Emperor's Edge Republic (83 page)

“What is it?” Maldynado reached for the envelope.

Sespian waved it around as he continued to speak, evading Maldynado’s reach. “Now that the Edgecrests are in jail for plotting against the president—and partaking in a rather unwholesome religion—I assume we won’t have to worry about further sabotage of the building—that should please you. Can you believe my very own professor was the one who suggested sabotaging the construction site? Oh, sure, it was supposed to be one of several delaying tactics to keep the intelligence boys busy, but
his
design came in second in the competition. I bet he figured that if bad things kept happening during the construction of my building, it would be considered a sign that I was the wrong architect for the job and that his own work should be reconsidered.”

“Indeed.” Maldynado reached for the envelope again, his fingers twitching with curiosity.

Hiding a smile, Sespian extended his arm—and the envelope—toward the ceiling beams. “Professor Oddak was probably encouraged by his older brother, so I can’t hold too much malice against him. It turns out that old Ploris and Serpitivich go way back and have been secret members of the Kriskrusian religion for decades. The vice president—
former
vice president—a cult member. I never would have suspected, would you? Well, they can remain friends until their sentences are delivered. They’re in adjoining cells. They’re lucky they weren’t both killed outright, since they’re suspected of having knowledge of the mental sciences, even if it was that practitioner friend of Serpitivich’s who had the skill necessary to heal President Starcrest. Did you ever meet him? Apparently he nearly dropped a rock pile on my father’s head and is the one who modified that ugly little statuette that Sauda Shadowcrest gave to the president. I hear her cell is more posh than Serpitivich’s but no less barred. Did you know—”

“
Sespian
.” Maldynado finally used his longer arms to snatch the envelope from Sespian’s grasp. “I don’t care about those shrubs. I care about—what
is
this?” He turned his prize over a few times in his hands, as if he expected booby traps. The crazy tentacles—or maybe those were supposed to be plant vines?—on his hat flopped into his eyes as he moved his head from side to side, considering the envelope from all angles.

Done prolonging the satiation of Maldynado’s curiosity, Sespian said, “Why don’t you open it and see what’s inside?”

“All right.” Maldynado broke the seal and withdrew the single piece of stationery folded inside. He opened it and read slowly: “Maldynado, your efforts in protecting the new presidential residence from saboteurs have been noted and appreciated. We are also grateful that you came along on the underwater mission and had the presence of mind to deploy the... uh, some technical engineering doodad I can’t pronounce.” Sespian raised his eyebrows, but Maldynado continued on without further improvisation. “Especially when others among the team were losing their minds. We will find you employment suitable for your talents if you still wish it. We would also like to name the new presidential residence after you.”

Sespian grinned as Maldynado repeated the last sentence silently, puzzlement turning to enlightenment.

“They want to name the whole building after me?” he asked. “It’s signed by the president and his wife. It can’t be a joke. They don’t joke, do they? The Kyattese are so serious...”

Sespian didn’t think that was true, but he assured Maldynado, “It’s not a joke. They asked me if I minded. I said I didn’t. Much.”

“Much?”

“Well, I had been thinking of naming it after my cat...”

Maldynado stared at him.

“That was a joke. I’m not Kyattese.”

“Oh, right.” Maldynado lifted a fist to his mouth, then searched the hall until his gaze halted on the president and his wife. “I have to—I’ll be right back.”

He jogged over to the couple, waving the letter and calling, “My Lord Starcrest?”

Sespian didn’t
think
Maldynado would do anything overly foolish, but watched with some wariness. Maldynado ran up to them, halted, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then flung his arms around the president. Judging by Starcrest’s wide eyes—and those of Tikaya—it surprised both of them. The soldiers stationed along the walls surged from their posts, hands falling to their weapons as they raced across the room. Sespian dropped his face into his hand. What had he started?

“This is
wonderful
,” Maldynado cried. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” He released the president, oblivious to the approaching soldiers, then hugged Tikaya as well.

Starcrest lifted a hand to stay the concerned—and armed—men.

“That is inappropriate behavior,” Sicarius said.

