By Lindsay Buroker
Imperial legislations enforcer Amaranthe Lokdon is sweet at her task: she will be able to deter thieves and pacify thugs, if no longer with a blade, then through toppling an eight-foot pile of espresso canisters onto their heads. but if ravaged our bodies appear at the waterfront, an arson covers up human sacrifices, and a strong enterprise coalition plots to kill the emperor, she feels a tad crushed. Worse, Sicarius, the empire's so much infamous murderer, is on the town. He's tied in with the chaos one way or the other, yet Amaranthe will be a idiot to move his course. regrettably, her superiors order her to seek him down. both they've got an exceptional trust in her skills... or a person desires her lifeless.
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Additional resources for The Emperor's Edge
When at last Hazel had got him back to the ditch, he refused at first to go underground and Hazel had almost to push him down the hole. The sun set behind the opposite slope. The wind turned colder, with a scatter of rain, and in less than an hour it was dark. All color had faded from the sky: and although the big board by the gate creaked slightly in the night wind (as though to insist that it had not disappeared in the darkness, but was still firmly where it had been put), there was no passer-by to read the sharp, hard letters that cut straight as black knives across its white surface.
Evidently there were nesting holes in the sheer face below them, for as the light grew they saw three or four martins dart out over the stream and away into the fields beyond. In a short time one returned with his beak full, and they could hear the nestlings squeaking as he flew out of sight beneath their feet. The bank did not extend far in either direction. Upstream, it sloped down to a grassy path between the trees and the water. This followed the line of the river, which ran straight from almost as far away as they could see, flowing smoothly without fords, gravel shallows or plank bridges.
At this moment, as he was still wondering what to say to them, he suddenly realized that something had lightened his spirits. What could it be? A smell? A sound? Then he knew. Nearby, across the river, a lark had begun to twitter and climb. It was morning. A blackbird called one or two deep, slow notes and was followed by a wood pigeon. Soon they were in a gray twilight and could see that the stream bordered the further edge of the wood. On the other side lay open fields. 8. The Crossing The centurion ...