Last week on my Facebook page, I asked for “interview questions” for Sicarius. We had a lot of submissions, but he’s a busy man right now (those of you who have already finished Book 4 can guess why), and I could only get him to agree to answer ten questions. I had to risk my life to elicit that promise, and there was… glaring and knife fondling during the interview process. I hope you appreciate the risk I took to get these answers to you.

Interview with Sicarius

Recording starts.

LINDSAY: Good evening, Sicarius. I know I’ve made your life eventful of late, so I hope you won’t mind me pulling you away from your current mission for a few minutes. Your fans—did you know you have fans?—have a few questions for you. Are you willing to answer them?

SICARIUS:

He folds his arms across his chest and gives me an icy stare.

No.

LINDSAY: No? I can see why you might not be too happy with me, due to, ah, recent events, but the readers are innocent bystanders. Surely, you don’t have anything against them? Don’t you think Amaranthe would encourage you to be polite and amenable?

SICARIUS: I have not seen Amaranthe lately. His icy stare hardens. You know why.

LINDSAY: Er, yes. Sorry about that. Conflict is something of a prerequisite for a novel, and I have to…er, is it necessary to glare at me so much? I am your creator, after all.

SICARIUS: He glares.

LINDSAY: How about this: I’ll make it easier to find her if you cooperate here. I’ll even give you an opportunity to have that private conversation with Sespian. Just answer twenty questions for me.

SICARIUS: It is unwise to attempt to blackmail an assassin.

LINDSAY: Fifteen questions?

SICARIUS: Five.

LINDSAY: Twelve questions. And no one-word answers.

SICARIUS: Ten. I’ll answer how I please.

LINDSAY: All right. I’ll take that. For the first question, we’ll start with something light. Michele asks, “Why do you always wear black? Isn’t navy blue acceptable for skulking in the shadows? Also, have you ever thought about letting someone else give you a proper haircut?” (Numerous people asked after your hair status – i.e. when will you let Amaranthe cut it or let Maldynado recommend a barber?)

SICARIUS: My hair. Your questions are about my hair.

LINDSAY: Hey, I didn’t come up with them. Maybe your fans just want you to look good!

SICARIUS: Hair is irrelevant. I require only that it remain short enough to stay out of my eyes during battle.

LINDSAY: So… no word on when we can expect you to let Amaranthe cut it?

SICARIUS: Is that your second question?

LINDSAY: No, a follow-up on the first. Also, you forgot to comment on the navy blue.

SICARIUS: The haircut status is unknown. It is not a priority. I was assigned black clothing when I worked for the emperor. I see no point in changing what I wear now.

LINDSAY: In other words, you haven’t been clothes shopping in years? No, never mind. That’s not a question. Okay, number two… Jenna asks, “If Sespian were to clear your name, what is one thing you would do with that new freedom?”

SICARIUS: Little would change. The bounty does not bother me. Having people trying to kill you keeps you alert and encourages you to maintain your fitness and fighting skills. However, it would be… acceptable to be a free and… trusted man, so I could walk up to Sespian and speak with him. Without guards around.

LINDSAY: Sandy asks, “Do you want more kids?”

SICARIUS: It is the nature of man to want to pass down his seed.

LINDSAY: I could ask the fans, but I don’t think they’ll find that an acceptable answer. It’s a tad evasive, don’t you think?

SICARIUS: The glare has returned. There are… mistakes youths make that might be… avoided if one had the chance to do a thing again.

LINDSAY: I’m not sure that’s not evasive as well, but I see you fondling your dagger, so let’s move on. Alita asks, “Do you secretly laugh at what Amaranthe does or do you really find nothing humorous?”

SICARIUS: His eyes glint. Yes.

LINDSAY: Drat, and we were doing so good with the multi-word answers. Well, you’ve done that to Amaranthe often enough that I guess I can’t expect more. Jennifer asks, “It seems clear that Amaranthe is good for you. Do you feel that you are good for her?”

SICARIUS: Her schemes are dangerous. Someone has to keep her alive.

LINDSAY: I see… You have nothing more to say on the subject? I think Jennifer may have been thinking about the romance department.

SICARIUS: He looks away for a moment. I should not encourage her infatuation. Another would be better for her.

LINDSAY: Kendra asks, “What were you thinking when you nearly lost Amaranthe to the Makarovi?”

SICARIUS: It would have been… inconvenient for my plans. I believe she can help change Sespian’s opinion of me.

LINDSAY: And that’s the only reason losing her would have upset you?

SICARIUS: These questions are invasive. I do not appreciate your prying.

