He seemed to be speaking a lot. Maldynado feared he had things backward: wasn’t Brynia supposed to be answering questions?
“Though it’s sweet that you want to protect him from a wanton woman’s charms,” Yara said, “I don’t think you need to be concerned.”
“Why not? When I was his age, I would have been first in line to, ah… ”
“Go spelunking in her cave?”
Maldynado groaned and rubbed his face. Why did he have a feeling that ill-advised line would be etched into his urn after his funeral pyre?
“I think his heart is taken,” Yara said.
Maldynado’s hand dropped from his face so fast it smacked the railing. “What? By whom? He’s been out of town for months, and there’s nobody out here.”
Yara’s eyebrows elevated.
“I mean, not no body, but, er… ” Bloody dead ancestors, had Amaranthe been right? Was Sespian competition for Yara?
“It’s Amaranthe, you twit.”
Maldynado blinked slowly. “That doesn’t make any sense. They’ve barely spent any time together, and she’s… well, she’s pretty enough but not exactly trip-over-your-toes-and-fall-in-love-at-first-sight gorgeous. Especially not when she’s running around in blood-and grime-spattered military fatigues.”
“You’re being all kinds of flattering tonight, aren’t you?”
Maldynado rubbed his face again. Maybe he should go down to the engine room and find a tool to rivet his lips shut.
“He hasn’t confessed having such feelings out loud,” Yara said, “but, while we’ve been up in the wheelhouse, he’s mentioned being concerned about her fate often. If you’re still trying to get him to bond with you, maybe you could give him tips for attracting older women.”
Maldynado thought of Books’s insinuation that Amaranthe and Sicarius had some sort of relationship and grimaced, though his thoughts quickly shifted to Yara. “Tips? I wouldn’t have thought you’d admit that I have any expertise in that area.”
“A week ago, I wouldn’t have thought so either.” Yara only met his eyes for a moment before looking out over the dark river.
A giddy frog hopped about in Maldynado’s stomach. Was that… an admission? That his efforts were working on her? He decided not to push things. He’d ask for the canal walk later and, as Akstyr had suggested, let her know he appreciated her.
The door opened.
“Sergeant Yara,” Sespian said, “will you take our guest to the brig?”
“Of course, Sire.”
Yara escorted Brynia down the stairs. Meanwhile Sespian stood in the doorway, regarding Maldynado through slitted eyes.
“Did she tell you her destination, Sire?”
“She told me the town of Markworth. I didn’t believe her.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
“I do believe it is as we guessed and Lake Seventy-three is the correct area. If she hopes to meet her comrades, she’ll need us to land nearby.”
“So, where are we actually going?” Maldynado asked, noting that Sespian’s eyes remained slitted. The kid still didn’t seem to trust him overly much. Or perhaps Brynia had said something to implicate Maldynado in Mari’s death. That figured.
“Once we reach the lake, you will direct me on how to find Marblecrest Island.”
Sespian stepped into the wheelhouse and closed the door with a definitive the-conversation-is-over thud.
“Can’t wait,” Maldynado muttered.
• • •
Soft rain splashed onto a clear pool. While Amaranthe washed up, she avoided looking at her reflection too closely, though she’d already glimpsed more than enough. Her cuts and bruises, though they were healing, had turned her face into a mottled patchwork of sickly blue-yellow that failed to flatter.
She pulled her bare feet out of the water and dried them as well as she could before applying a purplish paste Sicarius had made. City girl that she was, she found herself skeptical that anything that came off a dirty leaf instead of out of an apothecary’s jar could truly have medicinal qualities, but she slathered it on anyway. Given the grimy state of her makeshift bandages, and the even grimier state of the swamp, she needed all the armor she could cobble together to fight off infection.
Aware that Sicarius was waiting, and had to be chafing at their slow pace, Amaranthe finished with her ministrations and eased her feet back into the oversized boots. They’d been on the move since dawn, and she wanted to take a nap, but that wouldn’t help them catch up with Forge.
When she returned to the trail, she expected to find Sicarius pacing about or perhaps standing watch from high up in some tree. Instead he stood beneath a branch, using the foliage as shelter from the rain as he wrote on a piece of paper. When she approached, he put his pen away, folded the page into precise thirds, and tucked it into his pack.
“If that’s a shopping list, I’d love a stack of flatbread and a jar of apple butter.”
“You are hungry?” Sicarius asked.
“No, no, it was a joke.” Amaranthe immediately wished she hadn’t made it. He’d greeted her with raw fish that morning, insisting that it held superior nutrition in an uncooked state. He’d further treated her by saving the eyes for her consumption. With no other options, she’d eaten his offerings, but she willed her body to recover speedily, if only so he’d stop procuring such choice “nutritious” specimens for her. “I’m still full from breakfast. Very full.”
After a moment of shrewd consideration-Amaranthe hoped her stomach wouldn’t growl and betray her- Sicarius extended a hand toward the trail. He’d been insisting that she lead so he could walk behind, steadying her with a hand on the back when she stumbled. Accustomed to being independent, she tried to appreciate the help instead of resenting the fact that she needed it.
“You’re not going to tell me what you were working on?” Amaranthe headed down the muddy trail. “Is it a sonnet or poem for me?”
She looked over her shoulder at Sicarius, but he said nothing. That probably meant, “No.”
“In case you were wondering, that is the sort of thing that warms a woman’s heart. Even more than piles of fresh fish eyes.” She smiled to take away any sting from her teasing. As much as she loathed his culinary choices, it touched her that he was going out of his way to provide for her.
“It is a letter,” Sicarius said.
“To me?”
“You are walking in front of me. For what purpose would I write you a letter?”
“Because it’s easier to bare your heart to someone in a letter than it is when you’re gazing into their eyes, worried they’re judging you or that they’ll reject you at any moment.” Hm, maybe she should have written him a few letters.
Sicarius didn’t respond to her comment, nor did he appear particularly enlightened. She supposed that meant no poems or sonnets were coming her way any time soon. She’d have to settle for fish eyes.
“Never mind,” Amaranthe said. “If it’s not for me, who’s it for? Sespian?”
“I would rather not say.”
“And here I thought we had reached a new level of trust and sharing in our relationship.” Amaranthe said it lightly, but his secretive response did sting a little. Maybe he was afraid he couldn’t share anything private with her again, lest some enemy suck the knowledge out of her head. She sighed for more reasons than one.
“I will post it in Markworth. It is unlikely anything will come of it.” Sicarius almost sounded apologetic.
That, of course, piqued Amaranthe’s curiosity all the more, but she forced herself to admit that Forge was the priority now anyway. “Markworth, I wonder if that’s the town Retta spoke of. That’s on Lake Seventy-three, isn’t it?”
