scout around. What if the others are making their way down? This has to be the same meeting Sespian wanted to spy on, don’t you think?”
“Likely.”
“You could muster a little more excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.” Amaranthe smiled.
“I have… failed to make inroads with him.”
“He’s had a certain image of you in his head for almost twenty years. It’ll take time to change it, that’s all.”
Sicarius’s grunt of acknowledgment had a dubious tone to it. “I must tell him of our link, lest he hear it from Forge first. I do not know how to speak of it. I have avoided the straightforward, in hopes that he will find it less… deplorable if he’s adjusted his vision of me somewhat beforehand. There is no time for that now.”
He so rarely shared his concerns with her, and Amaranthe wished she had a good answer for him, one that would allay his fears and prove correct as well. She couldn’t lie to him though; she doubted Sespian would respond well. The revelation would be like pulling an arrow out of one’s shoulder-it might hurt worse than touching molten lava, but the healing couldn’t begin until it’d been done.
Since words failed her, Amaranthe clasped Sicarius’s hand. He’d been as chaste and professional as always in his physical interactions with her over the last couple of days, but he accepted the grip and, after a pause, twined his own fingers between hers.
“Perhaps I should try levity again,” Sicarius said.
“Er, on Sespian?”
“Yes.”
Thinking of how Sespian had misconstrued some of Sicarius’s earlier comments, Amaranthe feared that approach might backfire. “We’ll talk to him together when we all meet up again. I just hope he’s well. Forge… ” She stopped. No need to raise concerns that might provoke further worry.
“He better be well,” Sicarius said. “I tasked Maldynado with protecting him.”
“You tasked Maldynado?” Amaranthe’s mouth dropped. “Are you… attempting levity now?”
“Maldynado was the only one around when I left to pursue you.”
“Ah.” Not levity, desperation. “I’m sure the others are helping him stay on track.” Actually Amaranthe suspected Maldynado had the ability to take charge, if he was so motivated-and Sicarius could certainly motivate people, if not with his charisma then with his knife. “You had to choose, didn’t you?” she asked, realizing for the first time how that must have played out. “After the crash, you had to choose whether to come after me or help Sespian.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I… wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I understand that Sespian must be your priority.” Amaranthe cleared her throat. She hoped she wasn’t insulting him, but she hadn’t believed he’d trust the group with Sespian’s care.
“You are both priorities.”
Warmed by the simple statement, Amaranthe had to tamp down an urge to kiss him. Given her current condition, it wouldn’t be much of a reward. But Sicarius looked down at her, perhaps expecting a reaction, and she changed her mind. She rose on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Knowing they didn’t have time for dawdling, she soon released him, though she retained the grip on his hand, and started walking again. She thought she caught a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“I still think you should go ahead and search for Sespian,” Amaranthe said. “If they’re coming on a boat, they could… ” She stopped talking because Sicarius was pointing at something ahead of them. A glint of blue water visible through the trees.
“Lake Seventy-Three,” Sicarius said. “This road will lead us through Markworth.”
“It’s not a populous town, is it?”
“Not this time of year.”
Right, if it was a water-based resort area for the upper class, then late fall wouldn’t be a popular time for visits. That might explain why they hadn’t seen much traffic on the road that morning.
Amaranthe wondered if a group of Forge folks strolling through might constitute worthy small-town gossip. If they’d taken a boat or ferry to their chosen island, someone might have witnessed it. She doubted she and Sicarius would stumble across a roadside sign proclaiming, “Secret Forge meeting held this weekend at the Randy Rooster Hotel and Eating House.”
As Amaranthe and Sicarius drew closer to the lake, they started seeing cabins and cottages set back from the road, but, alas, no giant signs.
“These are more modest homes than I expected.” Amaranthe nodded toward a one-room cabin with an outhouse perched on a knoll out back.
“Those are the people who cater to the wealthy and warrior caste. Those with means stay on the islands.”
“You sound like you’ve been here before,” Amaranthe said. It’d be handy if he knew the area.
“Raumesys came down a couple of times.”
“And invited you along to ensure his water-ball team won?”
Before Amaranthe could do more than start to imagine Sicarius in swimming trunks, muscles glistening in the sun as he maneuvered through the water, thrashing and dunking men to get to the ball, he gave her a flat look and said, “To deliver proof of missions completed.”
Ah, the severed head thing again. Amaranthe chose not to imagine that scenario.
“Do you want to scout around when we get to town?” Amaranthe asked. “See if you can find sign of the party’s passing, in your own assassinly way? Meanwhile, I’ll look for someone who will chat with me about the weather, the crops, and if they’ve seen any strangers wander through recently.”
“I will stay with you,” Sicarius said.
“That’s not necessary.”
“You find trouble when you chat.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His grunt said more than his words ever did.
Again, Amaranthe didn’t mind that he wanted to stay with her, but she hoped he wasn’t going to develop a permanent over-protective streak. Maybe he simply sensed that she wasn’t comfortable in her skin just then.
They reached the shoreline where the road branched to go separate ways around the lake. Signposts proclaimed the right headed north, to Sunders City and Armelion-the name for Stumps that nobody except cartographers and sign-makers used. To the left, Markworth was visible through the trees. Docks of all sizes and a few buildings, none more than two stories tall, lined the bank.
Along the lake, more traffic traversed the road, if one could call old, dented bicycles and mule-pulled wood carts traffic. The passing people wore homespun cotton and wool clothes in utilitarian styles. Amaranthe’s purloined military fatigues, with the cuffs rolled up, drew more than a few second glances, or maybe it was the rifle she carried. Even if it wasn’t forbidden for citizens to own firearms in rural areas, the way it was in Stumps, women certainly didn’t tote such things about in the empire. Not women who didn’t want to be gawked at and forced to answer questions, anyway.
“I may need to acquire a costume to better fit in.” Amaranthe handed Sicarius the rifle. The sleek, repeating weapon would draw looks no matter who toted it, but it fit him more. “Right now I look like… ” She eyed her oversized, wrinkled, blood-and dirt-stained clothes.
“Someone who fought with a soldier and stole his garments?” Sicarius suggested.
“Someone who fought poorly with a soldier and stole his garments. Either way, I’d prefer not to be the topic of the chats I intend to have with folks.”
“I will find something.” Sicarius took a step toward the woods, no doubt already having someone’s clothesline in mind.
“Farmer-ish, I think,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe a straw hat too. In fact… ”
He stopped, a hint of wariness on his otherwise expressionless face.
“If you’re going to stick with me, maybe we should have you reprise your role as Pa, the farm dis-ci-pli-nar-i- an.” Amaranthe smiled. “I’ll be Ma. Rural accent and everything.”
Sicarius stared at her.
