“Why don’t you and your partner head up the cleanup team out here. The whole block is a mess.”
Amaranthe stared. That was a task for a couple of rookies! If she was going to earn her promotion, she’d have to distinguish herself by arresting villains and solving crimes, not poking around on the street with a broom and dustpan.
“Is there a problem, Corporal?” the lieutenant asked.
She stifled the first response that came to mind, one that would only get her in trouble. “The…cleanup team, sir?” she said instead. “I have a good eye for detail. I believe I could-”
“Yes, the cleanup team,” the lieutenant said, a warning in his eyes. “It’s a more appropriate assignment. Young ladies shouldn’t be surrounding themselves with gory bodies.” He walked toward the stairs, patting her on the shoulder on the way by. “You’ll do fine.”
Just barely, Amaranthe had the discipline to walk outside, where the crowd had dissipated, before ripping her sword out and hurling it at the closest wall. The point glanced off instead of sinking in with a satisfying thunk, and the weapon clattered onto the frosty sidewalk. She stalked over, grabbed it, and thought about throwing it again. She really wanted to skewer something.
Wholt, who had just come outside, lifted his arms, stepped back, and wisely kept his mouth shut.
Amaranthe stuffed the blade back into its sheath, nicking her hand in the process. “Lovely,” she muttered at the stab of pain.
She would oversee the street cleanup, but then she was going to get herself put on the investigation team. One way or another.
Chapter 2
By the time Amaranthe reached Enforcer Headquarters that evening, she had mentally organized a neat list of reasons she ought to be placed on the investigation. With chin lifted, she thrust open the front door and almost crashed into Chief Gunarth, who was pacing in the hallway.
“What did you do, Corporal?” he demanded before she could mention the arson or her list.
“Sir?”
“Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest wants to see you,” the chief said.
The list evaporated from her mind, and she put her hand on the hallway’s cool limestone wall for support. Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest was the highest ranking military officer in the empire. Each of the eight satrapies’ Commander Lords General answered to him personally. He had also been the closest advisor of Emperor Raumesys for forty years and Sespian’s regent for three. Due to Sespian’s youth, many still considered him the ultimate authority in the empire.
“He wants to see me?” Amaranthe cleared her throat to hide the squeak underlying her last word.
“You,” Chief Gunarth said. “Requested by name. You are to go to the Imperial Barracks immediately. Actually the messenger came two hours ago, but you weren’t on your assigned route.” He gave her a cool look.
That was hardly fair. “Sir, Wholt and I were responding to the fire on-”
“Give me your report later. It’s already dark. You better get your arse up to the Barracks before you inconvenience Hollowcrest by delaying his dinner.”
“Yes, sir.”
Crisp twilight air swirled about her cheeks as Amaranthe caught a trolley uptown. She shivered and moved closer to the hissing boiler and the heat radiating through its walls.
Poised at the crown of Arakan Hill, the Imperial Barracks overlooked the city, the frozen lake, and dwarfed even the largest homes on the Ridge. The emperor’s ancestors had rejected the idea of a “palace” and chosen the ancient fortress atop the hill for the imperial seat.
There was no trolley stop near the gate-apparently casual visits to gawk were not encouraged-so Amaranthe jumped off as it rumbled by the outer walls. She had performed similar moves dozens of times before, but the combination of slick pavement and watching sentries probably made the slip inevitable. Her feet skidded on ice and she flailed before recovering her balance, if not her dignity.
Snickers came from above. Atop the high stone walls, two musketeers lounged against a cannon, their silhouettes black against the starry sky. Amaranthe limited herself to a brief upward glower as she walked toward the entrance.
In a formidable display of redundancy, two towering soldiers blocked the barred gate. Amaranthe could not help but feel that as an enforcer she only played at being a warrior. Imperial soldiers were intimidating enough; the elite men privileged to protect the emperor’s home represented the best.
“Uhm, hello,” she said, then cursed herself for sounding like a scared child. “I’m Corporal Amaranthe Lokdon. Commander of the Armies Hollowcrest requested to see me.”
“It’s late,” one of the guards said in a voice reminiscent of boots grinding into gravel.
“I realize that. Could you check to see if I’m on the list?” She had no idea if there was a list, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Both guards offered flat unfriendly stares. Their humorless expressions were so similar Amaranthe wondered if it was part of the training. Disapproving Stares, the Advanced Course. Finally, one reached his arm through the bars and withdrew a clipboard from some inner hook. He stepped beneath one of the two gas lamps spreading wan globes of light on either side of the gate.
Amaranthe fidgeted while he read. Anticipation wrestled with unease in her gut. What was this meeting about? Would it bode well for her, or ill? Either way, why would someone as important as the Commander of the Armies bother with her? The emperor must have said something after seeing her that afternoon. Did he have some reward in mind? It seemed unlikely-she had done nothing beyond what the job called for. Still, the fledgling hope thrived, and she thought of Wholt’s words. Maybe she should ask Hollowcrest for a promotion. No, she decided. The possibility of a reward thrilled her, but she would not ask for a favor.
“Huh,” the guard said. “You’re listed.”
The other one said, “Looks like the old man wants someone to keep his toes warm tonight.”
Amaranthe fluctuated between anger at their assumption and anxiety at the insinuation. She settled for a curt, “Can I go in, now?”
One of the soldiers shouted to someone in the courtyard. Another man appeared and assumed his post, and the first relieved Amaranthe of her weapons and led her through the gate.
Walkways lined with lampposts sliced through snow-blanketed lawns. Numerous outbuildings adorned the installation, but the guard led her to the main structure. When they reached the polished marble stairs, she had to take exaggerated steps to climb them. On either side of the landing, gold-laced statues of bare-chested men grappled with each other.
“Pretentious architect,” Amaranthe muttered.
“What did you say?” the guard asked.
“Such beautiful artwork.”
The guard grunted dubiously.
The gold-gilded double doors groaned open of their own accord, powered by some hidden machinery. A single hallway stretched away to a distant exit point with dozens of doors lining either side. The decorating style continued on the inside-gaudy but consistent in its reverence toward the warrior. Periodic alcoves featured more statues of ancient heroes, some naked and locked in wrestling matches, others wearing the weapons and armor of their times. They all had clunky, unrealistic features. Her people might be peerless engineers, but great artists they were not.
Weapons from different epochs perched between gas lamps on the walls. Amaranthe’s fingers twitched toward her handkerchief when she noticed one still exhibiting bloodstains. Yes, let’s erase eight hundred years of history with a swipe of a rag. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and resolutely stared straight ahead as she walked.
Her escort led her a long way before stairs branched off, one set leading up, another down. They climbed to the third floor and stopped before a guarded door. Amaranthe’s guide left her to deal with the soldier alone. Fortunately, he must have had orders to admit her, for he pushed the door open wordlessly and gestured for her to
