Darkness swallowed her, stealing sight. She inhaled deeply and forced herself to remain calm in the tight space. Hot smoky air, heavy with the scent of burning coal, irritated her nostrils and throat.
She groped around, skinning her knuckles against a pillar. The heat seemed to originate from her left, so she belly-crawled that direction. Mold squished beneath her fingers. Sweat soon bathed her body. Grit and dust stuck to her palms. Something furry brushed her wrist and scurried away. She jerked her hand up. Though she doubted she had anything to fear from rats, she couldn’t keep from imagining hordes of the little beasts swarming over her and gnawing at her flesh.
Amaranthe sighed with relief when she made it to a shaft slanting down. She climbed in and wriggled through it. As she descended, the smoke grew more concentrated and the heat intensified. Stifling coughs, she turned a corner and a square of light appeared below her. When she reached the end of the shaft, she swung out, scattering the burning embers of a fire. She banged her head as she hustled through the flames. Once free, she stomped her feet and swatted her clothes to make sure nothing was burning.
Two sooty, bare-chested men gaped at her. Both held shovels heaped with coal. Aside from the glow of the fire, a single lantern provided light. Stairs rose behind the workers.
Amaranthe pulled two mashed flatcakes from her shirt and handed one to each man. “You fellows are doing excellent work. You never saw me, right?”
They jabbered in a foreign language. Perhaps Arbitan and Larocka were not the only ones exploiting illegal slaves. Fortunately, the men showed more interest in the cakes than her.
Amaranthe slid past them and climbed the stairs. She cracked open the door at the top. A few feet away, a brick wall loomed. She was behind the building near the edge of the compound. A guard clanked past on a walkway above. No going over the wall, but the smooth brick defied scaling anyway.
She brushed dust, mold, and other dubious smudges from her clothing. Then she arranged her remaining flatcakes in one arm and stepped into the sunlight. An ice-and-gravel path took her along the wall, then veered through an alley between buildings.
The gate came into sight, but the busy square stretched before it. Dozens of soldiers streamed here and there. Two more men guarded the exit, but at least it was a different pair than at dawn.
Amaranthe lifted one of the cakes with her free arm and walked into the square.
“Fresh flatcakes! One for two ranmyas, two for three.” She waved the sweet and meandered toward the gate. “Get your flatcakes right here! No need to wait until chow call for a tasty snack. You, sir. You look hungry. Just two ranmyas for a sumptuous sweet.”
A soldier brushed past her but did not look up. Excitement thrummed through her limbs. Maybe this would work. The men barely noticed her. Soldiers who would have pounced on a fleeing prisoner avoided eye contact with a pushy vendor.
She was halfway to the gate and congratulating herself when a hand clamped onto her shoulder. Amaranthe turned, locking the expression of an eager merchant onto her face.
“Sir,” she said to the corporal who restrained her. “I can see you’re a man who appreciates the delicious taste of a fresh flatcake. My sweets use superior ingredients and-”
The corporal growled and jerked her around. He propelled her, not toward a jail cell, but toward the gate.
“How did you get in here? How many times have I told you people the fort is off limits to civilians? Sell your junk outside the walls if you must.”
“Sir, I protest,” Amaranthe said, as the corporal manhandled her through the gate. The two soldiers avoided glares the corporal sent them, no doubt wondering how they had let her pass. “How is a good businesswoman-and a loyal citizen, I assure you-supposed to make a living with such stringent rules? I have children in need of new parkas.”
“Not my problem.” The corporal released her with a shove.
“I’m going to complain to the emperor!”
“You do that.”
Thrusting her chin in the air, Amaranthe marched down the road away from the fort. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. There were still soldiers to avoid. Numerous men strode the snowy paths beyond the walls on some errand or another. If one of the soldiers who had captured her was about, it would mean trouble.
She had to reach the curve in the road ahead. Trees there obscured the view and would provide cover for her to run down to the lake. Only then would she relax.
Pounding boots thundered down the snow-cleared road behind her. Amaranthe winced. So close.
She turned, and a soldier bigger than Maldynado stopped before her. He was armed but by himself. Maybe she could…
“Two, please,” he said.
“What?” Amaranthe asked.
The soldier pulled out three bills. Relief made her smile genuine. She handed him two flatcakes. He gave her the money, a curt wave, and ran off, fingers peeling away the wrappers.
Amaranthe hurried down the road, certain she had surpassed her luck quota for the week. When she turned into the trees, she almost tripped over Sicarius. He was crouching on the balls of his feet, watching her approach.
“They let you go?” His gaze fell on the cakes and ranmyas clutched in her hands.
“Not intentionally.” An alarm bell clanged at the fort, and Amaranthe winced. “In fact, we should leave. Now.”
They ran down the slope and onto the lake trail.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“Waiting for nightfall so I could retrieve you.”
“Really? Like a rescue operation?” Touched, she smiled at him. “Is it possible the stodgy, emotionless assassin has perhaps grown to care about me?”
“You are needed to implement the final phase of the plan.”
Her smiled deepened. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it.”
“What?”
“You like me.”
“Since it’s your plan we’re following, it is logical to make a priority of your safety until Forge is thwarted.”
“Easy, Sicarius. If you’re not careful with all these affirmations of affection, I might assume you want to be friends.”
He gave her a sidelong look with the faintest hint of amusement seeping through his stony facade. “Did you warn the soldiers about the creature’s origins?”
“I tried. My new knowledge of magic only drew their suspicion.”
“We must focus on the emperor,” Sicarius said. “There’s nothing else you can do about this creature.”
“We’ll see.”
• • • • •
“Where’s Akstyr?” Amaranthe asked when she and Sicarius returned to the cannery.
She wanted to know if Akstyr knew anything about soul constructs, such as how to kill them. She peered past counters and drying bills but did not see him.
“Dunno.” Maldynado dropped the handle of the paper cutter to slice a new counterfeit twenty into existence.
“Nor do I.” Books was applying ink to the press. “I thought he was on watch.”
“No one’s on watch.” Amaranthe looked at Sicarius. “Can you check outside and see if there was a scuffle?”
Sicarius inclined his head and left.
“It’s not my fault,” Maldynado said.
Amaranthe joined them. “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, but women like to blame things on me, so I figured I’d announce my innocence preemptively.”
“What type of things?” Books asked. “Their unwanted pregnancies?”
“Of course not. To father my offspring would be an honor. They know that.”
After trading eye rolls with Books, Amaranthe grabbed a pen and several sheets of paper. With stacks of counterfeit bills ready, it was time to see if her bluff would work.
She sat at a counter and penned a note:
Have a compromise that will benefit both our interests. Imperative we meet before the emperor’s birthday. Midnight three days prior in the scrapyard outside the Oak Iron Smelter.