LINDSAY: All right, all right. Put your knife away, please. We’ll move on. Liana asks, “Tikaya from ENCRYPTED was one of the most formidable women you’ve met in your life, and you met her while still very young. Readers can’t help but notice the similarities between her and Amaranthe. You let Tikaya go, even though your assignment was to kill her, and you keep Amaranthe around even though it isn’t in your best interest. So I have two questions for you… One, was it because Amaranthe resembled Tikaya that you didn’t kill her in your first adventure. Two, will you ever tell Amaranthe about Tikaya and Rias, about how they influenced you and whether or not you keep in touch with them?”

SICARIUS: I spent little time with the Kyattese cryptanalyst. I spared her because of Fleet Admiral Starcrest. He is a great man. The emperor was mistaken to wish him dead. As a boy, I read his books on military strategy. I also acquired some of the less… factual books about his adventures and hid them in my cubby in the Imperial Barracks.

My choice not to kill Amaranthe had nothing to do with the foreign woman. When I met her, she wore a bracelet I recognized, one Sespian made by hand for his mother. I knew he would not have given it away lightly. I did not wish to kill someone who meant something to him.

As for two, I recently had to share the history of the alien technology with Amaranthe, and I explained the role Admiral Starcrest and Professor Komitopis played in decoding the artifacts. I have not kept in touch, as you say, but I would not be adverse to working again with the admiral one day.

LINDSAY: Celia asks, “Have you ever regretted a kill or have you only regretted the consequences of one (such as Sespian seeing the heads of the Mangdorian leaders at age five)?”

SICARIUS: It is illogical to dwell on that which cannot be changed. He pauses and studies the ground. There have been… targets I would not have chosen to eliminate of my own volition.

LINDSAY: Heather asks, “I have always wondered about the exchange with Litya in the super-secret-underwater lab that Basilard witnessed. Why did he look at the tank? What deal did she offer her that was so “interesting”?”

SICARIUS: Despite Amaranthe’s belief otherwise, I am capable of acting, so long as I have something invested in the outcome.

LINDSAY: In other words, you’ll throw yourself behind an acting job that will save yourself or perhaps Amaranthe or Sespian, but you’re less enthused at participating in a ruse to get Maldynado and the rest of the team out of jail, for example.

SICARIUS: I believe that’s what I said.

LINDSAY: Melody asks, “You’ve gone from working alone to working as a team. Would you rather go back to working alone, or do the pros of working as part of a team outweigh the cons?”

SICARIUS: Working alone is safest and most efficient. He lifts his chin. I was never captured or injured when I worked alone.

LINDSAY: And yet you’re still with them.

SICARIUS: You know why.

LINDSAY: Hm. Sylvia asks, “Aside from Amaranthe, how do you feel about the rest of the team? I know in the beginning you put up with them because of her, but have you developed a fondness for any of them, or a particular dislike? How about respect?”

SICARIUS: Basilard is a competent warrior.

LINDSAY: High praise indeed. Anyone else?

SICARIUS: The others talk too much.

LINDSAY: I see. You like Basilard because he’s mute.

SICARIUS: Silence.

LINDSAY: Right. Moving on. Maria asks, “When has Amaranthe’s self-endangering behavior made you angriest? And also (#2) – you peeked at Amaranthe in the cabin, didn’t you? You’re just too sneaky to get caught.”

SICARIUS: I have answered the agreed upon ten questions.

LINDSAY: Oh, come on. Everyone wants to know about that last one.

SICARIUS: I do not get angry.

LINDSAY: Uh huh, sure. And the last question? The one about sneaking a peek?

SICARIUS: An observant assassin sees everything.

Stop recording.

Thank you for reading (and if you haven’t picked up Book 4 yet, here’s the excerpt and store links).

Happy holidays, everyone!

Here’s a cut scene from Deadly Games, for those who might be done eating and opening presents, and are looking for something else to do. I snipped it early on, because Amaranthe and Sicarius have similar conversations elsewhere in the story, so it’s on the rough-drafty side, but I hope it’ll be a fun extra. After all, how often do we get to see Sicarius shirtless? (Er, wait, he was nude for a while in EE3. Never mind!)

 * * *

Though the sun had not yet risen, bringing its unrelenting summer heat, Amaranthe perspired like an icy glass of lemonade. Sweat dribbled from her brow, stinging her eyes, and streaked down her sleeveless arms. Moisture slicked her palm and saturated the leather hilt of her short sword. She licked dry lips and forced herself to focus on her opponent and not the tall, cold, quenching glass of lemonade that had invaded her thoughts.

