Emperor's Edge Republic (8 page)

Dak’s grunt rang neither of agreement nor disagreement. She hadn’t been fishing for a compliment so didn’t mind that he didn’t prove a flatterer. When they stepped into the lift, she watched him out of the corner of her eye, still wondering if he had a motive for volunteering to come up with her. He didn’t seem the type to curry favor with an uncle—or anyone—to improve his military career; indeed, the dark smudges under his eyes suggested he wasn’t getting much sleep in his new position, so she wondered how much of a reward it was.

Dak cleared his throat. “My lady?”

“Yes?”

“You know him a lot better than I do. Aside from a few family Solstice Day gatherings when I was a boy, I’ve... barely known him outside of the legend. But does he seem... less sharp than usual of late?”

“How so?” Tikaya had seen so little of Rias that she feared she would make a poor judge. He was
tired
, she knew that.

“It’s hard to say exactly. With a normal man, I wouldn’t think anything of it, but... well, yesterday, he wrote down a math problem. It was complicated for sure, but I remember a similar moment when I first arrived two months ago, where he did one in his head, between one breath and the next, and gave the courier the answer right away.”

The lift had stopped, but neither of them pulled the lever to open the door.

“I haven’t tested his math skills of late,” Tikaya said slowly, “but he has admitted to a lot of headaches. And perhaps I have noticed more absentmindedness than usual. He’s like that from time to time when he’s working on problems...” Tikaya was even more so, so she never judged. “But... I’m not sure. I attributed it to how busy he’s been. He comes to bed after I do, and leaves before I wake up. There are times he doesn’t come at all, and I find him at his desk, facedown on a stack of papers.”

“It’s a challenging job, no doubt,” Dak said. “It would be under any circumstances, but to be the
first
president and know that every policy signed into existence might have ramifications for decades, if not centuries to come... Not to mention that everyone’s watching him and has the expectation that he’ll be just as brilliant at this as he was at his military career. That weighs on him, I think. And the assassination attempts—I don’t think he worries that much about himself, but you and your daughter. I know he was glad the younger children went back to your mother’s home to finish their studies.”

Tikaya had stopped breathing before he stopped talking. “Assassination attempts?”

An appalled expression flashed across the formerly masked face, as he realized his faux pas. “He... didn’t tell you?”

Tikaya shook her head mutely.

“There were three, men paid by Nurians we think, but none of them got close. My soldiers and I are working day and night to keep abreast of all the plots and politicking that’s going on out there, and we were ready for them.”

“I see,” she managed. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t be surprised, but she could be... irked that Rias hadn’t told her. He hadn’t even introduced his new chief of intelligence to her in the two months Dak had apparently been here and on duty. Chief of intelligence—it sounded like Rias needed a chief of
security
.

He wouldn’t want her to worry, she understood that, but if she had known, maybe she could have helped gather and analyze information. With most of her work back in Kyatt and no colleagues to interact with here, she wouldn’t mind a job where she could put her mind to use. She had been so... lost here. Apparently warrior-caste women didn’t need to work or contribute to the family; if they longed for purpose, they could organize social activities, something for which Tikaya had no aptitude or interest. Maybe she was just supposed to sit by the fire, lamenting that her children had grown up and didn’t need her anymore, until the assassins showed up. Dear Akahe, she missed home. She would never whine to Rias, but she had been looking forward to his last day in office since the day he signed in.

“My lady?” Dak asked.

“Yes?” Tikaya realized they were still standing in the lift, but she didn’t open the door, in case he had some other devastating news he wanted to share.

“I’d thought...”

He had all of Rias’s height and brawn, and seeing such a big man shuffle his feet with uncertainty made her nervous all over again.

“Yes, please tell me,” she said.

“This’ll sound daft, I expect, but I thought there might be some magical reason for his... absentmindedness, as you called it. I’ve studied a lot of other cultures and know some of what’s possible, but I wouldn’t know where to start in looking for a conjurer or artifact that might account for this.” Dak shrugged. “If there’s anything to this at all, and it’s not all in my mind. I would figure he’s just getting older and more forgetful if he hadn’t been as sharp as any legend-writer might expect two months ago.”

