The Emperor's Edge (The Emperor's Edge, #1)

by Lindsay Buroker

“I wish we had Sicarius along,” she said. “Why?” Maldynado tapped the emerald-jeweled hilt of his saber, a different weapon than he had worn

to the Onyx Lodge—he probably had a sword to match every outfit. “I’m not big a...

“We’ll be fine,” Maldynado said. “These aren’t the kinds of people who loiter at Enforcer Headquarters, eyeballing the wanted posters.” “I’m more concerned about the Forge folks than enforcers,” Amaranthe said. “We have invitations. And we’re just going to their party to watch the fun. What could happen?” “I’m not going for fun; I’m going to snoop.”

“Invitation, please,” he said. Maldynado offered the envelope Avery had supplied. The majordomo opened it and inspected it as if forgeries were common. No, we don’t counterfeit invitations. Only money.

“Security?” Maldynado drawled. “Run along, chap. You’re blocking the view.” Apparently, Maldynado’s condescending tone was the expected address, for the man inclined his head and strode off. He wore a utility belt bristling with daggers. “Looks like we found a playmate for Sicarius,” Amaranthe murmured. “Yup. Those were knife scars. I bet he’s a former pit fighter who won his way into a security gig.”

They appeared not like riled wolves ready to rip each other’s throats out but like friends forced to fight. A few threats from the guards invigorated them. When the battle engaged in earnest, Amaranthe felt like a twig in an avalanche of craziness: shouting, screaming, and cursing echoed from the ceiling beams. People stamped

and jumped, and the wooden bleachers trembled beneath her feet. She would have thought the women in the audience would prove less bloodthirsty, but one rail-thin, gray-haired lady next to her chanted, “Kill him, kill him!” with alarming vigor.

Amaranthe stammered a moment before finding words, and even then they weren’t elegant. “What did you…why… He couldn’t do anything!” “Any you leave alive today will be after you tomorrow.” Sicarius wiped his blade on the enforcer’s uniform and sheathed it with his others.

Wholt was just doing his duty—something I told him to take more seriously. He didn’t deserve to die for following orders.” “That was his decision. When he put on that uniform, he agreed to risk his life for the city, for something he believed in. A lot of men die for nothing at all.” “Books!” She stood and slashed her hand in exasperation. “You were married; don’t you know how this is supposed to go? The woman doesn’t want you to argue or try to solve the problem with logic. The woman wants you to commiserate with her. You don’t have to fix anything. Just stand there and nod and say ‘uh huh’ and ‘I understand.’ That’s all you’re supposed to do.”

“Is that really what women…?” He prodded thoughtfully at his beard. “Hm, maybe that’s why my wife left. I always thought I was helping, but she never appreciated it. I never understood why.”

Sure, it had been out of desperation, but she could hardly start carrying a sword and then later be surprised it could cut someone. It was her own stupid choice she was angry about. How had she ever thought becoming a criminal to stop criminals would do anything except add horror to the world?

“Yes,” Books said, “about that… I don’t mean to, ah, try to fix anything, but you may want to apologize to him.” It took her a moment to wrench her mind back to the conversation. “Sicarius?” “He’s not a man you want to turn against you.” “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” “He has no morality, no conscience. I’ve seen him kill enforcers too. It’s not as if this is

new hobby for him. He’s utterly heartless. I’m not sure what hold you have over him…” The emperor. “But if I were you,” Books continued, “I wouldn’t presume it to be absolute. Be careful. You trust too easily. The first day we met, you told me you were wanted by the enforcers. What if I had turned you in?” “I knew you wouldn’t.” “How could you possibly know that?” he asked. “You weren’t sober enough to find Enforcer Headquarters.” Books snorted. “You see people the way you want to see them, not the way they are. You think Maldynado is a gentleman, for spit’s sake.” “What do you ...

surprised someday. I…don’t want to see that. Please be careful. Sicarius isn’t someone you can trust. Don’t push him too far.” “All right, Bo...