A long, slender rapier blurred under her guard and slapped the side of her ribs.

Amaranthe winced, not from pain–Sicarius was perfectly capable of making his points without hurting her–but from annoyance with herself. He had not even needed a combination attack to get by her that time.

“Focus,” he said, returning to his starting position, a relaxed bent-kneed stance in the shadows of a dilapidated railcar. Above it, dawn brightened the sky, providing enough light to see him and his blade, so she couldn’t use the darkness for an excuse. The fact that he wore no shirt probably wasn’t a good excuse either, even if any woman would struggle not to be distracted by carved-from-granite muscles gleaming beneath a sheen of sweat.

“I know,” Amaranthe said. There, no excuses. He ought to respect that. “And I know knowing isn’t the same as doing,” she added, heading off one of his typical admonishments.

“In a fight between equally matched opponents, the one who retains focus longest wins.”

“We’re not exactly equally matched,” she said dryly, though she knew what he meant. Today he was emulating an army officer, someone who had been raised with a rapier in his hand. Though Sicarius’s own combat style was an amalgamation derived from dozens of fighting disciplines, he could separate them to mimic any number of likely opponents she might encounter.

“This morning we are.” Sicarius twitched his blade toward hers, indicating she should assume a ready stance again.

“Right.”

Amaranthe wiped her palm on trousers too damp to act as a decent towel and lowered into an athletic stance. Her thighs burned, a reminder of the hour of “warmup” footwork drills they had done first.

Sicarius came forward at half the speed he was capable of. It was enough to keep her busy.

Advance, advance, lunge. His rapier tapped her sword wide and glided toward the inside of her shoulder.

She whipped her blade back in to parry the stab and pushed his across, thinking to open up his kidney, but the rapier was already dropping for a second attack, this time to her groin. She should have known the first was a feint. Acting on instinct, she jerked her short sword down. It wasn’t a pretty move, but the satisfying clash of steel announced an effective block.

There was her opening too. With his blade low, and briefly trapped below hers, his neck was unguarded.

Amaranthe grabbed the back of his arm with her left hand, pulling him forward and–she hoped–off balance while she moved to his side and slashed her blade toward his neck. Her sword was shorter than the rapier, but had razor-sharp edges on either side, giving it versatility in close quarters. She doubted he would let her get close to his neck, but she shifted the angle anyway, to hit him with the flat of the blade. Excitement thrummed through her. Maybe she would actually get a–

Cold steel at her own neck made her freeze.

It was not Sicarius’s rapier–she had put his body between her and that weapon–but a military-issue dagger that rested against her collarbone. Amaranthe sighed and lowered her short sword. She had been two inches from her target, but it might as well have been a mile. This “army officer” had just killed her.

Sicarius lowered the dagger and stepped back. “Your focus was good, but too narrow. You must be aware of all that is conspiring around you even as you keep your eyes on your target. Use your peripheral vision and your other senses. Did you hear the whisper of the dagger leaving its sheath?”

Amaranthe stared at him while she decided whether “whisper of the dagger” deserved a serious answer or a sarcastic one. She knew he expected a serious answer, but, really, who besides him had those kinds of senses?

“Do you know why I like training with you?” she asked.

He gazed back, his expression giving her no hint of his thoughts, though she imagined him mentally bracing himself for an inappropriate and completely not serious followup.

“You’re at your most garrulous when you’re lecturing me on my mistakes. If we didn’t spend time together in this manner, I’d never get more than one word out of you.” Amaranthe smiled, hoping he knew that, despite her teasing, she appreciated his efforts–his dead ancestors knew it was surprisingly generous of him to spend time every day training her and the others. “If I didn’t put myself in these situations where you can chastise me, I’d never get to know your chatty side.” She lifted her eyebrows, hoping she could coax a comment out of him.

“So,” Sicarius said, “you did not hear me draw the dagger.”

Amaranthe dropped her face into her hand. That wasn’t the comment she had hoped for. “No,” she said. “No, I didn’t.”

“We will practice again.” He returned to his starting position.

“Oh, let’s leave some fun for when the others get up and join us. You’re planning on leading a group weapons drill, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I could use a few minutes break before we start up again with them.”

“You are weary?” Sicarius regarded her through half-lidded eyes.