“I’ll look into it, Dak. Thank you for telling me.”

He exhaled slowly, the exhale of a man relieved to have shared a burden he had carried alone for a long time. Tikaya wished she could feel relieved. She had more to worry about than ever.

Chapter 3

M
aldynado hummed to himself and stirred the soup pot while perusing the cookbook for a flat bread recipe that could be made quickly and wouldn’t burn the way his first attempt had. The tiny kitchen had poor ventilation, and his eyes still stung from the lingering smoke. He prodded a sore spot on his bare chest where a piece of grease had spattered him earlier. Evrial was probably right that naked cooking wasn’t smart, but he wanted to surprise her with dinner, and this was the one outfit he had that she never mocked.

He prodded a pectoral muscle speculatively. With little else to do while she worked, he had been training all winter. Not quite to Sicarius’s standards, but he had kept his form. When Amaranthe came back, he would be ready to partake in whatever scheme she had in mind for their next adventure.
If
she came back. He had been certain she would, but it
had
been more than three months now...

In the other room, the tiny flat’s
only
other room, a key turned in the lock. Ah, well, no time for bread. The chicken soup would have to do. After a long day at work, Evrial would doubtlessly be looking forward more to
relaxing
than eating anyway. And his current attire was appropriate for all kinds of relaxation.

Grabbing the soup pot, Maldynado strolled into the other room where he had already set their small two-person table. He halted in the doorway though, for Evrial wasn’t alone. Two large brawny men had entered with her, one her age and one gray-haired, though both quite muscular.

They saw him before he had a chance to duck back into the kitchen and grab something to cover his love apples. Evrial gaped. The men gaped. From the similar nature of those gapes—and a few other similarities such as height, build, and noses—Maldynado realized these were relatives.

“Maldynado,” Evrial hissed in exasperation, her face flushing brighter than the carrots in his soup.

“Good evening.” Maldynado strolled to the table, determined to make the best of the moment. “I made dinner.”

“This is my brother, Sovric, and my
father
.” Evrial jerked her head toward the side of the room that held their bed and a wardrobe. “Put some clothes on.”

Maldynado set the soup in the middle of the table, bowed toward the three of them, and strolled to the wardrobe. The brother’s glower followed him, as if he wanted to charge across the room and pound on Maldynado. Well, he could
try
, but some rural metalsmith would hardly prove a threat. Still, Maldynado returned the glower with a friendly smile. No need to pick a fight, not with the relatives of one’s lady.

“This is...
unacceptable
,” Evrial’s father said, not bothering to whisper. “You said he was a warrior-caste gentleman, not some brutish free-loading
nudist
.”

“
Brutish?
” Maldynado protested, his hand in the wardrobe. Why certainly he had picked up a few scars on his adventures with Amaranthe, but nothing that detracted from his aesthetically pleasing physique. Despite a grease spatter here and there, he was clean and groomed—trimmed in all the right places—not some hairy behemoth from the mountains.

Evrial gripped her father’s arm. “Let’s wait outside until he’s dressed. We can—”

“And look at this hovel you’re living in,” her father went on. “My daughter would choose to live in poverty with that, that
buffoon
when you could be back on the force at home.”

“It’s the city, Father. Of course, everything is more expensive. We’re fine here. We—”

“The captain offered you a promotion! Lieutenant! You’d make more money and could rent a nice house there if you don’t want to live with the family.”

Maldynado paused, halfway into his trousers. She had been offered a promotion out in her own district? When had that happened? Why hadn’t she said anything?

“I know, Father, but—”

“You’re not staying here because of that
fop
, are you?” He thrust a finger at Maldynado, who did feel a touch foppish standing on one leg with his trousers around his ankles. “Does he even work? Contribute money? Isn’t his family disgraced? Or in prison?”

“I’d vote for prison,” the brother grumbled, giving Maldynado another glower. Brothers were always so terribly insufferable when men slept with their sisters.

