Epilogue

That afternoon, Amaranthe left the icehouse to find out what had happened to her men. On the way back, she picked up a few supplies and a newspaper. The front page story detailed the kidnapping, positing the “abhorrent and degenerate Sicarius” as the perpetrator of the “unconscionably heinous attack.” Amaranthe was mentioned at the end as an accomplice—no colorful adjectives for her.

She sighed. So much for getting her name cleared. At least the newspaper said Sespian had survived his injuries and was recovering.

When she returned to the icehouse, she found Sicarius still on the cot in the office. Not surprising after the previous night’s events. Her shoulder ached from the ore car crash, but, between the creature and the twenty guards, he had received a far worse battering than her. His eyes were open, though, and he had bathed and changed clothes. His gaze followed her into the room.

Not sure of his mood—they had not spoken more than two words since fleeing the smelter—she set the newspaper, a couple of straw hats, homespun shirts, and overalls on the desk. Remembering she still had Sicarius’s black dagger, she laid it on the pile of gear next to his cot. She imagined it happy to once again be nestled amongst the throwing knives, garrotes, poison vials, and other mortality-inducing appurtenances.

“You came back,” Sicarius said.

“Yes.” Amaranthe flipped over the empty chicken crate, sat before the stove, and regarded him. Had he thought she wouldn’t? Maybe he was looking forward to returning to a solitary life free of pestering womenfolk. “Guess I’m like a persistent toenail fungus, huh?”

“Hm.” Sicarius sat up on the cot and dropped his feet to the floor. His face betrayed no pain, but stiffness marked his movements. “A stray cat perhaps.”

“Adorable, loyal, and lovable?”

“Nosey, curious, and independent.” His eyes crinkled. “Not something you plan to bring home.”

Amaranthe found hope in his light tone. “But something you appreciate once it’s there?”

Sicarius stood, grabbed the desk chair, and dragged it over to the stove. He sat close, looked her in the eye, and said, “Yes.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then blushed and studied a whorl on a floorboard. It was silly she felt so pleased. It wasn’t as if he had admitted some undying love—ancestors’ eternal warts, he’d compared her to an alley cat. Still, she thought that yes might have also meant, “I’m sorry I lost my temper, and thanks for coming to help.”

Sicarius picked up the newspaper and read the front page. Though his expression never changed, Amaranthe grimaced in sympathy.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Sespian,” she said. “I’d hoped you would save him, and he would see you save him, and you two could…”

“We completed our mission. Hollowcrest, Larocka, and Arbitan are dead,” Sicarius said, “and, outside the smelter, I found the lieutenant who betrayed Sespian. He had this.” Sicarius showed her a glowing purple stone.

Amaranthe fished out its mate. “Larocka had the other in her office.”

Sicarius nodded. “He won’t be a problem again.”

“That’s good, but any chance you and Sespian had of forging a relationship was dashed. Those things you said to buy time… I don’t know if he heard it all, but the papers make you out to be the mastermind behind the kidnapping. He’ll only fear and hate you after this.”

“Then it is how it’s always been. He is safe for now. That’s the only thing that matters.”

Sicarius spoke as unemotionally and matter-of-factly as ever. And Amaranthe didn’t believe him for a heartbeat. She lifted a hand, intending to pat him on the arm, but, in a fit of courage, she leaned over and hugged him. He did not return the embrace, but he did not pull away either. Though she had only meant to comfort him, she found herself noticing hard muscle beneath her arms, soft hair against her cheek, and the clean, masculine scent of warm skin washed with lye soap.

Amaranthe blushed and withdrew. The blond eyebrow he twitched at her was a little too knowing.

She cleared her throat. “How did you know Sespian was at that smelter anyway?”

“I remembered it from the list of properties we researched. Where else would you take someone to burn him alive?”

“Ah, quite.” Amaranthe decided not to mention the intervening clue she had needed to make the deduction.

Sicarius lifted his chin toward the pile of farmer clothing on the desk. “What’s the next scheme?”

“I need to get the men out of jail,” she said. “They started a fight and stole an enforcer truck in order to provide a distraction for me. It seems they were incarcerated shortly after.” She was not sure how Books had ended up in jail as well, but she had heard him throwing vocabulary words at Maldynado when she was scouting around the back of the building.

“Are you planning to plow them out?” Sicarius picked up one of the straw hats and turned it over in his hands.