“No!” Amaranthe threw up a hand. “Not at all.” If she admitted to being the faintest bit tired, he would say that meant she required more exercising, thus to build her endurance. She had learned not to make that mistake months ago. “I’m just…” She looked down at herself. “Sweaty. And dusty. And, uh…” She found a lock of damp hair that had escaped her bun and was sticking to her cheek. “And I need to fix my hair. I need to look professional for the men. Didn’t you say that once?” Yes, that was a pathetic excuse, but it might buy her five minutes. She laid her sword down, grabbed a towel, and tugged her hair free so she could tighten it.

“You are fine,” Sicarius said.

His eyes tracked her movements. Had she more courage, she might have offered up a suggestive wiggle of her hips, but she doubted he had anything prurient on his mind, and she would only end up feeling foolish.

“Anything else you want to chastise me about before we wake the others?” Amaranthe asked.

“Yes.”

Amaranthe stifled a groan. “Truly? Did I just open myself up for castigation?”

“Mancrest,” Sicarius said. “It is unwise to solicit him. A warrior-caste lord will not traffic will criminals.”

“You just think he’s a bad bet because he wrote unpleasant things about you. True things, as I understand it.”

Sicarius’s chin came up, and his tone cooled. “There was no truth in his proclamation that I kidnapped Sespian and intended to assassinate him. His articles on assassinations I did commit were full of hyperbole.”

“We’ve discussed this, though,” Amaranthe said. “Because he wrote those articles, he’s the perfect man to turn to our side.”

“He will not turn.”

“Maldynado is warrior caste, and he turned. He’s happy to be working with us.”

“Maldynado is a disowned fop,” Sicarius said. “He lacks the unyielding loyalty to the empire that members of the aristocracy have indoctrinated into them from birth. You should choose a plebeian journalist. Someone who has already expressed dissatisfaction with the status quo would be a logical choice.”

“But less of a victory if we get him.”

“Is this a race at the Imperial Games? We don’t need a victory, only for someone to cast doubt on the idea that we’re criminals, working against Sespian.”

“No,” Amaranthe said. “I think you’re wrong. Getting a staunchly loyal-to-the-empire warrior-caste scion to vouch for us, or at least suggest we might be reputable, would be many orders of magnitude better than a piece by a disgruntled plebe.”

“After the last time one of your ideas nearly got you killed, you said you were going to start listening to my advice.”

“I always listen to it,” she said.

“And dismiss it.”

“Usually because it involves torturing people. You probably think that’d be an acceptable way to get a journalist to write what we wish.”

“You can’t trust Mancrest,” Sicarius said with more dogged stubbornness than she remembered him using for any argument. For some reason he cared about this; he wasn’t content to let her hang herself. “He’ll try to trap you again if you arrange another meeting.”

Amaranthe grabbed her towel and her sword. She’d had enough of the discussion. If the previous night had ended without a hint of yielding from Mancrest, she could understand Sicarius’s argument now, but Mancrest had been curious about her. Emperor’s warts, he’d even laughed and flirted at the end, though if he was anything like Maldynado that did not mean much. But it was promising, surely. A sign that he might one day listen and–

Her thoughts skipped backward. Mancrest had flirted with her. Was it possible that was what was bugging Sicarius?

She draped her towel around her neck and searched his face, wishing it gave more clues. “Are you worried he’ll trap me, and I’ll be in danger? Or are you worried…he won’t?”

“What?”

Amaranthe almost accused him of being intentionally obtuse, but maybe she was being intentionally vague. No, not maybe. Probably. But she couldn’t bring herself to straight out ask if he was jealous. She had a hard time believing that was the case, and she would end up feeling stupid for asking.

“It’s time to wake the others for training,” Sicarius said.

“Yes, of course,” Amaranthe murmured, her head down as as they walked back to camp.

 

Usually when I delete a scene from a book, it happens early on, and there’s a good reason for attacking it with scissors. This is a scene that I’d be tempted to add back if I ever did a “director’s cut” of The Emperor’s Edge.

It was originally most of Chapter 3 and took place after Hollowcrest sent Amaranthe off to “seduce” and kill Sicarius. She decided she’d better practice this seduction thing before going after our dear deadly assassin. What happens in this scene is the reason she tossed that idea out the window.

I cut it because I originally thought I’d be hunting for an agent with EE, and everybody said fantasy novels over 100,000 words were a tough sell, so I was trying to shave off as much as I could, and the scene wasn’t that crucial. Also, I’d heard that agents tended to request the first three chapters (if they were interested in your query letter), so I thought it’d be a good idea to bump up the introduction of Sicarius to fall into those introductory pages. Lastly, a couple of my male critique buddies got the impression that Amaranthe was too homely to score based on this scene. Of course, my intention was just to show that she’s better at getting people onto her side than into her bed.

