Free Beneath the Surface by Lindsay Buroker

Amaranthe flexed her weary muscles, willing biceps and back to pull up her weight one more time. Her chin inched toward the bar, but the trembling increased in her forearms, and she feared she’d have to let go before she reached her goal. That would be intolerable, though. She couldn’t give up with Sicarius looking on. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and gave one last heave. Her body surged the last couple of inches, and her chin brushed the bar. Good enough. She let go, dropping back to the floor. She planted a hand on the wall for support.
    Sicarius offered one of his that-was-acceptable grunts. Every now and then, he’d go overboard and say something as magnanimous as, “Good,” but it would take more than a few chin-ups to elicit that response from him.
    Sicarius took a step toward her, a hand lifting slightly. Amaranthe thought about accepting it and falling into his arms for support—or perhaps because he’d been training as well and wasn’t wearing his shirt—but she stood up straight and twitched her fingers to indicate she was fine. She needed him to know that, despite her meager eight chin-ups, she was recovering and didn’t need constant attention. She needed to know that as well.
    Someone knocked at the door. Sicarius glided over to answer it, but Amaranthe said, “Wait,” and jogged past him. She opened it first.
    Sespian stood outside, the houses of a hamlet dotting the riverbank behind him. He wore a hood pulled down to hide his face. His familiar imperial features were further camouflaged by a smear of facial hair that aspired to become a beard. A bulging cloth sack was tucked beneath his arm. Seeing it prompted a guilty twinge within Amaranthe. She’d suggested a shared meal to entice him to come. She hadn’t mentioned that it’d be a meal for three.
    “ Uhm.” Sespian eyed Sicarius—or perhaps Sicarius’s bare torso—and took a step back. “You’re busy. I can come later.”
    “ No.” Amaranthe grabbed his arm before he could escape. “You can’t go. I’m starving, and you have lunch.”
    Sespian took in her sweat-dampened hair and bare feet. She’d only taken her boots off so she’d have less weight to pull up, but imagined that her state, coupled with Sicarius’s bare chest, might imply something she hadn’t intended.
    “ We were training,” Amaranthe said.
    Sespian’s gaze dropped to her hand on his arm, and he sighed. Maybe he didn’t believe her. “If you wish to finish first, I can—”
    “ No, I’m more than ready for a break. We both are.” She smiled over her shoulder at Sicarius. “Right?”
    She might have imagined the suspicion in Sicarius’s eyes, but she doubted it.
    “ I invited Sespian for lunch. I thought we could chat. All of us.”
    Judging by the slump to Sespian’s shoulders, he found that notion about as appealing as licking a frozen lamppost, but he let Amaranthe pull him inside. A hard wariness edged Sicarius’s eyes too. Ah, this would be fun.
    Amaranthe shut the door firmly, wishing she could lock the men inside until they thawed a little around each other. It would have to be a gradual process, she reminded herself. “Please, have a seat, Si—Sespian, may I call you that now?” Amaranthe waved toward the stools at the table.
    Sicarius remained standing. He’d chosen his usual spot near the door with his back to the wall. That wouldn’t do.
    “ Yes,” Sespian said. “I’m surprised you didn’t earlier. I’ve been wondering...” He was veering toward the bottom bunk instead of the table, and Amaranthe gently caught him and steered him toward one of the two stools. He let her, though the wariness in his eyes deepened. Like father, like son? Perhaps not. Maldynado and the other men often regarded her with wariness, too, especially when she was hatching a plan.
    With a shield of reluctance hanging in the air around him, Sespian sat down. “I’ve been wondering what you, or you and Professor Mugdildor, are planning in