“You could come along and find out.”

With his goal accomplished, he had no reason to stay with them, but she hoped he would.

“To what ends?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to say getting the men out of jail was ends enough but smothered the words. Sicarius wouldn’t care.

“I need them for my next plan,” she said instead.

“What plan?”

What plan indeed. She thought of the last time she had hastily devised a scheme to pique his interest. This time, there was none of that blunt coldness in his inquiry. Maybe he didn’t really want to leave.

To give herself time to think, Amaranthe opened the door to the cast-iron stove and shoveled in a heap of coal. She had burned the counterfeit bills as soon as she woke, and only piles of ash remained. She would clean the stove out before they left, which would be soon. It was time to find a new hideout, a place from which they could launch…

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked. “Sure, Larocka and Arbitan won’t be problems again, but Forge was a coalition, not a person. Doesn’t it seem likely others will pose a future threat to Sespian? And, of course, the nature of the progressive policies he wishes to instate will make him more enemies. He needs someone watching out for him. He needs…”

Amaranthe stood and paced the tiny room. As the old floorboards creaked beneath her boots, the rest of the plan formed. “The Emperor’s Edge, a small but elite unit of specialists who can slip into places and situations where an army cannot. Though they are fugitives, they work for the good of the empire, a fact that—assuming their exploits are impressive and newsworthy—cannot go unnoticed by the emperor himself.” As she imagined such future exploits, a sense of freedom came over her, something she had never felt as an enforcer. For the first time, she was crafting her own destiny instead of working within someone else’s framework. “Since the principal members of this group are the same associated with Sespian’s kidnapping and near death, he must eventually wonder if everything about that day was as it seemed. Why would people who’d meant him harm risk their lives working toward his interests? If he wants to investigate something, he has all the resources in the empire available to him. He’d find the truth eventually, all truths he sought. We just have to make him want to seek. And when he does, he should exonerate me, and I could vouch for you as…someone he should get to know. The Emperor’s Edge is the path to what we both want.”

By now she was expecting the stunned silence, and Sicarius did not disappoint her. A long moment passed before he spoke.

“To stay here in the capital, parading before enforcers, soldiers, bounty hunters, and Larocka’s vengeful colleagues would be suicidal craziness.”

“Yes. Are you in?”

He snorted and stared at her. Coals shifted in the stove. Somewhere outside, a whistle marked the end of the workday. As Sicarius’s thoughtful silence continued, Amaranthe struggled to keep her patience. It was not as if she was asking for an oath in blood. He could stick around for a while, see how the operation went, and leave if it was not to his liking. Or simply say no and be done with it.

“Yes,” Sicarius finally said. “I will follow you.”

Amaranthe started to pump an exultant fist, but her jaw dropped as the entirety of his statement sank in. Follow her? “I wasn’t looking for a subordinate, just a teammate, a co-conspirator.”

“Teams need leaders to function.” One eyebrow lifted. “Even small elite units of specialists.”

“Yes, but you… You’re more experienced, more worldly, stronger, faster, deadlier. If anybody should be leading this, it’s you.” She waved at the newspaper. “I’m just the accomplice.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“No,” Amaranthe allowed after a moment. She had been the one to get a team together to pursue her vision. She had kept them together and working toward that end. Somehow she had even inspired enough loyalty for them to get thrown in jail on her behalf.

So why balk now?

Because it was Sicarius. Leading the other men, she could see, but leading him seemed presumptuous. No, she could do presumptuous, so that wasn’t even it. It was…fear. It was walking through the world with a man-eating tiger on a leash, knowing she was accountable for its actions. One inattentive moment and that tiger could pull away and kill anytime it wanted or—worse—she could send it off to kill for her anytime she wanted. And what if she came to relish that feeling? That power? Would she become like Hollowcrest? She suppressed a shudder.

“Besides,” Sicarius said, “I would create a team of assassins, because that is what I know how to do. That would not impress Sespian. You, however, will create a team of heroes.”

She met his gaze and found only respect there. If a man who has a mantra of trusting nobody has faith in me, shall I argue?

She plopped her straw hat on her head. “We better get those future heroes out of prison then.”

• • • • •

They waited until night, when there would be fewer men on duty. Amaranthe ambled into the enforcer station with the hat slung low over her face and one hand tucked into her overalls. If she could have found a stalk of wheat to chew on, it would be dangling from her mouth. Alas, it was not the right season.