So, for those who enjoy such things, I present the old and unedited…

Chapter 3

Seduction.  Amaranthe found the thought almost as unappealing as assassination.  Well, if she was going to pull it off, she needed practice.

A breeze whistled through the street, causing an icicle-bedecked sign to swing.  Two Toes Slink, it read above a crude picture of a dancer holding an oversized mug of beer.  Amaranthe regarded the brick building with distaste.  She did not begrudge people their need for recreation, but all her experiences with slinks had involved going in, breaking up fights, and arresting folks.  People ought to have something more constructive to do with their time than starting barroom brawls.

Layers of shoveled snow were piled against the building’s brick walls.  Fresh powder skidded across the slick pavement and curled around Amaranthe’s exposed ankles.  She wrapped her parka tighter, partially because of the cold, partially because she felt ridiculous in the clothes she was wearing underneath.

“Give me something sexy,” she had told the shopkeeper before she could think better of it.

The sleeveless blouse was not entirely horrible, and the knee-length skirt that hugged her hips and buttocks like a sausage casing, while not practical, was wearable.  It was the cursed sandals that were insufferable.  Sandals.  In winter.  Against all logic, they were in style this season.  As a compensation for the freezing weather, the shopkeeper had found her a pair of sandals with fur-lined straps.  Amaranthe had a hard time feeling sexy with squirrel tails wrapped around her ankles.

“Tonight, we see if this seduction tactic is feasible,” Amaranthe muttered to herself and reached for the latch.

A distant, chilling screech froze her hand.  Gooseflesh rose all over her skin.  It had sounded… Amaranthe did not know what it sounded like.  Not human.

She cocked her head, listened for it to repeat.  It did not.

The door slammed open.  Amaranthe jumped out of the way.  She landed in a pile of shoveled snow that swallowed her mostly-bare feet.

A man and woman staggered out, both too drunk and too involved with each other to notice Amaranthe.  Drumbeats escaped through the door as well, pulsing into the street. She pushed the eerie scream from her mind and hustled inside to find a warm place for her feet.

Fortunately, stoves burned in every corner of the long, low-ceilinged room.  Gas jets lined the walls and illuminated two circular stages, one with nearly nude female dancers, one with nearly nude male dancers.  They writhed around networks of vertical, horizontal, and diagonal bars with sinuous moves that gave slinks their name.  Unmarried men and women, or those pretending to be so, met and mingled in the open area between the stages, often shortened to the ‘Between.’

Amaranthe removed her hat, gloves, and parka and hung them on a peg next to the entrance.  She wandered around the men’s half of the slink.  The drooling masses in front of the stage, she avoided.  Instead she eyeballed groups at side tables more removed from the action.  A pack of young soldiers, identifiable by their short-cropped hair, did not pass inspection.  Too easy to seduce.  A table of university students received the same verdict.  If Sicarius was in his thirties, he was probably old enough to be ruled by something more than his penis.  He had to have a modicum of intelligence as well, to so efficiently evade Hollowcrest’s forces.

Near a middle-aged group of men, Amaranthe paused.  A fat tome on the table labeled Hypocaust Failings and Heating Alternatives promised brighter-than-average slink patrons.

“I admit some of your technology is impressive,” a blond man at the table said, “but you can’t deny the benefits of magic.”  His beaded buckskin clothes and long braided hair would have marked him as a foreigner even if his choice of conversation topic did not.

“I’m sure the benefits would be superb,” someone else at the table responded, “if magic existed.”

The empire denied the existence of magic and simultaneously declared its use a crime.  Though Amaranthe had noted the incongruity, she had never worried about it, nor had she arrested anyone for claiming special powers.  Like the second speaker, she had never seen proof that magic existed.  Apparently, the others at the table agreed.  They chuckled and raised mugs full of beer or hard cider to salute their comrade.

“You Turgonians.”  The foreigner shook his head.  “For a supposedly advanced people, you can be glaringly ignorant.”

“Why? Because we don’t believe in gods or mind-numbing superstitions?  Like that helpful spirit Kendorians think will come during the night and bless their homes, provided they sacrifice chickens on the doorstep?  What’s the name?”

“Yugima,” the foreigner admitted, cheeks reddening.  “Not everyone does that.”

“I should hope not.  There are some smells you just don’t want to wake up to in the morning.”

Amaranthe felt conspicuous hovering, so she eased closer.  “Pardon me for interrupting, but this sounds like a more interesting conversation than any of the others in here.  Would you mind if I joined you?”

“Please do,” a graying man said.