Books rustled another paper. “I also created a diagram for you. It has Larocka at the center and shows all the people she’s been mentioned in concert with in newspapers and publications. And it shows which of those people are connected with each other. It’s all supposition at this point, but some of the names that link most heavily amongst each other could indicate key players in the Forge organization.” “Excellent work,

Sicarius stood before her. He held out a sealed envelope. “A boy came to the dock with a message for you.” Ugh, she wasn’t supposed to be getting mail here. That meant people knew where she was and possibly what she was doing. “What is it?” she asked. “I would not presume to read your private correspondences.” His tone was as warm as the ice under the dock. Maybe Books was right. Maybe she should apologize. It wouldn’t hurt her, though it seemed a betrayal to Wholt’s spirit. Would it even mean anything to Sicarius? He never said “please” or “thank you” or seemed

have any use for social rituals. She fiddled with the envelope. “Did you question the boy?” Perhaps it was one of the children she had seen spying on her. “No.” Amaranthe frowned up at him. “Why not?” “If you would curse me for defending you from enforcers, I suspect you’d want me to interrogate a child even less.” “I said question, not interrogate.” “I don’t differentiate,” he said bluntly.

needed to complete the training meant few finished it. Though Hunters have become legendary in Nuria—and feared by wizards—the organization never developed enough clout to threaten the status quo.” Time to ask what she was really wondering: “Are you one of these Hunters?” “No.” “Akstyr heard it somewhere.” “There are many rumors about me.” “No kidding.”

“Someone has to stop it or it’ll go on killing people.” “So?” She scowled at him. “So, the emperor wouldn’t want his citizens being mutilated by some bloodthirsty monster.” Since she had stopped running, her body had cooled. Cold air licked through her damp clothes, and she shivered. “Let’s go.” Amaranthe started up the hill, following the tracks. She had only taken a few steps when Sicarius’s voice halted her. “No.” She turned. “No?” “We cannot fight it.” “I’m not planning to fight it. We just need to find out what it is we’re dealing with.” Sicarius pointed at the shredded corpses. “They found out. It killed them. It will not let us walk up, shake

its hand, and walk away. If we get close, it’ll kill us too.” “You’re afraid,” Amaranthe blurted. As soon as she voiced the words, she regretted it. She had uttered them as a revelation, but they sounded like an accusation. Or a challenge. Sicarius did not respond, though he stood still, face like stone.

While she could not retract her words, maybe she could soften them. “I do not judge you for it. I merely wonder why, when you seem to fear no one.” “I have no fear of men. They are soft and easily dispatched. Their creations are more powerful and less predictable. It’s likely our weapons won’t work against it.” “I understand. And I’m scared too,” Amaranthe sai...

Hundreds of footprints tamped the snow, and she kept losing the creature’s trail. It took enormous bounds that left wide gaps between the tracks, and its path was not entirely linear. Sicarius followed the intermittent traces with some sense she did not possess.

“It looks like it’s made out of clay, though obviously it’s stronger than your average ceramic…” She trailed off, remembering. “What?” Sicarius asked. For the first time, Amaranthe described to him the fire, the murders, and the shards scattered

about the giant kiln she had been investigating the day she first came to Hollowcrest’s attention. “Would a magic creature like this be crafted from mundane materials? And would people need to die for the spell, ritual, or whatever to be completed?” Sicarius looked at her sharply. “If it’s a soul construct, yes.” “What’s the purpose of a soul construct, besides—” The creature rammed the column again before turning its head and gnawing at the steel. “—killing people and chasing us up water towers?” Amaranthe finished. “Guarding its maker,” Sicarius said. “And would that maker be nearby?” “Perhaps not near the creature’s kills. These appear random, as if it’s simply replenishing itself with people’s souls, choosing victims

“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!” ...

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.

“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 façade.

“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 bear my offspring would be an honor. They know that.”

you—ho, I recognize that gorgeous fellow.” “I imagine so,” Amaranthe said. The wanted poster featured the picture the woman in the ink shop had sketched of him. This version came with a few words at the bottom: Maldynado Monticzhelo, Wanted Dead or Alive: 250 ranmyas. “Two hundred fifty ranmyas? That can’t be right.” Maldynado raked his fingers through his soft brown curls. “My last hair cut cost more than that!” “I see you’re regarding this with the utmost seriousness,” Amaranthe said.

