… ” Sicarius’s expression remained neutral, but he took a deep breath, as if struggling to calm himself in the face of the memory. “I had the impulsive thought that I could forgo playing Tiles with Forge in favor of destroying the organization all at once. Or, if that wasn’t possible, I wished to hurt them badly enough that they would consider going after Sespian too much of a risk.”
“I know. I don’t have any children, but I’m sure I would feel similar frustrations if I did. Perhaps not to the extent of, er, slaying people, but I can understand impatience and… ” Why couldn’t words ever come out in an intelligent, flowing manner when she spoke to him on important topics? Amaranthe sighed and scooted closer to lay a hand on his forearm. “I might be… distressed by some of your choices, and I don’t expect I’ll ever stop trying to convince you to use more humanitarian means, but I’m not angry with you, nor have these events changed how I feel about you.” There, that sounded halfway decent. Didn’t it?
Sicarius exhaled a long, slow breath, and Amaranthe wondered if he’d actually been concerned about that, about what she would think in the aftermath of Pike’s attention. She patted his arm and leaned against him.
“I may never understand why you value the lives of those who have declared themselves your enemies, but… ” Sicarius slipped an arm around her back and pulled her closer. “I am sorry that my choice resulted in pain for you.”
Amaranthe felt her eyes widen so far they were in danger of plopping out of her head and into his lap. He had never apologized to her. She’d never heard him apologize to anyone. From him, it was almost… better than a proclamation of love.
“Thank you.” Amaranthe leaned her head against Sicarius’s chest. “I’m sorry you had to endure Pike’s… cruelty as a boy. No one should have to deal with something like that, much less a child. He’s one enemy I’m relieved to see dead.”
Sicarius did not respond. If it had been someone else, she might have wondered if he’d fallen asleep, but she doubted he would relax that completely while out in the wilds. Or anywhere.
“Are you the one who gave him that scar?” Amaranthe asked.
“Yes.”
Ah, there he was. “The boy got old enough to decide what he would and would not endure?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
Amaranthe tilted her head to gaze up at his face. “You know… when you have a woman snuggled in your arms, that would be an appropriate time to open up and tell stories.”
