Emperor's Edge Republic (57 page)

Press. Amaranthe didn’t care for that word. She imagined her limbs being fed into a massive apple pulper. Pistols prodding her in the back didn’t give her any choice but to go along with the order. The entire group of priests came along. She wished a few of them would wander off to pray or practice magic or take baths, so more escape opportunities might present themselves.

She and Deret were ushered into a building filled with equipment and vats, including a hulking steam-powered press. Yes, that machine appeared perfectly capable of pulverizing limbs.

“Sit them down.”

Two priests brought out casks that had been sawn in half. They upended them, creating chairs of a sort.

“I’ll stand,” Deret said.

Someone kicked his swordstick off the ground. He lurched, but caught his balance, leaning more heavily on his good leg.

“Sit,” the deep-voiced priest growled.

Deret flexed his fingers, looking like he’d had enough of going along with the priests’ machinations. There were too many, though. This wasn’t the time for a fight.

Amaranthe sat down on her cask and wiggled her butt. “It could use a cushion, but it’s not bad.”

Grumbling under his breath, Deret joined her, doing his best not to display his limp. She wished he would display it and then some—the more helpless these people thought they were, the more likely some of them would wander off, leaving only a small detachment of guards Amaranthe and Deret could overcome. That was how she imagined the scenario anyway. In reality... all of the priests, all sixteen of them, queued up along the nearest wall, their pistols in their hands.

“Are we waiting for someone?” Amaranthe asked cheerfully, still hoping someone might spill something useful. It was hard to gaze imploringly into someone’s eyes to gain sympathy when they had hoods pulled low over their foreheads, hiding their faces. None of them answered.

“I would apologize for getting you into this,” Deret whispered, “but I did try to have you left behind.”

“Yes, that was noble of you. Thank you.” Amaranthe’s choice to invite herself along hadn’t been premeditated, and, in reflection, she should have seen if they would let her go out the front door. From there, she could have followed the group, jumped onto the back of the lorry, and ridden along in secret, where she might now be in a position to free Deret and snoop around the premises... She sighed and told herself the priests probably wouldn’t have let her go anyway. She didn’t know if that was true, but it made her feel better.

“I’m also not entirely sure this is all about me,” Deret said.

“You think they came to kidnap
me
? You’re the one wearing their robes.”

“Exactly. I thought I was... on the inside.”

“Maybe you thought wrong,” Amaranthe said.

“Possibly, but you know the president. You’d be a more appealing hostage.” He kept his voice low so the priests shouldn’t overhear, but Amaranthe wished he would keep his mouth shut on the matter, in case they
didn’t
know who she was and whom she knew.

She turned her head away from him, hoping he would take the hint, and examined their surroundings more carefully. In addition to the machinery, giant fermenters and tanks lined one of the walls. Though she wouldn’t care to duplicate the deadly results of her molasses tank explosion, she wouldn’t be above drenching these priests in alcohol if she could figure out a way to do so. If she had a few minutes unwatched, she ought to be able to rig something...

A door creaked open.

Amaranthe twisted in her seat, expecting the gray-haired Edgecrest to walk in. Instead a handsome older woman entered, her long black hair pulled away from her shoulders and face in an elegant coiffure held in place with ivory combs. She wore a luxurious leopard-fur cloak swept back from a suede dress that hugged her hips—and other curvy parts as well.

It might have taken Amaranthe a moment to identify the woman—after all, she had spied on the
house
, not the owner—but Deret stiffened with recognition—cold recognition—as soon as she walked in.

“Sauda Star—Shadowcrest?” Amaranthe whispered.

Deret nodded curtly as the woman approached. “Yes.”

“Good evening, Deret,” Sauda said, stopping in front of him. “My condolences on your father’s death, though I assure you it grieves me as much as it does you.”

The woman didn’t sound aggrieved. But then neither was Deret, so maybe that was the point of the comment.

“I’ll bet,” Deret said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” Amaranthe asked.

“Why have you brought us here?” Deret asked at the same time.

“Us?” Sauda gave Amaranthe a curious look. “
You
were brought here because I have an offer for you, Lord Mancrest.”

