Deadly Games (47 page)

“Now?” she asked, pointedly tilting her head
toward Deret.

Sicarius flicked a dismissive glance toward
him, but said, “I can wait until you finish here.”

He made no move to leave. Did he intend to
wait right
there
?

“I didn’t bring enough food for three,” Deret
told him.

“I am not hungry.”

Amaranthe never would have considered
Sicarius the type to be deliberately obtuse, but he certainly
seemed to fall into that category tonight. She sighed and told
Deret, “I better see what he wants.”

“Aren’t you in charge of the group? Can’t you
tell him to run along and sharpen his knives?”

For the first time, Sicarius turned his gaze
on Deret, and it was an icy one. Amaranthe did not think he would
attack someone simply for annoying him—surely, Maldynado would be
dead thirty or forty times by now if that were the case—but
Sicarius might decide Deret represented a threat, and do away with
him the callous way he did away with other threats.

“My wholesome charms don’t work that well on
him,” Amaranthe said, climbing to her feet as she spoke. Best to
separate the two men before Deret sent any more jabs at
Sicarius.

“You’re coming back, right?” Deret asked.

“Yes,” Amaranthe said at the same time as
Sicarius said, “No.”

“I’ll be back,” Amaranthe said with a cool
look of her own for Sicarius, then she followed as he led the way
down the hill.

The sun had dropped below the horizon, and
twilight darkened the park. Gas lamps glowed, but Sicarius avoided
the paths they lit, striding across the grass toward the towering
hedges of the Emperor’s Maze. Amaranthe’s heart sped up, and an
uncertain flutter of anticipation danced through her gut. If this
were any other man, she’d assume he was leading her into the hedge
maze for a private tryst, but this was
Sicarius
. He’d be
more likely to lead her off for a private evening of weapons
practice.

Though her sandals and dress made her gait
slower than usual, he was careful not to outpace her. He wound his
way into the maze. Giggles and low conversations drifted from the
alcoves. On such a lovely summer evening, it might be hard to find
a private spot anywhere in the park.

They padded down a long aisle of lush grass
surrounded by the smell of freshly watered hedges and flowers, and
he seemed to find a spot he liked. He turned into an alcove with a
bench and a small fountain tinkling softly.

“Romantic spot,” Amaranthe said. “Are you
bringing me here to seduce me?” She kept her tone light, so he
would know she was joking, but that nervous flutter teased her
insides again. What if she wasn’t? Or he wasn’t? Or—erg, she had to
stop thinking.

“You’re dressed for it,” Sicarius said,
surprising her.

Her first thought was that he was implying
disapproval at her bare-armed attire—he certainly had been
insulting about the
last
dress Maldynado picked out for
her—but his tone lacked any sort of edge, and he looked back and
nudged her when she drew even with him.

Ah, that was teasing, if one could call it
that. He was quoting her line from the lake.

“You’re not,” she said, quoting his line.

“No?” Sicarius stopped before the bench and
examined his clothing. He smoothed a non-existent wrinkle and
brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from the hilt of one of his
daggers.

Actually, the black, however unimaginative,
did
accentuate everything nicely, and he’d have little
trouble stirring a woman’s fantasies in that outfit...or anything
else. But that was far too honest to admit aloud. “In my
experience,” she said, “seductions usually involve fewer
knives.”

“Huh.” Something in that single syllable made
her believe that hadn’t been
his
experience. She supposed
anyone with the guts to proposition him...liked that it took guts
to proposition him and found the blade collection an appealing part
of the package.

Sicarius sat on the bench and held a hand
out, offering her the seat beside him.

Amaranthe ought to tell him to hurry up and
say what he had to say because Deret was waiting on her, but she
couldn’t bring herself to mention him. She didn’t want to go back
to Deret, not when she actually had Sicarius in a romantic spot,
and he wasn’t discussing work. Well, he wasn’t discussing anything
yet. She didn’t know what to expect. It was bizarre of him even to
sit on a bench; usually, he’d nod for her to sit while he remained
standing and alert, surveying their surroundings as they spoke.

