The movement drew Brynia’s attention away from the sofa, and she lifted the pistol for another shot. It was too late. Maldynado crashed into her, bearing her to the deck. Despite her willingness to shoot people, she lacked combat experience, and he soon had her disarmed and face down on the floor.
“It’s a stupid doll,” came Akstyr’s voice from the doorway.
“What?” Maldynado looked up.
Akstyr held up a shapely doll. “It was propped in front of a candle, making the shape look big on the divider.”
“Don’t you think the fact that the silhouette wasn’t moving should have been a clue?” Maldynado pulled Brynia to her feet. “Congratulations, my lady. You’re our prisoner again. The emperor still wishes to see you.”
Brynia lifted her head. The hat had fallen off and her straight blonde locks tumbled about her face. She smiled up at Maldynado and leaned back, pressing her body into his. “What’s the hurry? It’s a long trip downriver.” She spared a smile for Akstyr too. “The doll is based on the real thing, my handsome young fellow. Perhaps you’d like to see?”
Akstyr stared at her, then at the doll, then at her. “Uh, really?”
“We need to get you a woman, Akstyr,” Maldynado said.
“That can be arranged,” Brynia said.
Maldynado gave her a warning shake and, without relinquishing his grip, readjusted her so a couple of inches of air separated their bodies. A flash of irritation crossed her face, but she molded it into an interested smile and kept beaming it in Akstyr’s direction.
Maldynado turned Brynia around, intending to march her out the door. Something pink on the deck made him pause. A feather. He gawked. “That’s my hat. You stole my hat?”
“Not at all,” Brynia said. “I claimed it after its owner abandoned it.”
“Abandoned it? I was knocked unconscious.”
“The truth is elusive, depending on who speaks it, isn’t it?”
Maldynado shoved the woman outside. She was slipperier than wet soap. They’d have to watch her closely for the rest of the trip, maybe have Sergeant Yara guard her. He hoped Sespian was brighter than Akstyr and wouldn’t fall for those batting eyelashes.
• • •
Amaranthe had no memory of collapsing on the trail or falling asleep, but when she woke up cradled in Sicarius’s arms, she knew it must have happened. Cicadas droned from the trees, and twilight had finally come to the swamp. At least, she
hoped
it was twilight and that she hadn’t been asleep for hours, forcing him to carry her all night. But, no, he was following the muddy prints and cleared foliage that the
Behemoth
team had left. He wouldn’t have been able to do that in the dark. Probably. It
was
Sicarius, after all.
His long, sure strides covered the ground efficiently. Amaranthe wondered how many miles had passed beneath his feet in the last week. His arms supported her knees and her shoulders, bearing her weight easily, as if she were a toddler. She had no memory of wrapping her own arms around his neck and laying her head against his shoulder, but she had to admit, despite the aches pulsing through her body with each step, it was a nice place to be. Bandages made from torn strips of clothing wrapped her wrists where those pins had pierced. She sensed the support of other bandages around her shoulders and thighs. Thinking of the intimacy those bandages implied made her flush.
Amaranthe lifted her head. The slight movement brought fresh pain, something reminiscent of the blasting headache one might suffer after a night carousing with Maldynado. Not that she’d been foolish enough to do that. More than once anyway.
“We will stop soon. It has been some time since I heard sign of pursuit.” Sicarius’s dark eyes lowered to meet hers, and a little flutter teased Amaranthe’s gut. Given what she’d endured, she probably shouldn’t be in the mood to melt over looks from men, but they hadn’t spent a lot of time with their heads close together, and his eyes held a gentleness she’d never seen in them before. It seemed impossible to believe, but he must not have pieced together the fact that she’d betrayed him. Maybe he’d been too busy figuring out how to thwart Pike.
Amaranthe broke eye contact and cleared her throat. “They probably stumbled across Pike. I assume from that scream that he’s dead.”
Sicarius’s focus returned to the trail. “Yes.”
“Thank you for not… eliminating anyone else.”
“As you said, they were not a threat once their leader was gone.”
A perfectly logical way to say it, one that meshed with his philosophy of not leaving enemies alive behind him, but Amaranthe preferred to think that he’d made the decision because he knew it would please her. Some men brought women flowers. Sicarius chose not to kill people. The latter seemed a tad more momentous. Of course, his solicitude might all be in her head.