“Yes?”

“Your father wasn’t as amenable to putting his backing—the
newspaper’s
backing—behind the new regime as I had expected he might be, given the proper persuasion. Indeed, I spent many nights
persuading
him, but in the end, he wasn’t willing to cross Rias.”

New regime? One run by the Kriskrusians? Amaranthe itched to take over the questioning, but Sauda didn’t have any interest in
her
, and she still thought remaining incognito would be best, if she could.

“
My
father?” Deret asked. “He didn’t show any scruples when it came to jumping into bed with Forge and the Marblecrests.”

“Precisely why I thought he would be amenable to a new offer. It is much easier to recruit for a new religion when it’s being endorsed by the oldest paper in the capital, as well as the new president.”

New
president? Amaranthe nibbled on a fingernail. If Rias were to... disappear, Serpitivich would take over the position. She didn’t know the man well, but she wouldn’t have guessed him as someone to be in league with religious zealots. With his academic interests and mannerisms, he reminded her of... Books. Someone who would be happier researching in a library than running a nation. But he
had
run against Starcrest in the elections. And he had garnered a lot of support, coming in second. Maybe that second place position had rankled.

Deret recovered from a stunned moment of silence and asked, “My father wouldn’t take your offer?”

“Even after twenty years, few people will cross Rias.” Sauda’s lips were a little too full—or perhaps she was too refined—to manage a hard sneer, but she conveyed the feeling, nonetheless.

“So you had him killed?”

“He knew too much. Admittedly, they weren’t supposed to have him murdered in my
bed
—” Sauda sent a withering glare toward the priests. “That proved quite nettlesome. I hadn’t been planning to be a
suspect
and spend days in jail, surrounded by mouth-breathing miscreants. I can’t believe Rias didn’t come down to help me out.”

“Perhaps he believed you were guilty,” Deret said.

Sauda sniffed.

“How
did
you get out?” Amaranthe asked.

“Let’s just say that I am now fully committed to the
next
president. I’ve given my word.”

And had someone bought that word in exchange for arranging her pardon? “To whom?” Amaranthe asked. It was possible these priests planned to kill Starcrest
and
Serpitivich and had a completely new candidate in mind. But if that were true, how could they ensure his election?

Sauda merely smiled.

“What do you want from me?” Deret asked. “I grew up in this town and grew up in this business too. I’ll be distressed if your people believe
I
can be bought.”

Amaranthe wished her cask were close enough to his that she could nudge him. It might not hurt to go along with Sauda, at least for tonight. Refusing her outright could be a bad idea.

“Why, I don’t want to buy
you
, dear. I want to buy the
Gazette
.”

Deret’s jaw dropped.

“I understand you’ve been considering selling. Quiet recently, in fact.” Sauda raised her eyebrows at Amaranthe.

Had one of these priests been listening in on their conversation at the newspaper building? She hadn’t heard or seen anyone lurking in the shadows, but if one was a practitioner, he might have more effectively hidden himself.

“I’m prepared to make a reasonable offer,” Sauda said. “The Shadowcrests weren’t embroiled in this succession war, nor do we have waterfront property that’s been effected by this tedious plant invasion. I have the funds to pay you what the paper’s worth, and I have a brother who’s interested in taking over the running of it. There’s no need for you to worry about your ethics or fear reprisal from Rias. I assure you he isn’t a vindictive man.”

“What’s in it for you?” Amaranthe asked. “What do
you
care about this religion and whether they’re well represented by the paper? Surely
you’re
not practicing.”

Sauda raised an elegant, finely plucked eyebrow.

“Are you?” Amaranthe added.

Wouldn’t the president have known if his first wife had tendencies toward studying magic and ancient multi-headed gods? Of course, if it had been two decades since they had spoken... People could start a lot of new hobbies in twenty years.

“I will be the wife of the president,” Sauda said. “One way or another.”

So if she couldn’t have Rias...

“Serpitivich is that good in bed?” Amaranthe asked, hoping she could startle a verification out of the woman.