It was not a large bench, and when Amaranthe
slid onto it, her leg touched his. The tall shrubs must have
protected the stone seat from the afternoon sun, for its coolness
seeped through her dress. It made her hyperaware of the heat from
Sicarius’s thigh.

“You mentioned a problem?” she asked,
cringing when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat.

“Yes.”

Someone giggled in another alcove. A small
creature rustled through the undergrowth beside them.

“And that problem would be...?” Amaranthe
prompted.

“Your plans to kiss Mancrest.”

Amaranthe bolted up from the bench. Her
tongue tangled under the assault of words that flooded into her
mouth. Part of her wanted to deny any such thing, and part of her
wanted to berate him for eavesdropping. All of her felt like a
child caught reaching for a forbidden bag of candies. She had
nothing to be guilty over though. She hadn’t betrayed Sicarius.
They had no agreement of fidelity. And besides, she hadn’t said she
was going to kiss Deret. She’d only been in the earliest stages of
thinking
maybe
he
might
be someone with whom she
could see having a relationship.

She settled for crossing her arms over her
chest and saying, “How long were you skulking about the gardens,
spying on us?”

He gazed up at her. The deepening twilight
hid the nuances of his features, and she couldn’t tell if anything
other than his usual mask occupied his face. “What do you consider
‘long’?”

“A period of time during which a normal,
considerate
person would feel ashamed for listening in on
someone else’s conversation.”

Sicarius did not answer.

Amaranthe sighed and dropped her hands. “What
are you doing out here? Checking up? Do you still believe Deret is
a threat to me?”

“No.”

Crickets sang to each other in the shrubs
while Amaranthe waited for him to explain further.

“I do not like you seeing him,” he finally
said.

“Because...?”

“You know why.”

She spread her arms. “With any other man in
the world, I’d be positive, but this is you. Lord General
Unreadable.” Besides if it was what she thought, she wanted to hear
him say it.

His sigh was so soft she might have imagined
it. “It makes me jealous.”

Dear ancestors, she might have
wanted
him to say it, but she had not truly expected him to admit it. “But
I’ve told you how I feel about you, and you chose not to do
anything about it.”

“I told you why.”

Amaranthe was torn between rolling her eyes
in frustration at him and being tickled it bothered him to see her
having dinner with another man. She took a few steps to the
fountain and leaned her hands against the damp stone rim. “Let me
see if I’ve got this. You’re not willing to have a relationship
with me, but you don’t want me to have a relationship with anyone
else either.”

“Yes,” Sicarius said. “Is that
acceptable?”

She snorted. “No, it’s not.”

Sicarius joined her by the fountain. “I
thought not, but you raised my hopes.”

Amaranthe rubbed her face to hide a smile
creeping onto her lips. She
ought
to be furious, but this
was progress for him. Incredible to think it from a man over
thirty-five years old, but he had probably never been jealous of
anyone in his life, nor told a woman he cared. “I wouldn’t have
thought you were the type to do something so frivolous as
hope.”

“A recent development.” Sicarius extended his
arm, a hand out to her.

She stared at it, not sure what he was
offering. She tried to read his face, but the darkness hid what few
cues he gave. A warm breeze whispered through, ruffling his short
hair.

Amaranthe stepped toward him, and he drew her
into a hug. At first, she could only stand there, shocked. Despite
the chiseled muscles beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his
embrace was gentle. She grew aware of his scent, of shaving soap
and weapons cleaning oil, and inhaled deeply. Closing her eyes, she
leaned into him and slipped her arms around his waist. Her knuckles
bumped against the hilts of knives, and she smiled in bemusement.
Only Sicarius would bring all his weapons to the smooching corner
of the Imperial Gardens.

He lowered his head and rested his cheek
against her temple. His soft exhalations warmed her neck, and heat
curled through her body. She wanted to see if he might be
interested in a little more than a hug, but she didn’t. He always
seemed like a feral animal in moments like this, and she feared any
show of enthusiasm would send him stampeding back into his den
where he’d hide behind a wall of emotionless stoicism.