Sespian managed to keep from jumping in startled surprise, though he hadn’t seen his father leave his position in the shadows to come up behind him. Some things never changed. “I agree,” Sespian said, “but is there any other kind when it comes to Maldynado?”

“Rarely.”

Sespian faced Sicarius, suspecting his father had come over for more than idle chitchat. If he knew how to be idle—or chitchat—Sespian had not heard about it.

“The child is doing well?” Sicarius asked.

“Mu Lin is... attending school, learning Turgonian, and has stopped trying to flush Trog down the washout to spite me.”

“Trog.”

“My cat.”

“Yes, I remember,” Sicarius said. “That is also inappropriate behavior. It is good it has ceased.”

“Yes.” Sespian groped for something else to say. Sicarius seemed to be doing the same thing. Would there ever be a day when they could speak with each other without awkward silences? Of course, Sespian had observed silences when Sicarius and Amaranthe spoke too. She simply didn’t find them awkward. Remarkable woman.

“It was honorable of you to take her in,” Sicarius said. “Colonel Starcrest completed his research and learned why Ji Nah had no kin she could rely on in Nuria. Last fall, she was unsuccessful in an assassination attempt on their Great Chief. The prodigious bounty that was placed on her head would have assured her eventual death had she remained in Nuria.”

Sespian digested this. Ji Nah’s choice to bring her daughter along when she came to Turgonia suddenly made more sense. In Nuria, a person’s honors and denunciations affected how the whole family was seen and treated in society. Ji Nah’s daughter would have had a difficult childhood, if she were allowed to grow up at all. “Perhaps this is a better place for Mu Lin after all.”

“Likely.”

Sespian wondered if Sicarius would mention that his killing of the woman’s father might have played into this as well. Whether it had been the father’s choice to come to Turgonia, or Hollowcrest had kidnapped him, he—and his family—would have been disgraced because he had helped the empire train an assassin that would one day haunt Nuria. And because Sicarius had killed the man, he wouldn’t have been there to help raise Ji Nah… Maybe she had joined the secretive mage hunter society because she’d had few options for honorable employment. And growing up in a disgraced family must have influenced her decision with Mu Lin too. She wouldn’t have wanted the same life for her daughter.

Sicarius said nothing about it. He wouldn’t deny it, most likely, but apparently saw little point in bringing it up. Sespian wondered if Sicarius had any idea that the main reason he had accepted the responsibility for the little girl was that he didn’t want her growing up to hate Sicarius and seek revenge on him. There had been enough of that already, and it only led to suffering and death. Sespian hoped he could encourage Mu Lin to study the arts or some other intellectual passion that had nothing to do with swords and daggers and killing people.

“I understand you are returning to your studies at the University,” Sicarius said. “Will your financial circumstances allow you to provide for the girl and yourself?”

“You mean can I afford to feed everyone?” Sespian decided to find this parental concern promising rather than intrusive—his father cared enough to make sure his new responsibilities wouldn’t overwhelm him. “Yes. Designing the president’s new building drew attention to my architectural style, and I already have new clients. Also—and I have Amaranthe to thank for looking into this and negotiating with that Sarevic woman on my behalf—I’m now receiving a royalty on every weed zapper being sold in Turgonia.”

“Weed zapper?”

“Ah, yes. Due in no small part to that plant, there’s now a market for the portable generator I helped design. The first orders have already shipped, and it seems farmers everywhere are delighted at the ability to use the technology to electrocute invasive weed species.”

Sicarius considered this for a moment—perhaps imagining cackling farmers running around their fields, flinging blue streaks of electricity about—before nodding and saying. “I am pleased. You have done well.”

Sespian bowed his head at this rare praise.

“Amaranthe wishes me to inform you...” Sicarius gazed across the room to where Amaranthe was chatting with Basilard and his translator. “
We
wish to inform you that, if you need assistance with the child rearing, we are available to help you.”

Dear ancestors, Sicarius as a babysitter? It was all Sespian could do not to shudder. He would probably teach the girl how to throw knives. “I’ll keep it in mind, though I think you’ll be too busy to offer child rearing services in the near future.”

From anyone else, Sespian would have expected a puzzled, “What do you mean?” or at least an inquisitive head tilt. Sicarius merely gazed at him and waited for an explanation.