“It must be a misprint. Don’t you think it’s a misprint?” Maldynado gave Sicarius a pleading look. Sicarius stared back without comment. “Two-fifty.” Maldynado’s gaze shifted to Amaranthe. “Yours is for ten thousand! And Sicarius, they’re

offering a million for him.” “Surely you don’t put yourself in Sicarius’s league,” Amaranthe said, amused at Maldynado’s whining, despite regrets that she had somehow gotten him noticed by the law. “No,” Maldynado admitted, “but you’re just a girl. How can yours be for…” He stuck out his ...

Books said, eyes glinting with apparent appreciation for the poster. “Forty times?” Maldynado clasped his forehead. “That’s insulting. I’m much more, er… I’m… Look!” He stood sideways, thrust out his chest, and flexed his...

“Two-fifty.” His head dropped, and his hair flopped about his angular cheekbones as he slunk back to the pape...

even bother to get up from the table when they see me in an eating house. Why risk a muscle pull drawing a sword for such a measly reward...

“I thought you didn’t have any money,” Maldynado said. “Don’t.” Akstyr grinned at Amaranthe. “Your fake money works real good.” She almost fell off her stool. “You used the counterfeits?” “Uh huh.” “How could you? You’ve put us all

in danger. That merchant is going to realize it’s not genuine eventually, if she hasn’t already. If it gets traced back to us…” Amaranthe resisted the urge to run to the front of the building and peer through the boarded windows facing the street. It was probably too soon for a squad of enforcers to tramp down the dock to their door. “Imbecile,” Books said to Akstyr. “How could you be so thoughtless? To jeopardize everything for a sweet.” “I didn’t know it’d be a problem.” “How could you not know? What you mean is you didn’t think.”

Akstyr threw the sack on the table. “This chews rat balls.” “What a colorful colloquialism,” Books said. “Clearly your gang years educated you well.” Akstyr’s hands clenched into fists. “I’ve been work...

you’re going to treat me like an idiot,...

your old gang boss?” “Whatever.” “Is that a yes?” she asked. A silent glare answered her. Lovely. A Sicarius in training.

Amaranthe joined Books at the press. Eyes wide with concern, he shook his head. She shared the feeling. “Let’s start packing the dry bills in Maldynado’s chicken crate,” she said. “Just in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

to your old comrades that you escaped and were well,” she said. “And working for a crazy woman for no pay?” “Careful, you’ll make them jealous.”

“Do we invite ourselves up or wait for a welcoming party?” Amaranthe asked. “It’s already here.” A boy of nine or ten detached from a shady nook and planted himself in front of Akstyr, fists on his hips. “You’re s’pose to be dead, you magic-cursed cur.” “We here to see the boss, Pigeon,” Akstyr growled. “You can eat street.” “Tuskar don’t want to see some pretend wizard,” the boy said. “How about me?” Amaranthe lifted a finger. “Would he consent to seeing me?” “What you want, woman?” the boy

gang. Paying job.” The work ethic ran strongly through the empire’s citizens, a social construct too embedded to be cast aside as easily as the legal code. Amaranthe hoped even gang members would value the idea of earning their pay. “That truth?” The boy pointed at Sicarius. “Who’s he?” Amaranthe suspected more ears than this youth’s were listening to the conversation. “My secretary.” The boy

snorted. “Whatever. Follow me.”

He, too, affixed Akstyr with a frosty glare and worked a toothpick back and forth with his tongue. Amaranthe crossed the room and stopped in front of the man. “Greetings.” She decided not to mention her name. “Are you the leader? Tuskar? I have a job proposition for you.” Tuskar’s eyes never left Akstyr. “How’d you escape from the pillory, boy? ‘Round here, magic’s forbidden, death penalty.” “I wasn’t doing no magic,” Akstyr growled. “Though it was real nice of you to turn me in without even asking about it.” “You gotta fit in to be one of us. You never did. Always having airs,

pretending you’re something better. Truth is you just crawled out of a piss pot, same as the rest of us.” Tuskar pointed at Akstyr’s hand. “I see you with my brand after today, I’ll put my boys on the hunt for your hide.” “What am I supposed to do?” Akstyr asked. “Gnaw my hand off?” Tuskar surged to his feet and around the desk. “If you can’t figure out a way to get it off, I’ll do it for you.” He slid a dagger out of his belt. Amaranthe did not notice Sicarius move. Between one eye blink and the next, he was simply there, standing in front of Akstyr, blocking Tuskar’s path. Sicarius did not draw a weapon or posture threateningly. He merely offered his cold stare.