“You’re the only person who’s ever wanted to
give me happiness,” Sicarius said.

That puzzled her until she remembered when
she had said that, in her talk with Basilard the week before. “Do
you eavesdrop on
every
conversation I have with other
men?”

“You can’t call it eavesdropping just because
you don’t notice me in the area.”

She snorted again. He sounded like he was
enjoying himself. Probably because he had gotten away with stealing
her from her evening with Deret, and she was not giving him a hard
time about it. “You’re stealthier than a cat’s shadow. You can’t
possibly expect me to notice you when you’re lurking.”

“Perhaps you have not been assiduous enough
with your training.”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for the
fact that you’re a chronic eavesdropper.”

“What did you expect from an assassin?” he
asked, tone teasing—or as close to it as he got.

Sicarius drew back, and Amaranthe caught his
wrists before he could step away completely.

“We haven’t resolved anything, you know,” she
said.

He extricated one hand and pointed to the
bench. He probably wanted to sit and discuss the situation, as if
it were some battle plan they were concocting. Shaking her head,
she returned to her seat.

“Just to be clear,” Amaranthe said, “this
jealousy of yours, it arises from the fact that you’d like to
be...uhm...” She groped for a word. With anyone else, she would say
lovers, but that implied emotions she doubted he would ever admit
to—if he could feel them at all. “...Bed friends,” she said, then
rolled her eyes. Lovers would have been better. “It’s not just some
territorial dog-peeing-on-a-lamp-post thing, right?”

“Bed friends?”

Yes, he probably thought she was silly
because she didn’t simply say what she meant, but, curse him, he
wasn’t saying what he meant either.

“Are you voting for that one or mocking the
term?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.”

Someday she was going to learn not to give
him those sorts of questions. “Somehow, I think things would be
going easier for me if I’d stayed on the hill, drinking Deret’s
wine.”

“You like a challenge.”

She grew aware of the warmth of his thigh
again. “Would it truly be so detrimental if we...were a we? If it’s
about the men being jealous that two out of the six people in the
group get to have...bed friends, that’s not really a problem when
we’re in the city, right? They can go off and find their own
partners. They wouldn’t even need to know. You’re about as
demonstrative as a rock, and I think I can manage to keep my hands
off of you while the others are around.”

“Really,” he said dryly.

Though she doubted Sicarius would fail to
miss spies in the bushes, she lowered her voice to a whisper to
say, “If it’s about Sespian, I can understand you not wanting more
obstacles between you two, but it would be
my
choice. Even
if he does still have feelings, which is unlikely.”

“You might decide he’s a better choice.”

“Oh, I’m certain he is.” Amaranthe grinned,
though the deepening darkness probably hid it. “But, as you pointed
out, I like a challenge. Why would I want to spend time with some
adoring, warm youngster when I could have a stiff, aloof assassin
whose idea of romance involves throwing knives and running up
stairs together?”

“That’s not romance; that’s training.”

“Is there a difference for you?”

“Slight.”

Sicarius stood, breaking the contact between
them.

Amaranthe sighed. Cool evening air whispered
past her arms, and dew-touched grass flicked at her bare toes. “I
guess this means you’re not going to demonstrate what that
difference might be?”

“Not until this is over.”

“
This
being our...exoneration? And you
having a chance to talk with Sespian?”

“The latter in particular.”

Amaranthe fought down a grumble. So, she got
him
if
she found a way to put him and Sespian together, so
he could have his chance to explain everything to his son. Setting
that up had always been her intent, but she was not sure how long
it would take.

She supposed she ought to find it encouraging
that Sicarius cared enough about righting things with Sespian not
to want to steal his girl, but, cursed ancestors, she
wasn’t
his girl. And he had surely gotten over that fleeting infatuation
by now anyway. He had been drug-addled at the time after all.

“In the meantime,” Amaranthe said, “I get to
spend my nights sitting chastely in the team hideout?”
How...wholesome.