surprisingly, the grunts of acquiescence held a sullen undertone. Sicarius found it interesting that Amaranthe always managed to command the men without evoking similar displays of disgruntlement.
Sicarius removed her from his thoughts. He would need his concentration for climbing and remaining silent. It would not do for him to make noise.
Hot air swirled about him as they climbed up the shaft. The main arterials of the hypocaust system were made from ceramic tile, and the grouted spots between them offered the only semblances of handholds. He ascended, his palms alternately pressing to either side, feet likewise braced. His mind flashed to a recent instance where he’d been in a similar position, wedged into that smokestack on the steamboat with Amaranthe, her body scant inches from his. It took more effort to push that memory out of his thoughts, but he did so ruthlessly, reminded of Hollowcrest’s oft-repeated words, “A distracted warrior is a dead warrior.”
When he reached the third floor, where the suites of the royal family, commander of the armies, and honored guests awaited, he slipped into the horizontal duct that led to Hollowcrest’s old office. He had to wait for the others to catch up and, to keep his mind from straying into distracted territory again, ran through a sensory check—touch, smell, sound, feel—of the dark area. He did such checks automatically, whether he thought of them or not, but the formality of raising it to a conscious level occupied his mind in an acceptable manner.
He turned his nose toward the darkness ahead, detecting… what? He sniffed. It was the Nurian smoke again.
“We’re all here,” Sespian whispered.
“I know.” Despite testing the environment, Sicarius had been aware of the others reaching the horizontal duct and crawling into it. “Come.”
He swirled through the maze of ducts he’d memorized long ago, bringing them into the wall between Hollowcrest’s rooms and the guest suite to their side. One of the vents opened to the bedchamber and another to the office. Sicarius veered toward the latter. As expected, darkness filled the room beyond the grate. The air smelled stale—nobody had opened a window and freshened the suite in some time. Good. Sicarius had begun to wonder if they would encounter the other intruder, going to the same place as they were, but the ducts had branched a few times since he’d last smelled the smoke odor.
Using one of his more versatile picks—and painstaking patience—he once again unfastened the vent screws from within. Soundlessly, he set the metal grate to the side and slipped out. While the others exited, he prowled about, ensuring his first instinct had been correct and that the rooms were indeed empty. He checked the main door leading into the hall and found it locked, no doubt to discourage casual snooping. He wondered who had the key.
“I pulled the curtain so nobody will see any light,” Books was saying when Sicarius returned to the office. “Any thoughts on where we should start searching?”
“Yes.”
In the darkness, Sicarius walked to a coal stove in the corner and pushed one of the rear legs with his toe. He didn’t hear the secret door open, but its draft stirred his hair. In the narrow, windowless room inside, he had pulled several files out of cabinets by the time Books lit his lantern and found him.
“This is disappointing,” Akstyr said when he stepped inside. He ticked a nail against one of the featureless wooden cabinets that lined one wall. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases occupied the others. There was barely room inside to squeeze past the desk and sit in the chair. “You’d expect a secret inner chamber to be more interesting than a little office.”
“By interesting, do you mean full of decapitated heads and various other grisly trophies of defeated enemies?” Books asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“My fath— the emperor’s tastes were more along those lines.” Sespian squeezed
Sicarius removed her from his thoughts. He would need his concentration for climbing and remaining silent. It would not do for him to make noise.
Hot air swirled about him as they climbed up the shaft. The main arterials of the hypocaust system were made from ceramic tile, and the grouted spots between them offered the only semblances of handholds. He ascended, his palms alternately pressing to either side, feet likewise braced. His mind flashed to a recent instance where he’d been in a similar position, wedged into that smokestack on the steamboat with Amaranthe, her body scant inches from his. It took more effort to push that memory out of his thoughts, but he did so ruthlessly, reminded of Hollowcrest’s oft-repeated words, “A distracted warrior is a dead warrior.”
When he reached the third floor, where the suites of the royal family, commander of the armies, and honored guests awaited, he slipped into the horizontal duct that led to Hollowcrest’s old office. He had to wait for the others to catch up and, to keep his mind from straying into distracted territory again, ran through a sensory check—touch, smell, sound, feel—of the dark area. He did such checks automatically, whether he thought of them or not, but the formality of raising it to a conscious level occupied his mind in an acceptable manner.
He turned his nose toward the darkness ahead, detecting… what? He sniffed. It was the Nurian smoke again.
“We’re all here,” Sespian whispered.
“I know.” Despite testing the environment, Sicarius had been aware of the others reaching the horizontal duct and crawling into it. “Come.”
He swirled through the maze of ducts he’d memorized long ago, bringing them into the wall between Hollowcrest’s rooms and the guest suite to their side. One of the vents opened to the bedchamber and another to the office. Sicarius veered toward the latter. As expected, darkness filled the room beyond the grate. The air smelled stale—nobody had opened a window and freshened the suite in some time. Good. Sicarius had begun to wonder if they would encounter the other intruder, going to the same place as they were, but the ducts had branched a few times since he’d last smelled the smoke odor.
Using one of his more versatile picks—and painstaking patience—he once again unfastened the vent screws from within. Soundlessly, he set the metal grate to the side and slipped out. While the others exited, he prowled about, ensuring his first instinct had been correct and that the rooms were indeed empty. He checked the main door leading into the hall and found it locked, no doubt to discourage casual snooping. He wondered who had the key.
“I pulled the curtain so nobody will see any light,” Books was saying when Sicarius returned to the office. “Any thoughts on where we should start searching?”
“Yes.”
In the darkness, Sicarius walked to a coal stove in the corner and pushed one of the rear legs with his toe. He didn’t hear the secret door open, but its draft stirred his hair. In the narrow, windowless room inside, he had pulled several files out of cabinets by the time Books lit his lantern and found him.
“This is disappointing,” Akstyr said when he stepped inside. He ticked a nail against one of the featureless wooden cabinets that lined one wall. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases occupied the others. There was barely room inside to squeeze past the desk and sit in the chair. “You’d expect a secret inner chamber to be more interesting than a little office.”
“By interesting, do you mean full of decapitated heads and various other grisly trophies of defeated enemies?” Books asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“My fath— the emperor’s tastes were more along those lines.” Sespian squeezed
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