“Not the
entire
family,” Maldynado said.

The father glared at him, the brother glowered at him—it was more of a continuation of the same ongoing glower—and the two stomped outside. Evrial headed after them, though she paused in the doorway to look back at Maldynado.

“Thank you for making dinner.”

“You’re welcome. Will you be back to enjoy it?”

“I... hope so. Do remember to use your apron. I’ve told you before, cooking naked is dangerous.” Though a sadness—almost a defeat—lurked in her eyes, she smiled and added, “Oaf.”

Alone in the flat, Maldynado thought about trying again to make flat bread without turning it into a singed charcoal cake, but he sat down to contemplate Evrial’s father’s words instead. The man didn’t know him, didn’t know all the work he had done in the last year—Maldynado
deserved
a vacation. But, then, he had grown restless of vacationing after a few weeks, and he’d started to think of future adventures with the team. Even if half of the team was gone. More than half. Akstyr was studying in the Kyatt Islands. Basilard had gone back to reconnect with his daughter. Amaranthe and Sicarius were doing who knew what on some tropical beach. And Books...

Maldynado swallowed. With all of them gone, the city was drab. Bland. He was not a man who appreciated blandness. He also didn’t appreciate that he had no income. Before Evrial... he had barely cared. He’d made do, offering his services to ladies for room and board and the opportunity to attend all sorts of fashionable events—Evrial had disabused him of the notion of returning to that line of work. But if he couldn’t act as an escort, and he couldn’t trade his handsome face and charm for items from women—Evrial also forbade this—he didn’t quite know how to go about earning a living. Aside from dueling and thumping people, what could he do? He didn’t even know how plebeians went about acquiring jobs. Not that he could imagine himself laboring from dawn to dusk in some factory anyway. He wanted to be... to do...

Maldynado huffed and pushed a hand through his hair. He didn’t know. He couldn’t stomach the idea of being some random worker or bouncer. Maybe he could ask President Starcrest for a job, something on his staff. Wasn’t Maldynado owed some favor for the role he had played in helping to put the man into office? Not that he should need a favor; he was imminently qualified for... er... whatever the boss might come up with. He sighed. Amaranthe really needed to come back to town.

The door opened. Maldynado looked up warily. Evrial walked in alone.

“Apple brandy?” he offered, raising one of the tumblers he had poured. Once a week, he spent an hour smiling and passing out cards to affluent women at the Greenscale Market to earn his free samples. The fine drink should have been served in an aperitif glass, but these were the beverage holders that had come with their “tastefully furnished flat.”

“Do I look like I need it?” Evrial plopped down in the opposite chair.

“Your
father
looked like he needed it. But he left before I could offer him a glass.”

Evrial picked up a spoon and stirred and prodded her soup.

“Where did he go?” Maldynado asked. “And your surly brother? Is that the same one who greeted Amaranthe with a crossbow once?”

“No, that was Mevlar. This was Sovric. He’s actually my favorite brother.” Her face had grown glummer than a rainstorm.

Maldynado searched for words that might cheer her up. “You should try your soup. It’s good.” He supposed he should take a sip before making such claims.

“I will.” Evrial continued to prod. “They’re going to stay with smithing friends of my father’s, since we don’t have room, and because...”

“I’m here?”

She grunted, not taking her eyes from the soup bowl.

“Did you tell them about me beforehand?” Maldynado asked. “Or was I... unexpected?”

“Your
dress
state was unexpected.” A fleeting smile touched her lips. “But if they’d warned me they were coming, I could have warned you. Not that you necessarily would have changed anything about your introduction.”

“I would
too
have. I would have set four places at the table instead of two. And donned my apron.”

“
Just
the apron?” Evrial asked.

“You told me I looked good in it.”

“I believe what I said was that only you could manage to look good in a red rooster apron with real chicken feather fringes.”

“Exactly,” Maldynado said.

The smile flashed by again, but she didn’t lift her eyes from the soup. Though he had worked hard at the meal, he doubted it was
that
engrossing.