He pushed himself to his feet, only to double over with a hiss. Stabs of pain ricocheted through his head. The problem was getting worse every day.
Sespian sucked in a few deep breaths. The stabs subsided into a more manageable ache.
His guards came to attention when he exited the suite.
“Just going across the hall,” he said.
Three steps took him to Hollowcrest’s door. He lifted a hand to knock but paused midair. He always knocked before entering. Emperor or not, he felt it the polite thing to do. Yet he could do as he wished, right? Maybe he should surprise Hollowcrest.
His hand lowered to the knob. He twisted it and stalked inside.
Hollowcrest and a brown-clad man Sespian had never seen before stood in front of a desk. Surprise blossomed across Hollowcrest’s face, but he quickly recovered. The other man looked…guilty. What were they discussing in here so late at night?
“What can I do for you, Sire?” Hollowcrest asked.
Got to be faster, Sespian. You should have spoken first. “Who’s this?”
“This is Malford, the assistant to the Chief of Finance in the Urkart Satrapy,” Hollowcrest said. “He’s here on business.”
Mud and some sort of damp green gunk adorned the stranger’s boots. A worn leather jacket hung nearly to his knees with something that might have been a pistol bulging at his side. Neither the scarred cheek nor shaven head suggested finance expert. In addition, a hint of the sewers clung to the man.
“One wonders what route he took to arrive here,” Sespian said.
“What can I do for you, Sire?” Hollowcrest repeated.
Sespian could challenge him then and there, demand to know who the man really was. But if Hollowcrest continued to lie, what could Sespian do?
“My birthday celebration is coming up,” he said, “a huge holiday for everyone, and there’ll be the gala here at the Barracks, of course. I’d like to invite all the foreign diplomats in the city. It’s time to build real relations instead of simply humoring them.”
“Of course, Sire, I’ll take care of it personally.”
Uh huh, sure you will.
“Anything else, Sire?”
“No. Nothing at all.”
As soon as Sespian returned to his suite, he shoved aside an antique armoire. He grabbed a nail file from a drawer and unfastened a grate at the base of the wall.
He squirmed into the dark and narrow duct. It barely provided enough room to wriggle through on his belly. He had grown in the ten years since he used it last-the age he had decided it was unseemly for the future emperor to crawl through the ducts, spying on people. Perhaps he never should have stopped.
Dust blanketed the inside, and cobwebs wrapped around his face. Drafts of warm air stirred his hair. When he reached a T-section, he folded himself in half to turn right. Before he reached the blob of light that represented the grate to Hollowcrest’s room, he heard voices.
“From your promises, I was expecting a drooling simpleton.” It was not Hollowcrest’s voice-it had to be the supposed finance assistant.
“For a man of average intellect, that would be the result,” Hollowcrest said. “The boy’s naive but bright. I have everything under control though. The poison has dulled his faculties and is on its way to rendering him bedridden.”
In the stillness of the duct, Sespian’s quickened breaths stirred the cobwebs. His head throbbed dully. Not a tumor. Poison. It was hard to feel relief, since the latter was just as bad as the former. Although poison he might be able to do something about.
“I don’t think he believed your finance chief cover.”
“If you’d avoid mucking around in the sewers, your true occupation wouldn’t be so obvious,” Hollowcrest muttered.
“My work takes me to fabulous and varied places.” The man laughed and something sinister in it chilled Sespian further.
Hollowcrest sighed. “Sicarius never smelled of his work.”
Sespian’s stomach lurched at the assassin’s name, old fear rearing to the front of his mind.
“Sicarius, Sicarius, Sicarius,” the other man snarled. “The way you always talk about him, you’d think you were lovers.”
“He was efficient. Very efficient. A man in my position values that.”
“I hear he’s in the city. Maybe you two should kiss and make up. Unless you’re afraid you’re his next mark. Or perhaps the boy is.” That sinister laugh again. “Many would benefit from the emperor’s death and the succession confusion it would bring. I’m sure there’s a lot of money in that job.” He sounded wistful.
“Let’s focus on why you’re here,” Hollowcrest said. “What have you found out about Forge?”
“I can’t get into the lead lady’s place. I ran up against a bunch of magical protection, and I was almost discovered by some scarred-up security guard.”
The men moved to another room in the suite where Sespian could not hear them. That was fine. He had heard enough. He backed through the duct until he reached his room. When he tried to screw the grate back in place, his hands shook too much for the job.
Hollowcrest was poisoning him.
Sespian stalked the room, mind whirring. How was the old curmudgeon doing it? Putting it in his food? Was the kitchen staff a part of it? Was Jeddah?
His peregrinations halted in front of the tray with the cup of tea on it. He sank to the floor before the steeping liquid. Not his food. His tea. The one thing that most reminded him of his mother. Sespian clenched his jaw. That bastard had ruined it.
He picked up the cup, crossed to the water closet, and poured it down the wash-out. A part of him wanted to stalk across the hall and hurl the empty cup at Hollowcrest-a big part of him. But that would do no good. It would only tip Hollowcrest to what Sespian now knew.
Sespian stared into the empty cup. What was he going to do?
• • • • •
At the icehouse, Amaranthe woke in the middle of the night with her heart slamming against her ribs. Fleeting memories of a nightmare dissipated like plumes of smoke from a steam engine. All she remembered was something dark chasing her, emitting a horrible, unearthly screech.
The sound came again. She frowned with confusion as dream and reality mixed. Had the screech been real or was she still sleeping?
She sat up on the cot. The wool blanket pooled around her waist. Darkness blanketed the room, though she could feel heat radiating from the nearby stove. She sat motionless and listened.
At first, she heard nothing. Deep in the industrial district, the icehouse neighborhood saw little traffic at night, and silence stretched through the streets like death. Then another screech shattered the quiet. Amaranthe cringed involuntarily; it jarred her nerves like metal gouging metal. An eerily supernatural quality promised it was nothing so innocuous. And it originated nearby, within a block or two.
Thinking of the bear-mauling story in the paper, Amaranthe slid off the cot, reluctant to make any noise. She managed to thump her knee against the desk. So much for not making noise. She groped for the lantern and turned up the flame. The light revealed her neat pile of boots, business clothing, knife, and the box containing her savings. She tugged on the footwear, then grabbed the weapon and lantern. When she opened the door, it creaked. Loudly. She hissed at it in frustration.
On the landing, she glanced around, hoping Sicarius would step out of the shadows. The vastness of the dark warehouse mocked her tiny light. The floor was not visible from the landing. When Amaranthe leaned over the railing, her light reflected off exposed ice, mimicking dozens of yellow eyes staring at her.
Another inhuman screech cut through the walls of the icehouse. It echoed through the streets and alleys outside, surrounding and encompassing. In the distance, dogs barked. The hair on her arms leapt to attention. She shivered and clenched the handle of the lantern more tightly.