The Emperor's Edge

The Emperor's Edge Ch. 11 Pt. 1

Amaranthe woke several times during the night to pull her blankets tighter and throw more wood into the nearest fire barrel. Drafts like gusts off mountain glaciers whistled through the broken window panes, and what little heat the flames emitted floated to the rafters.

When she noticed someone else awake, she gave up sleep and rolled off the hard bunk. Sicarius sat at a counter, drawing by the light of a fire barrel. The roaring flames looked enticing.

Blanket wrapped about her, Amaranthe shuffled over and perched on the wobbly stool across from him. His hair was damp. Had he already been out running? No hint of dawn brightened the sky beyond the window, but daylight came late this time of year.

A twenty ranmya bill lay on the counter, the imperial army marching across the back. Sicarius’s pen moved with sure strokes, drawing a reverse version of the tableau.

Leaving him alone to work would be wise. Curiosity trumped wisdom, though, and she said, “You were gone a long time yesterday. Did you do anything interesting?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you had?”

Sicarius neither looked up nor answered. The pen continued to scrawl.

“I’m going to my old school today to start researching Forge,” she said. “I thought I’d take Books. Do you want to be in charge of getting the press running? We got a good portion of the rust off last night. I can leave Maldynado and Akstyr to help.”

Sicarius’s fingers moved with precision. “Books will doubtlessly know more about printing presses than I.”

“Yes, but we recruited him to be a research assistant.” Amaranthe raised her eyebrows. “Unless you want to help me shovel through piles of papers in dusty archive buildings?”

“I will go.”

Er. She had not expected him to accept the invitation. It was hard to imagine someone whose daily attire included a dozen knives wandering through shelves, delving into books and ledgers. But then, the same knife-clad man was sitting here, drawing her pictures with—she leaned closer for a good look—amazing accuracy.

“That’s unbelievable,” she said. “Where did you learn to draw?”

The pen left the completed soldiers to work on the numbers and borders.

“You know,” Amaranthe said after a moment of silence, “when someone asks you a question, the socially acceptable thing to do is answer.”

Another silent moment passed, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Burning boards shifted in the barrel, and a burst of sparks flew into the air.

Amaranthe tapped her finger on the counter. “If you answer my question, I’ll leave you alone.”

“For how long?” he promptly asked.

Her shoulders drooped beneath the blanket. She was annoying him.

“Never mind.” She slid off the stool and headed toward the food area.

“Lokdon.” Sicarius looked up.

She paused. “Yes?”

“I had cartography instruction as a boy.”

She bit her lip to hide a smile. A simple answer to a question shouldn’t mean so much. “Is that what you were hoping to do before you decided to take up your current, uhm, profession? Or—” a new idea struck her, “—was that a part of your training for your current profession? Like for spying? You could infiltrate an enemy stronghold and map the terrain and layout for your employer. You said you were just a boy though. You haven’t been training for this since you were a child, have you? It’s not like someone turns ten and decides they want to be an assassin. Do they?”