Free Forged in Blood I by Lindsay Buroker Page B

it wouldn’t be surprising if, as a journalist, Deret had been keeping track of the team, including recent acquisitions.
    “Oh, yes,” Maldynado drawled. “Very athletic.”
    “Are we preparing for the next explosion?” Amaranthe asked, dumping a jar into Deret’s hands. “And watching the prisoners?” She gave Maldynado a pointed look.
    “Yes, ma’am,” Deret said at the same time as Maldynado proclaimed, “Naturally, boss.”
    Deret grabbed a lantern and disappeared into the tunnel. Amaranthe intended to follow and help him if he needed it, but a thunderous snap rent the air.
    “Was that the door?” she whispered. It’d sounded louder and closer than that.
    “Must be,” Maldynado said. “What else would it be?” He knocked on a brick. “Hurry up, Deret. I think your old man’s about to join us.”
    “I need some cloth and another jar,” Deret called back, his voice echoing in the enclosed tunnel.
    Amaranthe eyed Maldynado’s shirt. It had… tassels wasn’t quite the right word, but the fluffy fringes looked like they could be shorn off for Deret’s fuse without leaving flesh exposed. She unsheathed her dagger and lifted a finger, intending to ask.
    “Don’t even think about it.” Maldynado took a large step back. “My wardrobe has suffered dreadfully as a result of knowing you. Do you know that I haven’t been able to keep a hat for more than two weeks since we met?”
    “Please, you’d find it tedious to wear the same hat for more than two weeks anyway.” Amaranthe veered toward the prisoners, lifting an apologetic hand as she sliced into one’s jacket.
    “True,” Maldynado said, “but I prefer to retire a hat to a closet for possible later consideration, not watch it be blown up in a steamboat explosion.”
    “Fussy, fussy.” Amaranthe took the purloined cloth and another jar into the tunnel.
    At the far end, Deret was hunched over, assembling his bomb. Amaranthe set down the rest of the supplies, grabbed the lantern, and held it up to improve the light.
    Another resounding snap came from out in the basement.
    “That’s not the door.” Maldynado stuck his head into the tunnel. “I think those are the floor beams.”
    A second noise echoed, this more of a boom than a snap.
    “ That was the door,” Maldynado said.
    Deret grabbed the second jar. “Going as fast as I can.”
    “Can I do anything to help?” Amaranthe asked.
    “Yes. If my father barges through that door with the soldiers, shoot him.”
    “Really?” Amaranthe wouldn’t have pegged Deret as the type to harm blood relations, even irritating ones.
    “Not in the chest. Just blow out a kneecap or two.”
    “Is he really the one who locked you up down here?”
    “Yes.”
    “Because…?”
    “I refused to print Ravido Marblecrest’s half-truths. Ravido and his business contacts went to my father behind my back. I wish I could say there’d been blackmail or other coercion, but my father is the sort to believe that warrior-caste families should stick together, and he was never a big supporter of Raumesys or Sespian, so…”
    “He was happy to help Ravido?” Amaranthe asked.
    “That’s the impression I got. When I confronted him… we argued. With fists. He reminded me he owned the paper and sent me home. That was that, or so I hoped he’d think. I brought some of my workers in late that night, intending to change the typeset and print a lengthy story about everything that’s been going on in secret, at least that I’m aware of—thanks in part to you. I included that there’d been no evidence whatsoever to verify Sespian’s death and that anyone attempting to take the throne was doing so illegally.”
    “I haven’t seen that edition of the paper.” Thanks to their travels, Amaranthe hadn’t seen a lot of editions, but she doubted anyone had seen that one.
    “Nor will you. My father guessed my intentions and barged in on me. He was furious. My basement internment was the result.” Deret backed