Deadly Games

Amaranthe groaned. She was making a mess ofthis.

She stretched out an apologetic hand.Sicarius took it and pulled her off the bench. Her feet tangled,and she stumbled into him. His other arm came around her, and hepulled her against him with none of his earlier gentleness.

He wouldn’t hurt her-at least she didn’tthink he would-but her heart quickened, a jolt of concerncoursing through her. Maybe she had pushed him too far. The armwrapped around her tightened, mashing her against his chest. Thefabric of his shirt did nothing to soften the ridges of granitemuscle beneath it, and the thought crossed her mind that if sheever truly did anger him, all her training would be no use.

Amaranthe swallowed and opened her mouth tospeak, though she was not sure whether she meant to apologize orblurt some sort of bravado. It didn’t matter. His mouth found hers,open, demanding, and she forgot about talking. And breathing.

The kiss crackled with intensity, and shethought of the hull of that fortress, its electrical chargeknocking her on her backside. She wriggled her arms around him andreturned the kiss.

His fingers tangled in her hair, caressingthe back of her neck. An ache grew inside, and her toes curledaround the edges of her sandals. She thought of kicking them off,of kicking everything off and-

Sicarius released her and stepped back,leaving her stunned and breathless, her heart galloping in placebehind her ribs. Then, without a word, he strode away.

Amaranthe, legs wobbly, collapsed on thebench. “He’s right,” she croaked. “It is different thantraining.”

EPILOGUE

Basilard told the nerves fluttering in hisbelly to be still. The stubborn things refused to obey.

Tall, broad-shouldered imperial soldiers inblue uniforms with gold trim strode along the brick paths of theOakcrest Conservatory, their boots so polished they reflected theflames of nearby gas lamps. The men’s expressionless faces remindedhim of Sicarius, and so did those dark, cool eyes as theyscrutinized the civilians and servants who crossed their paths.Youths carrying trays of lemonade, iced tea, and wine paid thesoldiers no mind. Of course, they had no reason to worry aboutbeing detained, captured, or killed.

Basilard sucked in a deep breath, grateful anumber of overhead panels were open, letting in fresh air. Withsweat already trickling down his spine, it would have beenunbearably stifling without the evening breeze. He adjusted hiscollar. Maldynado’s outfit was far more constricting than the loosegarments his people favored.

“Problem?” Books asked.

There are as many soldiers as athletes,perhaps more.

“I don’t think you need to look soconcerned,” Books said. “We made it past the phalanx of vehiclesand soldiers outside, and the door guards let us in, despite mucheyebrow raising over the fact that you brought a man as your onepermitted dinner companion.”

Basilard smiled. I didn’t think the empirehad issues with that sort of thing. Are you sure it wasn’t thatthey were surprised a victorious athlete wouldn’t have a younger,prettier man for an escort?

“I’m going to forgive you for that because ofall that time you recently spent with-” Books glanced around, “- acertain disreputable sort. You probably feel the need to unleashyour sense of humor.”

Or distract himself. Basilard feared theiradmittance had been too easy. Though Books had received a fewquestions about Basilard’s need for a translator, another soldierhad jogged up during the interview and whispered something in theguard’s ear, resulting in Basilard and Books being waved inside.Could the soldiers have recognized them and let them in as a trap?Were they even now waiting to see if Amaranthe and Sicarius waitednearby?

Basilard and Books walked toward a longwooden table with sixty or seventy place settings laid out.Athletes and their companions chatted in pairs or small groups neartrellised vines and citrus trees potted along the way.

“There he is,” Books said.

A glass door beyond the table had opened withtwo soldiers in black entering, the emperor’s personal guard.Sespian came next in blue, quasi-military attire. Unexpectedly, agray-haired woman in a sapphire dress strode beside him. Notexactly beside. Basilard had the impression Sespian was trying tokeep space between them.

“She’s old to be his escort,” Books murmured,also watching the woman. “A chaperone?”

Four more soldiers trailed after thepair.

The emperor gazed about alertly. Though hisposition must cause him a great deal of stress, he appeared noolder than his nineteen years, perhaps even younger, and Basilardwondered how much power he commanded around the Imperial Barracks.Could Sespian do anything about the empire’s underground slavetrade? About the fact that Mangdorians were often targeted?

Though the cadre of guards about him couldhave made the emperor seem unapproachable, he strode up to thefirst group of athletes and greeted everyone with a friendly smile.After the three young men managed flustered bows, Sespian startedasking questions.

“This may be a good time to talk to him,”Books said. “Before he grows weary of people pestering him.”

Let’s meander that way, Basilardsigned.

The other athletes seemed content to wait.They probably lacked his agenda.

As he and Books strolled over, the nervestormenting Basilard’s stomach redoubled their flutters. If this wasa trap, the soldiers would spring it before Basilard got close tothe emperor.

Books plucked an iced tea from a server’stray. He was either more comfortable here than Basilard, or he wasdoing a good job of hiding his nerves. Basilard took a drinkwithout looking to see what it was; ice cubes clinked in theglass.

The emperor moved to a second group ofathletes, this one made up of young ladies. He was courteous andprofessional, and Basilard did not get the impression he wassearching for bed partners-a vibe warrior-caste men often exuded,whether they were married or not. The emperor’s older chaperonenever said anything, and Basilard had the feeling she was thereonly to keep an eye on Sespian.

“Think that’s someone from Forge?” Booksmurmured.

Would they have someone here so openly?

Amaranthe had mentioned her belief that Forgehad a toehold in the Imperial Barracks, but Basilard had notrealized it might run so deeply.

“If so, that’s…a concern,” Books said.“They might restrict his access to information and certainly hisability to take action.”

So, he might not be reading the papers and beaware of our heroics?

“If so, all our work would be fornaught.”

Sespian looked over the women’s heads, hisgaze coming to rest on Basilard and Books.

Basilard twitched, flushing guiltily. Had theemperor overheard Books’s half of their conversation? They werespeaking quietly. He shouldn’t have, but who knew?

His first instinct was to look away andpretend no interest, but that might appear more suspicious. Heforced himself to hold the gaze and nod.

After finishing his conversation with thewomen, the emperor strode toward Books and Basilard.

Basilard glanced left and right, expecting alegion of soldiers to stampede them at any moment. Books thumped afist to his heart and bent at the waist, his sword arm stretchingwide with the palm open.

“A pleasure to speak with you, Sire,” hesaid.

Basilard mimicked the bow and signed, Mostrespect, Chief. He hadn’t worked out hand signs for honorificsfor emperors yet. Books would know what he meant though.

Oddly, when Books translated, he left theword for chief instead of correcting it. Perhaps he wanted Basilardto sound quaint-and unthreatening-thanks to his Mangdorianvernacular.

“Good evening.” Sespian pressed his own fistto his chest in response. “Temtelamak, isn’t it?” His