Emperor's Edge Republic (3 page)

A soft tearing sound reached her ears. Uh oh. The shirt.

The canoe was less than thirty meters away. That would have to be close enough. She took another big breath, submerged, then smacked the side of the blade against the shirt again. A foot of snake body stuck out through a tear. At least it wasn’t the head. Amaranthe angled toward the canoe.

Her burdens made the swim slow, but the wooden bottom of the vessel came into view before her breath ran out—or her prisoner escaped. She didn’t hesitate. She angled toward the bottom of the lagoon, so she could push off for momentum, then burst out of the water inches from the canoe’s near side, thrusting the shirt into the craft. She dropped back down and swam under the hull to come up on the far side.

Pausing only long enough to ensure nobody waited with a spear aimed at her head, Amaranthe pulled herself over the side. The volume of the men’s shouts made her wince, but at least nobody was facing her. The snake had shredded the shirt and escaped—she glimpsed its green body on the other end, with four men backpedaling from it. Four men. The other two... She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was behind her. No. They were in the water swimming away. Good.

Amaranthe slammed the hilt of the sword into the back of the closest man’s head. He didn’t crumple into unconsciousness the way people did when Sicarius clobbered them, but he bent in half, his spear falling into the water. She shoved him over the side. Three left to go.

At that point, someone noticed her. Fortunately, it was the man farthest from her and on the other side of the snake. He would have a hard time throwing his spear or getting to her through his comrades. But his shouts made the other two men glance in her direction.

Though fighting in a wobbling, tilting canoe wasn’t her forte, Amaranthe darted in quickly enough to catch the first before he could do more than gape. She sliced her sword through his spear, cutting it in half, then slammed the flat of the blade into his side. He grunted, but didn’t tip into the water. He hurled the broken half of his spear at her. She could have simply ducked but thought it might worry him more if she displayed some unexpected weapons prowess, so she whipped her blade up and sliced the wood haft in two before it could strike her head. The ends veered away, splashing harmlessly in the water. Not as impressed as she’d hoped, the man launched himself at her. Amaranthe dropped to her knee and thrust up with her arms. With her help, his trajectory took him over her shoulder and into the water.

When she stood again, the man behind him had a spear raised to his shoulder, ready to throw. The obsidian point was aimed at her heart. She forced herself to relax, the sword ready before her. She had deflected the stick. She could do this too.

Before he could throw, the man flung his head back and screamed. The snake had plunged its fangs into his calf. He jabbed down at it with his spear. The last man, the one behind the snake, forgot about Amaranthe and also tried to stab the snake to death.

She thought about hurling them both in, but decided they were busy enough where they were. The natives she had flung overboard already weren’t waiting around—they were headed toward shore.

“Always nice to have a little luck,” Amaranthe said and dove out of the canoe.

She reached the submarine and unfastened the hatch, hoping none of the natives had been clambering about inside. As fine of an engineer as President Starcrest might be, she imagined a spear through the navigation controls—or maybe that glowing orb that powered the engine—would be trouble.

Fortunately, the floor was dry with no sign of wet footprints. She pulled the hatch shut, securing it behind her, then double-checked to make sure she was alone before starting the engine. Angry clangs reverberated through the hull—someone banging at the hatch with a spear. Though she doubted they could find a way in with their primitive tools, Amaranthe was glad when the power dial on the control panel hummed to life, showing the engine ready. For all that the glowing energy source in the back unnerved her—even after being around Akstyr for a year, she wasn’t fully over her Turgonian superstition toward magic—she appreciated that it didn’t take the twenty minutes to fire up that a steam engine would.

Beyond the viewport, the scenery shifted as the submarine descended. Dials and gauges warned her of the shallow floor and other obstacles as she navigated toward the deeper ocean. She spotted a sea turtle chewing on waving grasses growing on the bottom of the lagoon. It might not be the same one, but she gave it a quiet salute anyway. She would owe Sicarius a salute too. She doubted she could have handled
two
canoes, though throwing the snake in had upset them more than she had dreamed it would. After seeing the bite it had inflicted on that fellow’s calf, she could see why. She had a feeling only luck had kept her from a nasty bite of her own. And here she had been warning Sicarius to be careful because they were so far from civilization.