Sauda smiled. “I do not believe you’ll be leaving tonight, but in the event that I’m incorrect, I’ll keep that information to myself.” While Amaranthe was trying to decide if Sauda had just verified her guess or not, the woman opened her cloak and withdrew a rolled parchment. “Here’s my official offer for the paper, Lord Mancrest. I have a pen should you wish to sign tonight.”

“Why would I sign anything to help you? Do you believe
I
won’t be leaving tonight, either?”

“That’s up to you. You can choose to sell the paper and walk away from the journalist’s life, or you can remain here. Indefinitely.”

“I wouldn’t have thought President Starcrest would have married a murderer.” Amaranthe watched the woman’s face, trying to see if she was bluffing.

Sauda pressed her manicured and maroon-painted fingernails to her chest. “
I
have not murdered anyone.”

The way she sent a long look toward the head priest told Amaranthe enough. She might not be murdering people, but she had no trouble standing back while others did the task.

“The only thing I need to accomplish is to gain control of the
Gazette
,” Sauda said, “and then I’ll have my marriage. I’ll trust my husband-to-be to handle the more onerous task of becoming president.”

“Unless he’s willing to wait five years, that can only be accomplished with Rias’s death,” Amaranthe said, deliberately using the president’s first name. While she could believe that marriage might turn some types of people from lovers to mortal enemies, she had a hard time imaging a former lover—wife—loathing Starcrest enough to design his death. Reputation aside, he struck Amaranthe as a likable, genuine person without any malice in his heart—or any irritating tendencies that might cause said malice to develop in the hearts of others. Even his mortal foes from enemy nations were reputed to think of him as an honorable opponent.

“Rias made his choice,” Sauda said. “He should have stayed on that tropical island instead of coming back here with that vile blonde woman. No ruler of Turgonia has ever taken a foreigner for a wife, especially one who hasn’t renounced her citizenship in her own land. It’s loathsome and unacceptable.”

But a scheming xenophobic murderer of a wife was perfectly acceptable, apparently.

“Why not simply wait until the next term?” Amaranthe asked. “There’s no need for murder. Five years isn’t so long, and your would-be husband can run then.”

Sauda didn’t answer. Actually, she didn’t seem to be paying attention. One of the priests walked over with a pocket watch in his hand, and she nodded to him.

“Lord Mancrest,” Sauda said. “The paper. Will you sign it over to me? As you can see, I’ve made a reasonable offer. You can retire young, and you need not suffer financial problems ever again, if you’re wise with your investments.”

“How thoughtful of you to consider the financial future of a stranger while you’re plotting your husband’s death,” Deret said.

“As I’ve told you, I’m not plotting anyone’s death.”

“Maybe she’s going to offer Starcrest a chance to sign away the presidency in exchange for his life,” Amaranthe murmured.

Deret crumpled up the parchment and tossed it at Sauda’s expensive silk shoes. “I would rather give the
Gazette
to one of my idealistic young interns than sell it to the people plotting against the president.”

“How noble,” Sauda said. “And how foolish.” She nodded to the priest with the watch. “Put him somewhere that’ll let him think about changing his mind.”

“What if he doesn’t change it?”

Sauda lifted a shoulder. “Accidents happen.”

• • • • •

Maldynado wasn’t sure how he had gotten stuck carrying the body, or why they were taking it back to the hotel at all. It wasn’t as if the Nurian assassin could answer anyone’s questions
now
. Sicarius would have left it on that rooftop, but Basilard had pointed out that they might need proof to explain what had happened at the construction site—not to mention that even a Nurian should have a funeral ceremony, rather than being left to rot on a barren rooftop until the crows came. Somehow
he
hadn’t ended up carrying the body though. He was carrying the dead woman’s weapons and the pole that had eviscerated her.

“Sicarius could have helped us tote everything back to the hotel before disappearing,” Maldynado grumbled. He looked forward to reaching Colonel Starcrest’s office, where he could foist his burden off on someone else. “Especially since
he
killed the woman, a woman with a child apparently.”

It was not intentional
, Basilard signed.
I saw the end of the conflict.