The nearest fellow acquired a chair from another table while others made room.  Another plucked a mug of cider from a passing waitress and positioned it front of her.

This might be easier than I thought.  Amaranthe rarely received such consideration when she dressed as an enforcer.  She supposed people saw the uniform and not the person.  Or maybe her squirrel-strap sandals were performing as promised.

The foreigner promptly included Amaranthe in the conversation.  “I’ve always thought Turgonian women brighter than their male counterparts…” The other men booed, though it was with amiable cheer.  “Tell me, would you discount the possibility of something just because your government denied its existence?”

Amaranthe scraped away a suspicious stain on the table’s surface.  “I suppose not, if I personally saw proof.  Can you, by chance, do a magic trick?”

The others leaned forward, grinning.  “Yes,” they enthused.  “Let’s see a magic trick.”  This quickly grew into a chanting of “Magic trick, magic trick.”

Amaranthe wondered if the book she had judged the group’s intelligence by had been left by previous patrons.  Or perhaps it was the number of empty glasses stacked on top of it that accounted for the men’s boisterousness.

“I’m a diplomat, not a shaman,” the foreigner said.  “Note the lack of tattoos on my face.”

“A convenient excuse,” someone said.

“If you uncouth oafs ever run into a shaman from my country, you’ll learn the truth and it could be…unpleasant.  Better yet, I hope you stumble across a Nurian wizard’s path.  Those people are incredibly powerful.”

“So…” A man belched.  “Does that mean no magic trick?”

The foreigner sneered, paid for his drinks, and left.

“Finally,” the graying man in front of the book said.  “Now we can talk about something worthwhile.”

“He’s not a bad fellow,” another said, jerking a thumb toward the departing man.

“No, but you know the law.  We can’t discuss technology with foreigners.  Diplomat is code for spy.”  He cleared the glasses off the book and fished out notes and sketches.

“What are you working on?” Amaranthe asked.

The graying man leaned forward.  “My team–” he nodded to include his comrades “–has won a contract from an industrious businesswoman who’s refurbishing the city’s old buildings with modern heating systems.”

“Interesting,” Amaranthe said.  “Are you replacing fireplaces with stoves or is it more complex than that?”

“Far beyond that.  Most of the older buildings have basement or ground-level exterior furnaces where the hot air is directed under the floors and up through clay flues in the walls.  It’s ancient technology that came with our ancestors from Nuria, along with bronze swords, wooden sailing ships, and other archaic things.  Fireplaces were actually a step back.”

Another man nodded.  “The empire’s always been so concerned with war and making us all into stoic soldiers who are too good for comforts–” he rolled his eyes and tilted his head back so dramatically he almost fell out of his chair, “–that the only advances we were making for a long time were related to food production, troop transportation, and weapons smithing.”

“I wasn’t aware that mentality had changed,” Amaranthe said dryly.  “If I remember my history correctly, a lot of our more ubiquitous inventions like eyeglass and wood-pulp paper were, ahem, acquired from supposedly less advanced cultures.”

“Yes,” another man at the table said, “but now that we have these women starting businesses, there’s suddenly a market for non-military inventions.”

Their enthusiasm for their work appealed to Amaranthe, and she found herself asking more questions.

You’re supposed to be seducing them, came a niggling thought from the back of her mind.  Right.  She took a deep breath, steeling herself.  Thwarting armed bandits she could handle.  This was a challenge.

When no one was watching, Amaranthe slid her chair closer to the fellow next to her.  She unfastened the top two buttons on her blouse and tried not to feel like a floozy.  This is for the empire, she reminded herself.

“Are you hot?” her intended target asked.  “It is warm in here.”  He waved a hand.  “Waitress, bring us some ice.”

Amaranthe forced a smile.  That was not the reaction she had expected.  She caught the man’s gaze and winked.  He did not seem to notice so she did it a few more times.

“Do you have something in your eye?” he asked solicitously.

“I… no.  I mean yes, but it’s gone now.”

“Good.”  He smiled and returned to the group conversation.

Hm.  Maybe he preferred men.  Amaranthe adjusted her chair again, this time closer to the fellow on her other side.

The waitress returned and plopped a bowl of ice in the center of the table.  Flecks of sawdust, the stuff used to pack and preserve ice through the warm seasons, stuck to the jagged shards.

One of the men across the table whistled as the waitress departed.  She waved back at him and twitched her rump.  An interested smile launched across the man’s face.

There, what is she doing that I’m not?

Amaranthe turned to her new target.  His arm rested on the table.  She casually lifted her hand, intending to rest it on his.  He reached for the ice at the same time, and their arms collided.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to bump you.”