“I’ll let the president enlighten you further,” Sespian said. “Why don’t you take Amaranthe over to talk with him? After Maldynado is done mauling him, that is.”

Sicarius inclined his head. “I will do so.”

When he left, Sespian went back to planning how he would approach Mahliki when she arrived. That was what he intended to do anyway. Mostly he stood by a lewd elephant ice sculpture and sweated.

• • • • •

Sicarius headed over to talk to Starcrest during a lull when nobody else was pestering him—more guests had filtered into the banquet hall, in spite of Maldynado’s promise that this would be a small dinner among friends—but the banging of a gong made him pause. Everyone paused and faced the person with the cloth-covered mallet. Maldynado of course.

“The caterers will begin serving momentarily,” he announced. “Please find your assigned seats at the table. Then plan to eat up. You’ll need your energy for the dancing afterward.” Maldynado searched the crowd for a moment, spotted Sicarius, and smiled. “The
required
dancing.”

Sicarius returned his flattest stare. He had no intention of swaying and bouncing about for non-training purposes, and no one would convince him that the drunken gyrations these people intended to partake in were training for anything.

Amaranthe stepped out of the crowd and took his hand. “Good to see you off the wall.”

He eyed her warily, concerned she might also believe dancing should be required. She merely smiled up at him... with pleasure he sensed must be due to more than his position in the room. “I wished to speak with the president. Sespian implied he might have work for me.” Or so Sicarius had interpreted Sespian’s oblique comment.

“Good. We’re sitting near him at dinner. I’m sure he would be delighted if you engaged him in a conversation. Before we sit down...” Amaranthe tilted her head to the side and led Sicarius away from the table instead of toward it. They weaved past the herd of people finding their seats.

Maldynado walked past, leading four women Sicarius hadn’t seen before. Sicarius had no interest in who they were or why they were here, but Amaranthe stopped to watch the procession. All of the women were moderately attractive and of ages ranging from the mid-twenties to early forties. Perhaps Maldynado sought to replace Yara, though the questions coming out of his mouth didn’t make sense if that were the case.

“You all like soldiers and retired soldiers, right? Warrior-caste officers of good rank and with good familial connections? And you agree that looks aren’t the most important measure of a man? Scars are what give a gentleman character, after all.”

Maldynado was walking as he spoke, and the group passed by Amaranthe and Sicarius, so the women’s responses were lost among the other conversations in the area, but several nodded their heads.

“Goodness,” Amaranthe said. “He certainly came through on my request.”

“Your request?”

“Yes.” Amaranthe pointed toward the main doorway, where two familiar men had walked in, their expressions similar, a mix of nervousness and wariness. Perhaps they had heard about the required dancing.

Amaranthe waved for them to come over. Sicarius watched her through slitted eyes, wondering what arrangement she was a part of. Deret Mancrest, dressed in a beige shirt and brown suede jacket walked over right away, using a new swordstick for support, this one ebony with an ivory grimbal head handle. One of the soldiers propping up the wall rushed over and pointed at it, asking some question. Sicarius had heard a few comments about weapons not being allowed at the dinner, though nobody had spoken to him about his knives. At Amaranthe’s behest, he had brought fewer than usual, but he was clearly still armed.

The second man who had come in the door strode up and waved the soldier away from Mancrest. Colonel Dak Starcrest wore his black and silver dress uniform, with rows of ribbons across his breast denoting campaigns he had fought in while medals signified awards for heroic acts. For the first time since Sicarius had met him, he wore an eye patch to hide his missing orb.

Sicarius clasped his hands behind his back and attempted to appear indifferent as Mancrest stopped in front of Amaranthe.

She smiled at him. “How’s your shoulder? Are you recovering well?”

“Yes. The wound to my pride was greater than the wound to my flesh.”

“And the newspaper? You haven’t sold it yet?”

“No, I’ve decided to try running it for a few years before deciding whether to give it up or not.” Mancrest ignored Sicarius as he spoke. He wasn’t that focused on Amaranthe, either. He glanced at Maldynado, or perhaps at the gaggle of women he was ushering to seats. “Is one of those... uhm.”