Face shadowed by his hat, Sicarius waited at her back. The lone corporal manning the desk gave her a bemused smile.

“Help you?”

Rows of steel-barred jail cells stretched beyond an open doorway behind him. Amaranthe hoped, in the aftermath of the emperor’s kidnapping, no one had found time to look up the new prisoners in the warrant book.

“Lost me a few runaways from my farm out yonder.” She pointed vaguely in the direction of the lake, beyond which agriculture still dominated the lowlands. “Heard they was here.”

“Describe them.”

“Four strapping fellows, well except for old Hoss. He’s a tall gangly one. Junior looks like he ought to be an officer in the army, ‘cept the women and the drink keeps him under the table ‘til noon if he ain’t watched good. Surly used t’ run with the gangs and looks it. Then there’s Scar. Name speaks for itself, I reckon.”

“Those aren’t the names they gave me,” the corporal said.

“Well, I figger not. Would you give up yer name if you was running from a work contract? I’ve got the doc’ments right here for ‘em.” She handed four bogus papers to the corporal. “They all signed on for two years in exchange for room and board and a share of the crops. I’d be in a right bind without them four hands. Planting season ain’t that far off, y’know.”

The corporal shrugged. “I’ll get the paperwork. It’s a hundred ranmyas apiece to free them.”

“A hundred apiece! What’d they do?”

“Obstructed a crime scene investigation and stole one of our steam trucks. Then they resisted arrest. They’ve resisted everything.”

“Idiots!” Amaranthe slammed a fist into her palm and did her best to look infuriated. “Why couldn’t they just run off and get drunk like you’d expect?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.” Amusement tugged at the corporal’s lips. “Do you have the money to pay the fine?”

“No,” she said glumly. “I reckon you’ll have to keep them.”

The corporal winced. She wondered just how troublesome her men were being.

“Don’t they have anyone else who could pay the fine?” he asked. “The big one—”

“Junior,” Amaranthe supplied.

“Er, Junior implied he had some family he might be able to get to come down.”

“His family’s all dead. Junior’s so used to lying he couldn’t tell the truth if his brandy supply hung on it.”

The corporal rubbed his chin. “He did seem quite reluctant to contact his kin.”

“What happens if no one can pay the fine?” Amaranthe asked as if she didn’t know perfectly well.

The corporal slumped. “They stay here. One hundred eighty days in a cell.”

“Well, I’m just a simple farmer, sir, and I’ll never have that much money to spare, but if you’d release them and let me put them back to work, I’d sure be grateful.”

“Can’t let them go without a fitting punishment.”

“Oh, they’ll be punished.” Amaranthe smiled and pointed at the heretofore silent Sicarius. “Pa here, he’s the farm dis-ci-pli-nar-i-an. He was a soldier and he knows how to lay into a man an’ make him wish he’d never thunk of running off. Ain’t that right, Pa?” She smiled up at Sicarius.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “Ma.”

Hm, she would have to remember not to put him into positions that required acting flair in the future.

“I don’t know, ma’am…” The corporal glanced over his shoulder toward the office. Wanting to get rid of the men but not sure his superiors would approve?

The enforcer that leaned through the doorway was not a superior though. He sported the rank of a raw recruit, and he had a swollen and likely broken nose.

“Want me to get those men for you, Corporal?” he asked in a nasal tone.

Amaranthe lifted her hand and pressed it to her lips to hide a smirk. How many enforcers had it taken to manhandle those four into cells?

“It makes sense,” she said. “If they was to stay here six months, all four of ‘em, that’s a lot of meals you’d have to be feeding them, and them doing no work in return, just lounging in them cells. I reckon that’d add up to a lot more than four hundred ranmyas over time. Seems like a better deal for the city if you let me take ‘em back to the farm.”

“I’m not the one paying for their meals,” the corporal muttered, but he glanced at his subordinate, who waited hopefully in the doorway. “All right, get them out.”

“That’s kind of you, sir.” Amaranthe smiled, and it was no act.

The corporal grumbled under his breath, disappeared into the office for a moment, and returned with paperwork. He laid the four sheets on the desk, stamped them closed, and scribbled something intentionally illegible in the box for recording the fine as paid. Illogically, the old enforcer in Amaranthe cringed at this ham-handed handling of the law.

Scuffles sounded beyond the doorway, and something crashed to the floor and broke.