He didn’t come all this way because of
logic
, girl, she told herself. He
cares
.
Unless he’d come because he was worried that she would, under the pressure of torture, betray his secrets. Even now he might be waiting for the moment to ask if she’d blabbed.
Amaranthe grimaced. Why couldn’t she just enjoy the fact that she was snuggled in the man’s arms?
“You are thinking,” Sicarius said. A hint of censure laced the words.
Amaranthe forced her thoughts away from treasured secrets cast upon the wind like dandelion seeds. “Yes. Is that not allowed?”
“Your body and mind need rest.”
“We’re following the trail of enemies we’ll have to confront. I think the rest portion of the exercise comes after we deal with them.”
“The trail is cold. We will not likely encounter them until we reach their destination.” He flicked his gaze toward the twilight darkness of the sulfurous, alligator-and-snake-filled, strangled-by-vegetation swamp, no doubt implying it unlikely that the Forge meeting place was anywhere nearby.
“So, I should simply lie snuggled against your chest without thinking for a while?” If only she could.
“Yes.”
Amaranthe laid her head against his shoulder. She managed to keep her brain—and her mouth—still for almost thirty seconds. “How did you find me?”
Tired and aching though she may be, she couldn’t help but smile at the hint of disapproval that flattened his lips. Someone else wouldn’t see it at all, or would take it as a sinister glower. She knew he was simply irked at her inability to obey an order to rest.
“They flew in a straight line.” Sicarius stepped over a creek and left the trail, turning to follow the gravely bed upstream.
“I’d forgotten your knack for answering questions with terseness bordering on obscurity.” Amaranthe touched his jaw fondly to let him know she was teasing. Her fingers brushed against the short hair of his fledgling beard. “If you’d let me use that sharp black knife of yours, I could clean this up for you.”
“Sespian has the knife.”
“Ah. Another blade then. I’m sure they’re all sharp. Of course, you don’t have to opt for a clean shave. The scruffy look has merit. The growth just needs a little tidying.” Amaranthe supposed, by babbling on inane topics, she could avoid the one that awaited sharing.
“I’m more concerned with tending
you
.”
Amaranthe’s breath caught at the simple statement, and at the way he gazed straight into her eyes as he said it. No, she wasn’t imagining his solicitude. His words warmed her, but they filled her with bleak guilt as well. First, because she’d doubted he truly cared. And second… because she’d failed him.
The ride grew bumpier as Sicarius climbed higher off the trail. Amaranthe was on the verge of asking where he was going when he pushed aside a few ropy bundles of moss dangling from exposed tree roots and peered into a dark opening. He found a flat spot and set Amaranthe down. Thanks to her inactivity, her muscles had stiffened terribly, and she could scarcely move without sucking in a pained breath—or spouting out a stream of curses. She was relieved to play spectator as Sicarius investigated a small cave, gathered fronds and boughs for bedding and a fire, and finally struck flint to one of his knives. He dragged in an unfamiliar satchel Amaranthe hadn’t realized he’d been wearing. It must have belonged to one of the soldiers, or perhaps he’d traded his heavier rucksack for it at some point on his journey.
“Any chance there’s food in that sack?” Amaranthe crawled into the low cave and propped herself against the dirt wall behind the fire. Roots dangled from the ceiling, and the husks of dead bugs littered the earthen floor. After that crate, it felt like a luxurious warrior-caste resort. She didn’t even have the urge to fashion a broom from a branch and sweep.
“The sort of energy-high but nutrient-deficient travel rations soldiers carry, yes. I saved something better for you.” Sicarius dug into the satchel and pulled out a canteen for her and two of
his
travel bars, the ones made of dried meats and fat. Smashed from his days on the road, they looked even less appealing than usual. When he held them out, like someone making a gift of a cherished possession, Amaranthe managed to hold back a groan—barely. Those “energy-high” snacks the soldiers had been carrying sounded far more promising, like they might be full of sugar or dried fruit.
Sicarius’s eyes narrowed. He’d probably gone hungry a few days to reserve them for her.
