Free Forged in Blood II by Lindsay Buroker Page B

you.”
    Maldynado scratched an armpit, glanced back down the stairs, then met her eyes. “Want me to go in with you?”
    “Do you
want
to go in with me?”
    “Dear ancestors, no, those generals are intimidating.”
    Amaranthe snorted. “Who’s afraid now?”
    “Oh, that’d be me. I’m still disowned, you know. Those people are all… owned. They won’t appreciate my irreverent charm. Besides Yara might have my water ready by now. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure… you’re all right.” He raised his eyebrows.
    All right? Not even close.
    “I’m fine,” Amaranthe said. “You better not delay your bath. I can smell those armpits from here.”
    Maldynado was kind enough not to point out that
she
hadn’t bathed recently either. He simply sniffed one of the offending pits, nodded in agreement, and wandered back down the stairs.
    Amaranthe took a breath and slipped into the room. Hardly anyone noticed, as the officers were busy leaning on the tables, pointing sharply, and arguing with each other.
    “The problem is his legitimacy,” a general she didn’t recognize was saying. “If we throw our men behind him and we’re not successful, if Marblecrest or Flintcrest or someone else comes out on top, we’ll be condemning every single one of our soldiers to the firing line.”
    “He who controls the capital can force the issue,” said an earnest bald colonel with stubby sausage-like fingers that he waved about as he spoke. “It’s no longer about legitimacy, it’s about power.”
    “I’m not disagreeing with that,” the general said. “I’m pointing out how meager our forces are in comparison with those that the other contenders command.”
    “Especially now,” Ridgecrest growled. His single eye was bloodshot. He ought to be in a bunk somewhere, not staying up for this meeting. But then, with the nightmares he’d have, he’d probably rather work than sleep. Amaranthe understood that all too well. “But we do have an advantage that they don’t.” Ridgecrest lifted a hand toward Starcrest. “Even if he’s forgotten all he knew of military strategy in the last twenty years, his name alone will cast doubt into our enemies’ minds.”
    “Thank you, Dray,” Starcrest said. “I see you’re as much the flatterer as you always were.”
    “It’s just that I don’t know how useful a
naval
commander can be in a city siege. All those pesky buildings are wont to get in the way.”
    This conversation caused the rest of the room to drop to silence, most of the men gaping at Ridgecrest for his audacity. Amaranthe recognized the teasing for what it was and guessed the general and the admiral had gone to school together or otherwise known each other for a long time. Starcrest appeared a little younger, but a missing eye could certainly age a man prematurely.
    “All of those pesky buildings seem to be confusing Marblecrest,” the other general said—his tag simply read Wranz, making him one of the rare men to rise to such a rank without a warrior-caste surname. “Why is he bothering with the Imperial Barracks? The railways, river, and aqueducts will be the key to controlling the city, especially at this time of year with limited food stores within its boundaries.”
    “Because his soft backside prefers imperial suites to camp cots,” Ridgecrest said. “Last I heard his priority was shopping for new uniforms for his troops, so they’ll look good while they’re parading around the city.”
    “That’s a Marblecrest for you.”
    “Flintcrest has the two major railways,” Colonel Fencrest said, “and Marblecrest does have the river mouth blockaded. I don’t think anyone has considered the aqueducts yet. It’s possible we could start with that. With the lake freezing over, the underground water supply will be all the more important. My lord?” the colonel asked, tilting his face toward Starcrest. “What are your thoughts on the situation? You haven’t voiced them yet.”
    A dozen