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The sisters had both been to the Kyatt Islands on Forge’s behalf, Retta to study the ancient language, and Suan to purchase submarines for her wealthy colleagues.
    “Outlaws.” Tikaya sat next to Starcrest on the crate. “And here I thought an excursion into the empire in your wake would mean a chance to meet aristocrats and military leaders from the highest echelons of society.”
    “That might have happened if you’d married me when I was an upright young officer. These days… well, I don’t think anyone has scribbled out the exile mark next to my name. These—” Starcrest spread a hand toward Amaranthe, Books, and Akstyr, “—should be precisely the sorts of people you expected.”
    “Should we be offended?” Akstyr muttered to Books.
    “I believe so, yes,” Books said. “Word of my sublime work mustn’t have reached the Kyatt Islands yet.” He sighed.
    Amaranthe swatted him on the arm.
    “I haven’t been informed of their names yet,” Starcrest said, “but they know Sicarius.”
    Tikaya grimaced. “Is that association as precipitous for them as it is for most people?”
    Starcrest’s eyes sharpened as he regarded Amaranthe. “I don’t think so.”
    “It is for us.” Akstyr pointed to his chest, then Books.
    “Do you actually know what precipitous means?” Books asked him.
    “Dangerous, right? You’ve used it before. You’ve even used it when talking about Sicarius.”
    “I didn’t realize you’d listened.” Books sounded pleased.
    “Sometimes. If I’m not doing something more important.”
    Books’s eyes narrowed, some of the pleasure fading.
    Amaranthe shushed them and said, “My name is Amaranthe Lokdon, and this is Akstyr and Books, formerly Professor Marl Mugdildor.”
    Books’s back straightened, and he glanced at Tikaya, as if hoping she’d heard of him. She merely gazed back at the three of them with an expression of polite wariness. Outside, the train had started up, and Starcrest slid the rolling door shut before resuming a seat next to his wife. Enough light slanted through the slats in the walls that the two parties could see each other.
    “You already know who I am,” Starcrest said, “but you can call me Rias. This is my wife, Professor Tikaya Komitopis.”
    “Just Tikaya,” she said.
    Sure, like Amaranthe was going to be on a first-name basis with people out of the history books.
    Starcrest slipped a hand into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. “Do you recognize this?”
    Books and Akstyr shook their heads.
    Amaranthe didn’t. “Was it, by chance, postmarked from Markworth a few weeks ago?”
    “It was indeed.”
    “Sicarius didn’t tell me what was in it or who it was going to. I got the impression that he hoped for an answer, but didn’t expect one.”
    Starcrest and Komitopis exchanged wry looks, and Amaranthe had the sense that there’d been quite a discussion as to whether to respond to that letter or not. “Can I see it?” she asked. “It doesn’t mention me, does it?”
    Starcrest’s brows rose.
    “I ask because there was a hasty postscript penned after I… ah, I was there when he wrote it. It’s possible my plans had some influence on the information contained within.”
    “As in,” Akstyr whispered to Books, “please help, Admiral, before my crazy girlfriend blows up the empire.”
    Long accustomed to their teasing, Amaranthe might not have flushed, but the topic—and the agreement implicit in Books’s smirk—made her self-conscious. “It doesn’t say
that
.” She eyed Starcrest. “It doesn’t, right?”
    “Show her the letter, love,” Komitopis said.
    The pair exchanged looks again, and this time Amaranthe couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it’d be like to be married to someone—not someone,
Sicarius
—long enough to understand each other so well that words weren’t needed. She knew Sicarius better than most, but that wasn’t saying much. It was rare for her