By the time she came up in deeper waters on the other side of the promontory, the sun was about to dip below the blue horizon, and reds and oranges filled the western sky. After scanning the shoreline with the periscope and not spotting anyone, Amaranthe risked opening the hatch. Figuring it would take Sicarius a few moments to reach the meeting point, she allowed herself to admire the view. They hadn’t decided how much longer their vacation would last, but she would miss these tropical waters, inhospitable natives notwithstanding. Back in the capital, there was probably still three feet of snow on the ground.

An uncomfortable feeling disturbed her moment of sunset appreciation, the sensation that she was being watched. Sicarius? She checked the shoreline again and spotted a bare-chested man with a spear raised to throw. Not Sicarius.

The submarine had to be close to fifty meters from the shore, but she lowered herself anyway. No need to present a tempting target. Maybe she ought to simply shut the hatch and wait for Sicarius to swim out and knock.

She’d no more than had the thought when a naked man glided out of the foliage behind the islander. Mud and blood smeared Sicarius’s flesh, though he didn’t appear wounded, at least not significantly. Normally, he wouldn’t make a sound sneaking up on someone, but he must have cleared his throat, for the native spun around. Sicarius held his dagger and could throw the weapon easily enough—probably faster than that fellow could throw his spear—but he hadn’t lifted it from his side. It didn’t matter. The islander threw down his spear and sprinted down the beach and into the brush.

Sicarius strode down the sandy swath as if he had expected no less. He waded out, then stuck the dagger between his teeth and swam toward the submarine. Amaranthe wondered if he would chastise her for gaping at the sunset like some mawkish poet composing verse.

She dropped inside so he would have room to enter, which he soon did, clanging the hatch shut behind him. The water had cleaned him of grime and blood, leaving a sleek, powerful form that a panther would envy. It crossed her mind to help him dry off, but she waited for him to comment on the spear wielder she almost hadn’t noticed. At least she had thought to change clothes—and dig out a clean shirt—before bringing the submarine up. His sardonic eyebrow would have even more reason to twitch if she’d been standing shirtless before him, trying to explain what happened to the garment.

But there was nothing sardonic about his gaze when it landed on her, nor did he open his mouth to deliver a lecture. Rather he used his mouth for something exceedingly rare... a pleased smile. “You did well.”

“Hm?”

His smile always warmed her, but surely he didn’t refer to her shirtless acquisition of the submarine. He would have been too busy in the jungle to watch that.

Sicarius stepped toward her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Bagging up a poisonous snake to hurl at one’s enemies is dangerous, but it was effective, as so many of your schemes are.”

Amaranthe would have liked to bask in this rare praise, but her mind hiccupped at one of his words.
Poisonous?
Dear ancestors, he
had
said the one in the tree looked similar to a poisonous breed, hadn’t he? And she’d even noted that the one on the rocks was smaller. The markings had been the same, hadn’t they? She decided not to ask
how
poisonous the snakes were—or how close she had danced to her death. Instead she offered an eloquent, “Uhm, yes.”

“You handled the men on the canoes easily as well,” he said, bringing the other arm around her waist. “However interestingly clothed.”

Erg, he
had
seen that. He’d seen it all. Well, he was praising her instead of mocking her, so she couldn’t complain. Unless it was to point out that he was getting her wet; but she wouldn’t push him away for that. She had spent too many months dreaming of having a nude Sicarius pressed against her to have grown blasé about it yet. She wished she had managed to secure her trade before that scout had burst into the village... She would have to tell him, especially since his eyes had softened and his mouth had drifted closer to hers...

“I, ah... I’ve seen you dispatching enemies while utterly nude before, so it could be said I’m only emulating my tutor.”

“Hm.”

“Remember that discussion we had as to whether or not you could be menacing without wearing black all the time? It’s clear that those people were intimidated by you. That fellow with the spear nearly pitched backward into the ocean when you strode out of the jungle. Naked. That should prove that I was right.”

