Forged in Blood I by Lindsay Buroker Read Free Book Online Page B

something to end the pointless diversion, but Sespian spoke first.
    “I doubt Ravido has time for wrangling anyone right now. Regardless, I hadn’t moved out of my childhood suite, the last year having been rather fraught and busy.” Sespian scowled again, and Sicarius wondered what wringers the Forge people had mashed him through since Hollowcrest’s death. He had the impression they’d started applying pressure promptly. He’d like more details, but Sespian still didn’t deign to talk to him without Amaranthe in the room, encouraging them to “bond.”
    Sespian released the scowl and met Sicarius’s gaze. “I don’t suppose you saw a tan-colored cat with dark brown paws and a mask when you were eavesdropping about, did you?”
    “A cat?” Sicarius had been thinking of pains his son had endured in the previous year, and he was worried about… a cat?
    Sespian cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ve been worried… I mean, it’s just a pet of course.” His wave of dismissal wasn’t genuine. “But I’m hoping someone’s been feeding him, and that he hasn’t met with… trouble with all those extra soldiers stomping about.”
    “I have not seen such a cat,” Sicarius said.
    Books patted Sespian on the shoulder, drawing a quick, sad smile.
    Sicarius realized that he’d done something wrong—again—in dealing with his son. He should have offered sympathy, or at least the appearance of sympathy. He didn’t know if it was within him to honestly dredge up such an emotion, but the trying might matter to Sespian. Yet Sespian would shy away from a hand pat from him, and that would leave him feeling… awkward. That emotion he could somewhat understand. Unfortunately.
    “I will watch for it going forward.” Sicarius pointed to the vent. “Come. I will lead the way to Hollowcrest’s suite.”
    “Maybe your cat will be in there, pissing on the old general’s shoes,” Akstyr said.
    “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Sespian chuckled. “He has a feisty streak.”
    Halfway through the vent opening, Sicarius paused to stare at him. How could Akstyr’s crude, ill-considered comment evoke laughter. Pleasure ?
    Sespian caught the stare and shrugged self-consciously. “I may have trained, er, encouraged him to do such things. When I was much younger of course.”
    “How much younger?” Books asked, his eyes sly.
    “Uhm, not as young as you’d think for something like that.”
    Akstyr smirked. “He was probably eighteen.”
    Feeling the conversation had grown pointless again, Sicarius headed into the ductwork. The others would follow. And if they didn’t… he wasn’t positive he wanted people digging into Hollowcrest’s old files and snooping into his past. He doubted there was anything aristocratic in his heritage that would change the populace’s opinion of Sespian’s right, as an assassin’s son, to rule. Amaranthe was being idealistic. Or maybe she’d designed this side trip so that Sespian would have a glimpse into the harsh childhood Hollowcrest and Emperor Raumesys had inflicted on Sicarius. No doubt she thought it’d evoke sympathy in the boy. Sicarius did not blame her for trying—he’d come to appreciate that she cared enough to do so—but some things were best left forgotten.
    He reached the vertical duct that led to the upper floors and paused, listening for the scuffs and exhalations that would tell him the others followed. Akstyr and Books bumped their elbows and knees against the tile walls numerous times. It pleased him that Sespian moved more quietly, as if he’d had training in the art of stealth. Weaponsmaster Orik’s lessons must have been more thorough than Sicarius realized—or Sespian less adept at evading them than he’d heard.
    “Make no noise as we climb,” Sicarius said when the others, Books and Akstyr in particular, were close enough to hear. “As we continue, the ducts will travel between floors and room walls. People inside will be able to hear noises.”
    Not