“Perhaps it’d be worth telling him the truth,” she told Sicarius. “He knows the lake, the locals, and he has that lovely underwater craft that could serve useful if we could get a ride.”
“The truth,” Sicarius said in a flat tone. He no doubt wondered just what “truth” she had in mind.
“I’m not helping an assassin,” Pabov said.
“Not even the emperor’s personal assassin?” Amaranthe asked.
“What?”
“Sicarius worked for Emperor Raumesys his whole life,” Amaranthe said, “until Raumesys’s death five years ago. You know about that, right? I thought everyone did.”
Sicarius pinned Amaranthe with a why-are-you-telling-this-stranger-about-me look.
He seems to be loyal to Sespian, she signed. He can help us.
Pabov didn’t respond to her questions right away. Maybe he had heard rumors about Sicarius’s past. Mitsy, the former owner of The Maze had once told Amaranthe that everyone knew Sicarius was Hollowcrest’s man. Of course, she’d been talking about the underworld “everyone,” not soldiers.
“I’ll believe he’s working for the emperor when I see Sespian alive and walking arm-in-arm with him,” Pabov finally said.
That… might be possible. If Sespian was on his way down, maybe he’d arrive soon. Or already had.
“If that happens, you’ll let us borrow your craft?” Amaranthe asked.
“If Emperor Sespian strolls in here, alive, and wants a tour, I’ll drive him around the lake myself.”
Sicarius regarded Pabov’s back. This time there was nothing harsh about the stare. Amaranthe wondered what people would think if they knew they could soften his razor-sharp edges simply by proclaiming allegiance to Sespian.
“I’ll accept that as a promise,” Amaranthe said. “In the meantime, we need to gather information about a meeting we believe to be taking place down here. That business coalition I mentioned? They’ve come down here to plot. Any idea about where a clandestine gathering might be held?”
“No,” Pabov said.
Amaranthe sensed that he’d withdrawn within himself and had no intention of providing helpful answers. She couldn’t blame him. With nothing else to go on, her claims had to seem wild to him. “Did you see or hear of any strangers walking through town? Perhaps yesterday or the day before?”
“No.”
“Truly?” Amaranthe asked, disappointment creeping into her tone.
Pabov frowned up at her. With his face still mashed into the ground, he couldn’t feel that sympathetic toward her plight, but he offered an apologetic, “I don’t get into town much.”
Amaranthe’s gaze returned to the map on the wall. She’d planned to ask after the Forge party in town, but if she could figure out which island they’d gone to, she wouldn’t need to wander around, raising people’s suspicions as she poked into everyone’s business.
“Is there a real estate library in Markworth?” she asked. “Someplace where records are kept of who owns what land and where it lies?”
“I think the records are in the capital,” Pabov said.
The capital that was over a week’s travel away. Not helpful. “There must be someone local who handles real-estate transactions.”
Pabov hesitated, his gaze flicking toward Sicarius.
“We won’t harm the person,” Amaranthe said.
“The Pickle Lady,” Pabov said.
“The Pickle Lady?”
“She breeds long-haired rabbits and knits their fur into sweaters too. I don’t think the stipend the empire pays for handling real estate is particularly large.”
This place was even more rural than Amaranthe had realized. No wonder Forge had chosen it. Nobody who mattered in the grand political or business scene would be down here to chance upon their meeting. “Thank you,” she told Pabov. “I’m grateful for your help.”
“Grateful enough to untie me?”
“Do you promise not to tell anyone we were here?” Amaranthe had no idea if there was a local military garrison, but Markworth would have enforcers to ensure nothing untoward happened to those wealthy people vacationing on the lake.
A moment passed before Pabov answered, and Amaranthe wasn’t surprised when he said, “No.”
Sicarius pinned Amaranthe with one of those cool gazes, one she had no problem reading as, “Leaving him alive is going to cause trouble.”
She waved her hand. They weren’t killing someone when she’d been the one trespassing on his property.
After they walked outside, Sicarius stepped in front of Amaranthe. “You told him much.”
“I was preparing him to eventually join our side and help us.” Amaranthe smiled. “If Sespian shows up, this fellow is ready to be his devoted guide.”
“ If Sespian shows up,” Sicarius said, a grimness to usual monotone.
“You’ve heard what the newspapers are reporting?” Amaranthe had thought he’d been gone a long time just to furnish his wardrobe.
“I heard.”
“I’m sure he’s well,” Amaranthe said. “Forge knows Ravido can’t make a real move until the populace believes Sespian is gone. Since he’s not in the capital to refute the reports of his, er, death, they can print whatever they want.”
“ The Gazette is the paper that published the story,” Sicarius said, his grimness disappearing, replaced by an iciness that, even after all the time they’d spent together, still sent a chill curling through Amaranthe. She was glad Deret Mancrest was hundreds of miles away.
“If our men are with Sespian,” she said, “they’ll keep him safe.”
“If Sespian dies, I’ll kill Maldynado.”
“Levity?” Amaranthe asked, though she knew it wasn’t.
“No.”
“I’m still not clear on how Maldynado came to be in charge.”
Sicarius stalked away without a word. That probably meant he wasn’t sure either, but now considered his choice a mistake.
Amaranthe followed Sicarius back to the beach where she’d originally intended to wait for him. He moved aside something bright and picked up a stack of folded garments on a log half-hidden by ferns. Wordlessly, he handed her the clothing and a practical pair of canvas boots. She shook out an ankle-length walking dress, a high- necked blouse, and a long muslin apron. Though Maldynado would perhaps fault the sedate colors, Amaranthe thought Sicarius had a surprising knack for picking out clothing that matched and, more importantly, fit. More than that, the outfit would hide a multitude of bruises. She was on the verge of complimenting and thanking Sicarius when he dropped a woven hat into her arms. The pastel greens, blues, pinks, and yellows crisscrossed each other in a pattern that could only have been imagined by a woman deep in the applejack bottle.
“This has to be levity,” Amaranthe said.
“Yes,” Sicarius said, though no spark of humor glinted in his eyes. He walked away to give her the privacy to change.
He was too worried about Sespian to find amusement in anything at the moment, Amaranthe supposed, but couldn’t help but call after him, “I don’t know why you’d want to kill Maldynado, when it’s clear you’d make fabulous hat-shopping buddies.”
Chapter 17
A couple of days had passed since capturing Brynia, and Maldynado was headed down to engineering. Basilard had mentioned that Books hadn’t been sleeping or eating. Why this was Maldynado’s business, he didn’t
