The Emperor's Edge

The Emperor's Edge Ch. 9 Pt. 1

When Amaranthe returned to the icehouse, she did not see Sicarius, but the mountains of frozen blocks hid a lot. Grinding machinery and yelling workers from neighboring buildings penetrated the walls. Inside, nothing stirred.

She padded around the perimeter of the building, her boots scattering sawdust. If Sicarius was sleeping down here, she saw no indication of it.

Her boots clanged on metal. She knelt to push aside sawdust, and the scent of cedar grew stronger. Beneath the wood chips, steel grates covered much of the floor. Many of them had hinges and handles. She unfastened one that was not barred with ice and peered inside the dark well. More ice. Ladders led down another fifteen feet to a massive chamber, where a single narrow corridor allowed access to the blocks. Packed with more insulation than the stacks above, the underground ice would probably last through the heat of the next summer.

She dropped the grate, turned around, and almost bumped into Sicarius.

He held out a familiar box. “Your flat is empty, and two enforcers are watching the building. This was still under the floorboards.”

They had taken all her belongings? Her furniture, her weapons, her books, all her treasures and mementos?

Amaranthe sighed and accepted the age-worn alder box. She traced the faded yellow canary painted on the lid. Her mother, whom she barely remembered, had made it for her father when he first started working in the mines. This is all that’s left of my parents and my past.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Amaranthe turned and took a few steps from Sicarius before lifting the lid. Her savings were still there, nestled next to an old but well-kept knife that had belonged to her grandfather. She removed both. She had never been able to wear the blade at work, since it was not enforcer-issue, but no one was around to set rules now. After a look at drawings of her parents and grandparents, she folded them and laid them to rest amongst running medals from the Junior Games, a marksmanship pin from the Academy, and silly treasures from her childhood.

“I located a fish cannery that’s not used in the winter.” Sicarius had moved to the stairs and laid out his weapons for cleaning. The tang of blade oil mingled with the aromatic cedar. “It has the prerequisite floor space, and there is little traffic on the street outside. We should not have to worry about someone hearing the creaking of the printing press.”

“It’ll have to wait for morning.” Amaranthe took a deep breath and faced him. “You have a duel this evening.”

“A what?”

“A duel. The recruit of one gentleman—” remembering the loincloth, Amaranthe almost choked over that title, “—is contingent on your besting him in a sword duel. I apologize for committing you without asking, but our time is limited.”

“I don’t duel.”

Amaranthe had expected refusal or reluctance but not that statement. She surveyed the array of weapons in front of him. Garrote. Dagger. Throwing Knives. Dagger. Utility knife. Serrated jackknife. No swords. A flash of panic clutched at her chest. What if he had never used one? Maldynado, her only near-sure thing, might poke a thousand holes into her assassin, and where would her mission be then?

“Surely,” Amaranthe said weakly, “you’ve some familiarity with swords.”

Sicarius finished sharpening a dagger. “I can use a sword. I do not know the rules of sport dueling or much about it.”

Great, neither did she. All she knew was that young members of the warrior caste found it fashionable as a means to acquire a scar or two before heading off to officer candidacy school.