More than once, she’d found the assassin in there with her. They’d never been doing anything except playing strategy games, but Evrial had been forced to hold back a snippy comment that perhaps Amaranthe and Sicarius should be roommates. But she didn’t particularly want to stay with any of the men either—she flicked an irritated finger at her mind when it conjured Maldynado’s face—so she said nothing. When the door opened, her hunch proved correct. Sicarius stood inside, using the door to block his body, no doubt prepared to defend—or attack—if she’d been an enforcer. Or anyone who dared give him a cross look. The man’s hard, angular face could have been chiseled from ice, for all the warmth it ever held, and Evrial, familiar with the number of soldiers and enforcers he’d killed, had a hard time thinking of him as anything other than “the assassin.” Maldynado had admitted to being perplexed by Amaranthe’s willingness to spend time with Sicarius. Evrial could understand that feeling.
