Amaranthe Lokdon would have turned herself over to bounty hunters for a chance to float or bask. Instead, out in the middle of an inlet, she struggled to keep her head from going under as waves sloshed into her mouth and eyes. Using both hands, she held a ten-pound brick in front of her face while her burning thighs rotated beneath the surface, kicking furiously to keep her afloat. Barely. Despite the cold lake water, sweat dribbled down her face. Her leaden arms ached and threatened to let the brick dip below the surface. A few feet to her side, Sicarius, notorious assassin and fellow outlaw, held a heavier brick higher out of the water. No hint of strain flushed his cheeks, and a calm, expressionless facade masked his thoughts. He didn’t disturb the water with his kicks, and neither his face nor his short blond hair were damp. The summer heat might be enough to wilt normal men’s ambitions toward physical activity, but apparently this miniscule workout wasn’t enough to make him sweat.