“In that discussion, you argued that I could be menacing in a lemon yellow shirt and plaid shorts.
That
has not been proven yet.”

“Yet? Does that mean you’re willing to don such clothing for an experiment?”

“No.”

“Only nudity, eh?” Amaranthe rested a hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing his collarbone, the defined muscle beside it.... “I suppose I wouldn’t mind seeing you roam around menacingly in your... natural state. So long as you don’t get cold.”

Sicarius caught her hand, his gaze locking onto hers. “I am not feeling cold right now.”

She wanted to ask him what he
was
feeling, but stopped, sighing. “My... shopping mission failed. I suppose we shouldn’t contemplate further heat today.” Or tomorrow, she thought glumly. Or the next day, or any other day until they returned to the empire or somewhere else that they could restock certain supplies. “Although I do wonder. I don’t even know if I need egata tea, or whatever the islander equivalent is. I may not be able to...” She avoided Sicarius’s eyes. He had never proclaimed that he wanted to have children with her, but he had hinted from time to time that a second chance at fatherhood might have its appeal.

“There is a way to find out,” Sicarius said softly. His hand lifted, as if to stroke her cheek, though he hesitated. They had grown closer and more comfortable with each other in the past months, but he still didn’t quite seem to know what to do in situations that involved her feelings.

Amaranthe caught his hand, kissed it, but ultimately released it. “That is true, but I don’t want to find out by becoming pregnant. I mean, eventually I could see having children,” she rushed to correct, lest he think she was eternally opposed to the idea, “but I don’t think I’m ready yet. I’m still trying to figure out... I’m not sure who I am now that I’m not fighting to save the empire. A mother should know who she is, shouldn’t she? And I’m not sure I’m ready to give up having adventures yet, either, though I’m terribly relieved not to be responsible for anything or anyone anymore. Out here... it’s been quite delightful seeing and experiencing new places. Though I suppose one needn’t stay locked in a tower once one has a baby. The Starcrests went all over the world, raising their children on a submarine, didn’t they? And it worked out. Their kids are all bright. Though they’d have to be, you’d think. With, uhm.” She realized she had been talking for a long time. The topic made her nervous and brought back her burbling tendency, as Sicarius called it. They had never discussed children other than obliquely. Just explaining that she had lost her special tea—yes, she had called it “special tea” like she’d been talking to a toddler rather than a grown man—to the pirates had been difficult.

“I meant you could see a doctor,” Sicarius said.

“Oh.” Amaranthe flushed. He hadn’t been suggesting sexual abandon after all. “Yes, that makes sense. Though I’m not sure I trust imperial medicine in this manner. Er republican medicine.” She grimaced, not sure if that was the right term. It would take a long time to get used to thinking of Turgonia as anything except an empire.

“We could visit the Kyatt Islands,” Sicarius said. “Their scientists are known for medicinal acumen.”

“That’s true. We could even visit Akstyr.”

Sicarius’s expression grew flat.

“I didn’t mean visit him for medical advice,” Amaranthe said, in case that hadn’t been understood—Akstyr might have healed her before in an emergency, but she shuddered at the idea of asking a teenage boy for advice on her... womanly parts. “I meant we’d stop by and check on him as long as we’re there.”

Sicarius grunted. She supposed she couldn’t expect more enthusiasm. Those two had never bonded.

“While I’m there,” Amaranthe said, “you might be able to get in to see some of the other submarines Admi—President Starcrest built there. I understand there’s a whole fleet of science vessels.” There, that ought to stir his interest more than chatting with old comrades.

Before he could verify her supposition, an unfamiliar noise came from the sleeping cabin, a long beep that repeated three times. Amaranthe had grown used to the various glowing and blinking doodads—or Made devices, as the practitioners called them—around the sub, but she hadn’t heard this before.

Sicarius headed for the compartment. The cabin didn’t hold much more than a bed, but that bed had cabinets beneath it, and he delved into them. As soon as he opened the one on the left, a bright yellow glow washed over him.

“Er.” Amaranthe hadn’t realized she had been sleeping above some strange wizard device during the whole trip. “What would that be?”