Forged in Blood I by Lindsay Buroker Page B

above their heads as well. This time it was Maldynado who grabbed her arm, and her feet barely touched the ground as he raced toward the storm tunnel. She glanced back, ensuring their prisoners were hobbling after—she didn’t know what she was going to do with them, but she wasn’t going to lose them at that point. In the darkness behind them, it was hard to tell, but she thought the rubble had closed off their escape route.
    Maldynado let go of her when they reached the storm tunnel, but she waved toward the bend that led to the river. “Let’s get all the way out of here,” Amaranthe said. “People were shooting at us at the end.”
    “Think they figured out who we are?” Maldynado asked.
    “Either that, or Deret’s pa is very displeased with him right now.”
    Deret, leading the way toward the river, said nothing to this, though he did give the wall nearest the building a long look. The booms and thuds of equipment falling through the floor continued to emanate from the Gazette .

Chapter 4
     
    S icarius slithered through the warm dusty ducts, as soundless as a snake. As he approached the imperial suite, a sprawling complex of rooms large enough to accommodate a family of multiple generations, the resiny scent of Nurian rek rek teased his nostrils again. He stopped at the vent leading to the master bedroom. The grate had been removed. The screws had been knocked out from within—warping and destroying them—the culprit obviously not caring if his presence was detected after his deed was done. And the deed was what? An assassination. It had to be. If another had come to assassinate Ravido, perhaps it’d be best to let the man do his work. Sespian might object, but Sicarius refused to rescue Maldynado’s rogue relative simply so Sespian could kidnap him.
    Unlike Hollowcrest’s suite, these rooms had seen recent occupation. Though Sicarius didn’t spot anyone at the moment, the lamps burned, a fire crackled in the hearth, and the sheets and furs on the bed had been turned down. In addition to the Nurian smoke, he smelled the leather of bookbindings, the tang of weapons cleaning oil, and the potato-based starch officers employed for pressing their uniforms.
    Sicarius remained motionless, waiting for Ravido to come in and listening for the breaths of someone who might already be hiding in the suite. Nothing stirred. The fire in the hearth burned down.
    He would need to return to the others soon. It would not prove propitious if they grew restless and started wandering the Barracks on their own.
    A series of resounding clangs thundered through the building, echoing through the ducts with the force of a great bell’s reverberations. Sicarius recognized the cacophony instantly. The Imperial Barracks alarm.
    Doors banged and shouts echoed in the hallway. The team must have been discovered, or perhaps security had stumbled upon evidence of the other intruder’s presence. Either scenario would be problematic.
    Sicarius backed away from the vent opening, intending to return to Hollowcrest’s chambers, but a figure sprinted through the doorway, veering straight for him. He had a glimpse of black clothing, a dark topknot of hair, a dagger clenched in hand, and a silver medallion on a leather thong flapping against the man’s chest. Then the figure was diving into the vent, and Sicarius had no more time for observation, no time for thought; he could only react with instincts honed since birth.
    His black dagger had already found its way into his hand. Like a viper waiting in a rocky hollow, he waited until his prey was least prepared. The man had thrust himself halfway into the duct and was turning on his side to yank his legs in when Sicarius attacked. Though his target’s body blocked all the light, he saw with his other senses, his instincts. The man didn’t know he was there until the dagger dipped into his throat. Metal clattered on the porcelain duct tiles—the assassin’s own blade dropping.
    Throughout