By Lindsay Buroker
It’s been 3 months given that former enforcer Amaranthe Lokdon and the infamous murderer Sicarius thwarted kidnappers and kept the emperor’s lifestyles. the matter? no one understands they have been accountable for this reliable deed. Worse, they’re being blamed for the whole scheme. With enforcers and bounty hunters stalking them, and the emperor nursing a private hatred for Sicarius, it’s going to be demanding to earn exoneration. while Amaranthe’s workforce discovers mutilated our bodies within the urban aqueducts and a mysterious sickness incapacitates millions of voters, she and Sicarius see a chance to resolve the secret and end up their loyalty. yet they’ll need to defeat vengeful shamans, man-eating predators, and lethal mechanical constructs, all whereas dodging imperial infantrymen who could really kill them than settle for their aid. no one stated exoneration will be effortless.
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Additional resources for Dark Currents (The Emperor's Edge Book 2)
He did not. “Loading bay. ” Amaranthe grabbed her lantern and headed for the door. Night pressed against the windows overlooking the factory’s main floor. Her lamp illuminated the first couple of sewing machines in rows that stretched throughout the cavernous room. Before they had gone more than a few steps, the scrape of a key fumbling for a lock whispered through the silent building. The front door. Sicarius disappeared into the shadows below a fifteen-foot-high loft that housed more rows of sewing machines.
Books took it and went to the chalk mark on the floor, the one spot from which he could usually make the throw. Maldynado and Akstyr leaned against the wall. An audience. How delightful. Books faced the log, lifted the knife above his shoulder, held his left arm out to sight along, and threw. The blade spun three times and landed point first in the log. It quivered a foot below the black heart some artistically challenged soul had painted in grease, but he was tickled whenever the knife did not bounce off or miss altogether.
Finally,” Amaranthe said. “Maybe Ms. ” “Likely,” Sicarius said, laconic as usual. Clad in fitted black clothing that bristling daggers and throwing knives, he stood in the shadows against the wall, his gaze covering the door and the window. Neither his angular face nor his dark eyes gave any hint of impatience, but then they rarely hinted of anything. ” Amaranthe stood. Her thighs, still rubbery after the morning’s training session, twanged in protest. ” Thanks to her restless fingers, the trash bin now housed scraps of material, windowsill dust, and pencil shavings, all of which had plagued the office when she entered.