Amaranthe tried her wink again.  “I don’t mind.”

“You’re very kind.”  He turned back to the conversation.

Someone asked her a question, and Amaranthe found herself drawn in again.

What in the name of the emperor am I doing wrong?

 You’re being too subtle.  Just press your breasts against one and say let’s go somewhere alone. 

I can’t do that. 

You’ve seen women do it a hundred times. 

Amaranthe shook her head, annoyed at the arguing voices, afraid they might be some indicator of impending insanity.

At the next lull, she turned again to the man whose arm she had bumped.  She leaned close.

“Do you…” she started.

He cocked his head with interest.  Friendly interest, not lascivious interest.

“…know I have to use the water closet?” she blurted.

Amaranthe rose and strode toward the Between.

“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered.  “When did men become more interested in chatting than sex?”

“You offering?”

Amaranthe was almost relieved when the broad man swathed in alcohol vapors planted himself in her path and leered at her chest.  There was little point in practicing seduction on someone who was trying to do the same thing though–if one could call his approach seductive.

“Not at the moment, thank you,” Amaranthe said.

He grabbed her wrist.  “Why don’t you come outside with me?  I’ve got something I want to show you.”

“If I wanted to see that, I’d ask one of those pretty male dancers up there.”

He tried to tug her toward the door.  Amaranthe twisted her wrist so the edge rested against the weak spot in his grip, where the thumb and fingers met.  With an efficient yank, she pulled her arm free.  She was debating on the amount of force required to convince him to forgo further advances when a voice came from behind her.

“Leave her be, you odious thug.”

“Beat it,” the drunk said, “this one’s mine.”

Amaranthe turned part way to find the entire group from the table lined up behind her.

“She doesn’t want to go with you.”

“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe said, “I appreciate your help, but this isn’t–”

The drunk swung his fist.  Amaranthe’s earnest allies swarmed over him like ants on a dropped scrap from Curi’s Bakery.

Amaranthe jumped back to avoid being knocked from her feet.  She dodged two tottering fellows who looked like they might be allies of the man who had accosted her.  They piled onto the writhing heap.  Someone’s chair was kicked out from under him, and another table of men joined the fray.

“Gentlemen,” Amaranthe shouted this time.  “Stop this, it isn’t–”

A flying mug whizzed at her.  She ducked out of its path.  It crashed into the temple of a male dancer on the women’s side of the room.  He bellowed in anger, then launched off the stage onto the pile of brawlers.  Other dancers streamed after him.

Chaos.  Amaranthe could not stop it.  She backed toward the door.  Hollowcrest had forbidden her from speaking to her colleagues, so she dared not wait around for the enforcers to show up.  After grabbing her parka, she hustled outside, barely noticing the cold.

She strode away, trying not to feel like a suspect fleeing a crime scene–or a soldier abandoning comrades to the enemy.  Those men had engaged in a brawl on her behalf.  How did she let that happen?  Here I was condemning the kind of people who started fights in slinks…

When Amaranthe found a sign for a trolley stop, she slowed.  She leaned against its steel support pole and shook her head.  Maybe she should not have talked to them first.  Maybe she should have worn more revealing clothes.  She grimaced at the thought.  The cold from the pole seeped through her parka.  Maybe the seduction scenario was simply too far outside her range of skills.

The grind of wheels on rail announced the trolley’s approach.  Amaranthe straightened.  She was not ready to give up.

“I’ll get your assassin for you, Hollowcrest, but I’m going to do it my way.”

* * *

For anyone who might have stumbled across this without having read the novel first, The Emperor’s Edge is currently free at Smashwords and Amazon. Give it a try!

 

 

 

There were a couple of questions about Encrypted in last month’s question-asking post, so I’ll answer those today. For those who haven’t read the novel, you can try out the first couple of chapters here.

Lauren asks:

I also really enjoyed Encrypted. I seem to remember hearing you had a chapter or so partly written on a sequel. Are you still planning to write that book, and if so, any idea when?

I am still planning on a sequel to Encrypted, and do have it plotted out (and the first couple of chapters written), but, since it stands alone fairly well, I might wait until I finish The Emperor’s Edge series. But we’ll see. If I need a break from Amaranthe and crew, maybe I’ll switch back to the Encrypted storyline.

I’m glad there’s interest in a sequel, though, because I have plenty of trouble planned on Kyatt for Tikaya and Rias. A little Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner mixed with Big Fat Greek Wedding along with a nice conspiracy theory, some underwater archaeology, and an attempted murder or two. (That sounds a little crazy, but it all makes sense in my head. Really.)