“Thank you, very considerate of you to save them,” Amaranthe said, seeking a compromise that might let her dig into the soldier rations, if only as a dessert. “But, ah… after your grueling trek, I’m sure you’re in as much need of nutrients as I. How about we each have one?”
He hesitated before nodding. “Acceptable.”
Sicarius handed her a bar, then built up the fire. He went in and out of the cave, bringing in enough wood to supply an army stuck in a frozen outpost on the Northern Frontier. Amaranthe wished he’d join her against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, so that she could lean on him and sleep until dawn, knowing she didn’t have to worry about anyone hurting her. But perhaps, for the conversation they needed to have, distance was better. While she debated how to broach the subject, she chewed on the corner of her bar, grimacing at the fact that her teeth felt loose in their sockets. Was that from a week’s worth of malnutrition? Or was her body simply that much of a mess? Relieved the cave lacked a mirror, she resolved to avoid clear pools of water for a while.
“Do you want a bath?” Sicarius asked.
Surprised out of her musings, Amaranthe gaped at him. Her first thoughts bounced back and forth between tantalized speculation and outright disbelief—had he
truly
offered to bathe her?—but they all crashed to the ground under the weight of reality. How could she accept the spa experience when she was wondering how to tell him she’d betrayed him? Remembering the last time he’d assisted her with a bath—and the ice cubes floating about on the surface—
spa
might not be the best word, but still.
Sicarius was waiting for an answer. Amaranthe groped for something.
“Are you saying I don’t smell good these days?” Ugh, that was a horrible thank-you for his sweet offer.
Sicarius held up a canteen and a damp rag that had probably been a soldier’s shirt. “You look like you could use… ” He was too tactful to tell her she was a wreck.
“Tender ministrations?” Amaranthe raised her brows. “Are you offering?”
Sicarius gazed into her eyes. “Whatever you wish, Amaranthe.”
He’d never voiced those words before, and, in another situation, they would have flooded her with warmth, but she suspected they were born out of pity, or maybe guilt. She wasn’t sure why that word came to mind. What did he have to feel guilty about? Maybe it bothered him that it’d taken days to catch up with her and that she’d been tortured in the meantime. If so, that wasn’t
his
fault.
She
was the fool who’d gotten herself thrown out of the dirigible and washed up onto the beach where Pike and his men happened to be loitering.
“It’s not that bad now,” Amaranthe said.
Sicarius eyed her, and she remembered that he’d seen her sans clothes.
“Did Pike have a shaman?” he asked.
“A concoction that a shaman had made.”
Sicarius grunted. “Advances in Science.”
Amaranthe tried to decide if there was bitterness in his tone. Did he know about her newfound knowledge of his past? He must suspect. Would he be concerned that she’d think less of him? Or had he long since put the experiences behind him? A selfish part of her wanted to remind him of the indignity, if only so he’d be more understanding when she admitted her failure. Before she could think better of it, she said, “I… understand you were as much his victim as his student.”
Sicarius’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Not that you’re worried about it, but I wouldn’t… judge you for anything that happened back then.” Amaranthe paused. When she didn’t receive a response, she lightened her tone and said, “Your own personal shaman, eh? I often wondered how you’d gotten so far in your career without gaining any scars. Until you met me, anyway.” She waved toward his back and the soul-construct claw marks that lay beneath his shirt.
“Yes. The wounds were healed by an expert.” His tone had grown unreadable.
Fearing she was angering him, she finished with a soft, “The ones on the outside, anyway, eh?” and resolved to leave it there.
Sicarius nodded and turned dark eyes that had grown somber in her direction. He came around the fire to sit on the boughs beside her. Amaranthe realized that, while she was talking about him and his internal scars, he must think she referred to herself and what she’d suffered. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky breath. For so long, she’d dreamed of him lowering his defenses and letting her see what lay beneath that flinty exterior. Now, he was finally doing it when she least deserved it. She wanted to bury her face in her knees and cry.
“Before you take up the hobby of offering ministrations—” Amaranthe’s voice cracked, so she pointed to the canteen and rag, giving herself a second to recover, “—you should know I… may not be deserving of your care.”
His eyebrows dove for his hairline. It was the greatest indication of surprise she’d seen from him. She tucked it away, along with the image of his eyes full of concern, to remember later, in case his icy, expressionless demeanor returned soon.