“Rotten apples.” The corporal pointed at Amaranthe. “Can you help, or will they just get worse when they see you?”

Sicarius strode through the doorway. Amaranthe hustled after. She had to speak first, before the men blew her story.

She need not have worried, for they halted and stared when they saw her and Sicarius. It was not disbelief at their arrival, she realized, but amusement at the farmer outfits. Maldynado managed to open his mouth at the same time as he smirked.

“Junior,” Amaranthe blurted to beat him. “How could you leave the farm—leave my sister—like that? You plant your seed, then just run off to the city to get yourself wound up in antics that put you in jail. For six months! You expecting her to have the baby and care for it without no men-folk to help provide?”

Maldynado’s mouth did not shut; rather his jaw dropped lower and hung there.

Books slapped him on the shoulder. “Lout.”

“And the rest of you. There’s work to be done, even if there’s still snow on the ground. You forget your contracts? You forget your word what you gave me?”

Basilard appeared glad for his missing voice. An indignant expression lurched onto Akstyr’s face, and he started to say something, but Books elbowed him.

“It was a mistake, ma’am,” Books said. “We’re ready to come back to work.”

“Not soon enough.” Maldynado issued a disparaging glare at the corridor of cells behind him.

Amaranthe led them out of the station before anybody could say anything that might give away her story. Outside, snow squeaked under their boots and black ice glinted beneath the street lamps, but gusts of wind from the south promised warmer weather coming.

“Thanks for springing us,” Akstyr said.

“Indeed,” Books said.

Basilard nodded.

“Not that we couldn’t have gotten out on our own charms,” Maldynado said.

“I saw your charms on a couple of enforcers’ faces,” Amaranthe said. “I’d call them contusions, but it’s your story.”

Maldynado grinned. “So, what’s next, boss?”

“Since you asked…”

By the time they reached the icehouse, she had explained her plan.

“There’s just one thing I want to know,” Maldynado said at the end. He stabbed a finger at Amaranthe. “Is that the uniform?”

Smiling, she removed her straw farmer’s cap. She stood on her tiptoes and plopped it on Maldynado’s head.

“Only for you.”

Maldynado started to reach up to remove it but paused. He wriggled his eyebrows at Amaranthe. “Does it look good on me?”

“You look like an illiterate buffoon,” Books said.

“But does it look good?”

• • • • •

Sespian eyeballed the bowl of lotion his new valet had dropped off. The honey-and-cinnamon scent left him wondering if it was edible. He smeared some on his cracked cheeks and forehead.

Trog hopped onto the desk and swished his cobweb-draped tail.

“Yes, I know I look silly.” Sespian smeared another glop on his burned skin, sat in the chair, and patted the cat. A couple of papers rested beneath Trog’s paws. “You’re just in time to help me with a decision.”

Trog sniffed Sespian’s chin, and the sandpaper tongue darted out to sample the lotion.

“I guess that answers the edible question,” Sespian murmured. “We’re here to decide something a little more momentous though.”

He slid the wanted posters for Amaranthe and Sicarius out from beneath the cat. He picked up a pencil and sighed at the fresh feline tooth marks decorating it.

“Money alone doesn’t seem to be enough of an incentive for someone to get rid of Sicarius.” Sespian tapped the pen against his chin and then added the promise of a title and land to the reward money.

Next he considered Amaranthe’s poster. Or at least he tried to. Trog flopped down and stretched out across it, inviting a belly rub.

“Don’t worry, boy. I’m not going to upgrade her bounty.” Sespian wished he remembered more of what happened in the smelter. The guards said Amaranthe had been there at the end, but he had no memory of anything after Sicarius demanding his head. No one had seen who killed Dunn. Sespian tapped the pencil thoughtfully. “I still have no idea what Lokdon has done and whether she’s been acting of her own volition.”

Trog meowed.

“Yes, yes, and I suppose there’s the hope that maybe she…” He finished with a silly shrug.

On her poster, he crossed out the line about her being a magic user and simply wrote: “Wanted Alive — 10,000 ranmyas.”

• • • • •

A young officer in the Imperial Intelligence Network intercepted the emperor’s revisions before they could go to Enforcer Headquarters. The officer left Sicarius’s poster alone, but he amended the one for Amaranthe Lokdon. “Wanted Dead — 10,000 ranmyas.” Those with knowledge of Forge could not be allowed to walk the streets or contact the emperor.