Jennifer asks:

I really enjoyed seeing young Sicarius at the end of Encrypted. Will any Encrypted characters make a cameo appearance in the EE series?

I’ve thought about this, but the two sets of characters are twenty years and 3,000 miles apart right now, so I’m not sure how I’d handle that. If I write the sequel to Encrypted (so I’m sure about where Tikaya and Rias end up) before I end up closing out the EE series, I might be more inclined to have everyone meet up in the last book.

Thanks for the questions!

More book-related Q & A posts:

 

• Flash Gold Chronicles Q & A
• The Emperor’s Edge Series Q & A
• Sicarius Q & A
• Writing Characters, Dialogue, and Humor Q & A

I’m continuing to work through the questions from my “ask a question and get entered to win an Amazon gift certificate” (still open!) post. We’ve done a general Emperor’s Edge Q & A and one just on Sicarius. Today, let’s tackle the Flash Gold series (I’ll do the tackling; you can just read.)

Jenna asks:

When shall we expect the next Flash Gold installment (My friend and I are really anxious to see what happens next . . . )?

And Diana asks:

Are there more “Flash Gold” stories in the works?

I’m just starting to work on the next story, so I don’t have a date yet, but I’ll shift more focus to it soon (I’m sending EE3 off to the editor next week, and then I’ll be done working on that).

Ed asks:

I read a LOT, mostly books with lots of pages because there will always be a lot of info on not only the people in the story but the story itself. BUT, I’ve read both Flash Gold books and I have to tell you, you did an awesome job on both points while still making it great reading.

So I have to ask, are you working on the 3rd book or are we just going to be left hanging like so many TV shows do to us?

Thanks, Ed. Glad you are enjoying them! I’m not planning to leave anyone hanging! I’m not sure yet how many Flash Gold stories there will be, but I like to wrap things up (eventually).

Amy asks:

Hubs and I are LOVING Flash Gold. Are you going to do more with that series? We particularly enjoy the unexpected setting, and the character interactions are fabulous.

And while we’re asking, how did you decide on the setting for Flash Gold? Because it’s just so not what one expects from any of the categories I’ve seen the series assigned.

Glad to hear it, Amy! I’d like to do at least six stories, so it should end up being the equivalent of a couple of novels. Of course, once Kali gets her airship built, they might have to go off on more adventures around the world. We’ll see!

As for the setting, I’ve always liked the Old West, since it was wild and uncivilized, leaving lots of potential for adventure. I decided to head up to the Yukon, since I was a big fan of Jack London as a kid and read lots of other books set up there.

Molly asks:

Do you have any plans for a longer entry (novel length for preference) in the Flash Gold storyline? I love the novellas (and everything else you’ve written to be honest) but something with a little more meat to it would be fantastic too. Flash Gold and Hunted ended too quick, I want more!

I’m glad to hear that you want more, Molly! I won’t say I’ll never do a novel with the characters, but I’m choosing to do novellas right now since they’re something I can work on when I need a break from the books in my other series. It takes a lot longer to write a novel (especially since mine are always over 100,000 words!), so I like that I can finish a novella in a month or so. Once I finish with The Emperor’s Edge series, I’ll have to see where things go.

Ryan asks:

I have just put together a couple of stories that required research (and got bogged down in a third – too much research), and also began reading Flash Gold.

I always like authentic settings, and I’m enjoying the Gold Rush feel in FG. I was just wondering how much you knew, and how much research you did for FG – and perhaps other stories.

I know what you mean, Ryan. Sometimes I start looking something up on the web, and then twenty web sites and an hour later, I’ve learned all sorts of good stuff…but it isn’t what I started out looking up. Sometimes I just end up on Facebook or Twitter.

I take some liberties with my stories, but I try to get the names of the towns and river right and a feel for the time period. I don’t really trust my memory, so I look up most things before including them in a story.

The next adventure will have our heroes tramping around Dawson more, so I’m trying to figure out what some of the local businesses and such were, and they’ll be visiting the local Hän camp (Kali’s mother’s people), too, so I’m reading up on those guys to get the details right.

With my high fantasy stories, I get to make up my own world, but I still do quite a bit of research on the technology of the time period, trying to figure out what might be viable (even if there’s a little magic helping things out!). I’ve spent a lot of time reading about early diving suits, steam-powered ships, and steam vehicles. There are some great videos on YouTube of steam engines and trucks if you’re ever bored.

Okay, that’s it for the Flash Gold questions. Thanks for asking them, folks, and thanks for reading!