“I tell everyone that,” Rias said, waving away a couple of offers of help and climbing to his feet on his own. “You’re the only one who listens.”
The man bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Given his pugilistic exterior, Tikaya expected half of those teeth to be missing, but they were straight, white, and all present.
“Is this... some old enemy of yours?” Tikaya asked. Her husband had a knack for turning enemies into allies, if not always friends, exactly.
“Close,” Rias said. “My brother’s son. Daksaron Starcrest.”
“Oh?” Tikaya considered the man anew, wondering if any of the family intellect lurked beneath his brutish facade. Rias had quite a few scars as well, she reminded herself, though none of the blows to his face had stolen his ability to draw a lady’s attention, even now in his sixties. It was hard to judge intelligence from peering into a man’s eyes—eye—she supposed, but she did find a hint of humor there at least.
“Call me, Dak, my lady.” Rias’s nephew thumped his fist to his chest and bowed.
“Why don’t we get to call him Dak?” a man in the crowd whispered.
“With your checkered record, you’re lucky he lets you call him Colonel,” his comrade whispered back.
Rias and Dak were grabbing towels and pretended not to hear the commentary.
“Continue without me, please, gentlemen,” Rias said.
“Wait, My Lord,” a middle-aged man implored, managing to appear quite earnest despite having nothing except a towel around his waist. “What about the Nurians? They’re the last thing on the agenda, remember? Those two spies we caught...” He glanced at Tikaya, as if he worried she wasn’t on the list of people allowed to hear state secrets.
Technically, she supposed she had never signed any paperwork promising loyalty to Turgonia, and she certainly hadn’t given up her Kyattese citizenship. As far as she knew, Rias didn’t keep any secrets from her, though with as little as she saw him lately, he had scant time to divulge the details of what he had for breakfast, much less anything juicy about the new republic’s enemies.
“Ah, yes,” Rias acknowledged, then gave Tikaya an apologetic look. “Can you give me fifteen minutes? I’ll meet you in my office. We can have a nice lunch delivered.” He brightened so at the notion of a private meal, one that might even involve sitting down to eat, that she was reluctant to mention...
“It’s after dark, love.”
His smile faltered, but he recovered it. “Dinner?”
Tikaya had already eaten with Mahliki, but she would take any time she could steal with him. “Yes, I’d like that. And while you’re being beaten up by more of your men, could you ask someone to scrounge up a couple of diving suits?”
Rias had been turning back to the ring, but he halted at this. “For... the plant?”
“Yes, Mahliki wants to get samples of the roots and take a good look at it from down below.”
“She can’t wait until Sicarius returns with the submarine?”
“It’s growing at an alarming rate,” Tikaya said.
“That will be dangerous,” Dak said. He’d had his arms folded as he watched a pair of younger men square off in the ring, but he scowled at Rias now. “I have all the latest reports on that thing.”
“Mahliki is capable of taking care of herself,” Tikaya said.
“Yes, I have all the reports on her too.” The hint of amusement had returned to his eye, but something about the way his eyebrow twitched made Tikaya wonder if her daughter had been up to some trouble this winter beyond her studies, trouble she hadn’t mentioned to her parents.
“I called Dak back from his post at Fort Deadend to head the intelligence office here,” Rias explained.
“Fort Deadend...?” Tikaya remembered the remote military installation well; it was the northernmost outpost in the empire and had its nickname because everyone knew no career advancement happened there.
“I didn’t get along well with those Forge snails spying from within the intelligence office in the Imperial Barracks,” Dak said. “Someone whispered in the right ear, and I was sent north two years ago.”
“An extreme posting,” Tikaya said. “What did you say to the, ah, snails?”
“I punched them.”
“Multiple times, I hear,” Rias said mildly.
Tikaya couldn’t decide if there was censor in his statement or not. If so, it seemed odd. Yes, Rias usually came up with creative ways to solve problems, but he wasn’t above fisticuffs. That seemed to breed true in Turgonian men, no matter what their intellect.
“They deserved it,” Dak said. “Send a few men with your girl. Some of the rumors about that plant aren’t as farfetched as they sound.”
“Yes, Mahliki had an... experience with it this afternoon. She’s aware of the danger. She also said Sespian would go down with her.” Tikaya had found the dreamy-eyed look in Mahliki’s eyes as she mentioned this amusing, though she had seen her daughter infatuated a few times before and didn’t know what to think of this new selection yet. Tikaya hoped to return home after Rias finished his five years here, but what if Mahliki were to fall in love with a Turgonian? To marry one and want to stay?
“I could find a couple of big, burly types,” Dak said.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Rias said, “though Sespian might surprise you.”
“As I recall, he mostly surprised his own weapons training instructor with all the creative ways he discovered to get out of practice.”
“He’s a decent fighter now,” Rias said, “Quick, agile. Given who his father is, it would be surprising if he weren’t.”
Dak grunted. “Blood doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
Tikaya tried to gauge if that was some comment about their own shared blood, but his craggy features didn’t reveal much.
“My Lord?” the earnest man from before called. “The Nurians?”
“Yes, yes.” Rias smiled at Tikaya. “See you shortly.”
“I’ll arrange for the suits and the men.” Dak grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head.
Rias gave him an acknowledging wave. Tikaya was surprised he had volunteered. If Dak was running the intelligence department, he had to be every bit as busy as Rias. This ought to be the sort of task that could be delegated to a lower-ranking man.
“My lady,” Dak extended an arm toward the hallway. “I’ll come with you. If your daughter’s upstairs, she can give me some measurements and her opinions on whether she wants a couple of bright officers or a couple of dull muscle-heads that she can order around.”
“I imagine she’ll end up in charge of any young men you send her, rank regardless,” Tikaya said as they walked toward the lift. “Her physical attributes are much better proportioned for that than mine ever were. I haven’t decided yet whether that’s a kindness or a handicap for her.”
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
Maldynado 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 br
other 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...