The Assassin's Curse by Lindsay Buroker Read Free Book Online

chin. That would
not happen. If she had to, she would return to the city and collect
the rest of her team to rescue him. They could drug him if needed
and carry him—
    Someone touched her shoulder, and Amaranthe
jumped and whirled about.
    Sicarius stood there, damp hair sticking up
in tufts, his face hidden by the night.
    Amaranthe skittered back until her heel found
the edge of the dock. He did not move.
    “Are you... you?” she asked.
    “Yes.”
    The accent had disappeared, and the
monosyllabic answers had returned, so she supposed that meant it
was him, but she had a hard time relaxing. She would not soon
forget the memory of those fingers wrapped around her neck.
    “You sure?” she asked.
    He extended a hand, palm up. Amaranthe
hesitated before stepping closer and accepting it. Gently and
slowly, he pulled her into a hug. It surprised her, and she did not
know what to say. The closest he usually came to hugging people was
grappling with them in wrestling practice—the “hug” tended to end
with one being hurled head-over-heels onto one’s back. He held the
embrace for a long moment, and she found herself wondering just how
close he had come to killing her. Had he been aware of everything
he had been doing while under the spirit’s influence?
    She did not want to dwell upon that, so she
kept her tone light when she said, “Is this supposed to convince me
that you’re telling the truth? The real Sicarius doesn’t hug me
often.” Despite her words, she slid her arms around him, intending
to appreciate the gesture of camaraderie. Her hands encountered
dampness, not dripping water from the swim but sticky warm
dampness. “You’re bleeding,” she blurted, pulling her arms away
lest she hurt him further.
    “You did arrange to have me shot,” Sicarius
said dryly.
    “I didn’t think she’d luck into actually
hitting you,” Amaranthe said. “I’m sorry. I needed a distraction
to—”
    “I know,” Sicarius said grimly. “I should
never have gone over there with you. I’d heard the story, of a team
of soldiers sent to plant a box of blasting sticks and blow up the
island, and of the warrior mage’s spirit taking over one of the
strongest and using him to kill many of the others.”
    Amaranthe thought of the skeletons on the
beach. How many more dotted the island?
    “I thought I was mentally strong enough to
resist the spirit.” Sicarius rolled his head back to stare at the
heavens before lowering it again to add, “Hubris.”
    Amaranthe bit her lip. She shouldn’t feel
tickled by his admission, especially when he was standing there,
bleeding on the dock, but Sicarius so rarely gave away his feelings
that she had to admit pleasure at hearing him so clearly disgusted
with himself. “Hubris is a common flaw amongst imperial men.” She
had more than her share of it herself.
    “Yes.”
    “A very human flaw as well.”
    “You sound pleased.” A hint of puzzlement
infused his tone.
    “It’s just that between your athletic prowess
and your dedication to your training... Well, it’s like I said
earlier. Sometimes you don’t seem human.”
    “There are other people like me in the
world.”
    Yes, that Nurian warrior mage certainly must
have been one, but Amaranthe had never met anyone else of
Sicarius’s caliber. “Oh?” she asked, seeing a chance to tease
him—they could use a little lightness after that adventure. “How
many? Twenty? Thirty?”
    “Five.”
    Amaranthe smiled, wondering if he knew them
by name. “Do you know if the female thief made it?”
    She touched the sheath on his waist that
usually held his black knife and found it there once again. He had
gone to retrieve it.
    “She did not. Your aim was accurate.”
    He sounded faintly proud. Amaranthe couldn’t
help but remember that her intent had been to take the thieves to
the magistrate, or at least tie them up somewhere the army could
find them.
    “I wonder if they were in it for the money or
if their government sent