Ramson was angry. Of course he was. She’d tossed him halfway across a room and left him there.
“Please, mesyr and dama Farrald.” The doorman dipped his head. “I apologize for the inconvenience.” His eyes lingered on them as he bowed and gestured for them to enter.
They stepped into a vast banquet hall with a glass ceiling two stories high. Crystal chandeliers dripped warm gold light into the hallway. On either side of the hall, alcoves framed with intricate marble carvings lined the first and second floors. Guests were already lounging in plush velvet chaises or leaning over the balustrade on the second floor, chatting with drinks in hand.
Ramson’s grip was tight on her waist as he steered her around the edges of the ballroom. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you leave without thanking you for that wonderful parting gift?” he muttered.
His words cut. Ramson had been cold toward her, he’d been calculating, he’d been indifferent—but he’d never been angry. Angry was new. Angry was…personal. “I didn’t want to put you in danger anymore,” she said as he led her up a spiraling set of stairs to the quieter second level that overlooked the banquet hall. “You shouldn’t have come.”
He snorted. “So I should’ve let you be caught like the fool you are?”
Irritation stirred in her. “If you’d just told me about the invitation instead of trying to play me,” she hissed. “You never trusted me. And I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
Ramson’s eyes flashed. “Since when has anyone uttered ‘trust’ in the same breath as my name?”
The second floor was nearly empty, with most of the guests still gathering on the first floor. Ramson cast a furtive look around. “In here,” he said brusquely, parting a set of heavy red curtains to a small alcove. On the far wall of the alcove, a glass door led to a balcony outside; it was dark.
Ana stumbled in. When she turned, Ramson had removed his mask. His face was cold, clean-shaven, and sharp. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him and, from the way he clutched at his ribs, in pain. Shame weighed in her chest, but she found herself growing defensive beneath his fury. “I’m sorry, all right?” she snapped.
“You’resorry,” Ramson repeated, and took such a menacing step forward that she started backward. She bumped against the glass door. “And what, exactly, are you sorry for? Murdering two of Kerlan’s men the night before his ball? Nearly killing me? Running off without a word and leaving me to puzzle it all out from a message from Yuri?”
Whatever remorse she might have felt burned away with her rising anger, stoked by his heated accusations. “Kerlan’s men killed May and exploited Affinites for a living,” she growled. “I gave them what they deserved.”
Ramson slashed a hand through the air. “Yes, and in doing so, you nearly single-handedly gave us away. That doorman was watching us as we entered; I wouldn’t be surprised if he alerted Kerlan’s security of us. I bargained for a peaceful entry to this ball and you ruined it. You focused on the battle and lost sight of thewar.”
They stood so close that she could grab him by the lapels and shake him until his teeth rattled. She thought back to Shamaïra’s dacha, the fire burning low, the smell of smoke and incense and hope hanging between them. She’d thought there was something in him worth redeeming.
Ana pitched her voice low and cast her words to cut. “Do not speak of May as though she were a sacrifice to be made, in these battles and warsyouseem to perceive as a game.”
Ramson’s eyes narrowed. “Ana, be quiet—”
“Must be so easy for you to say”—she plunged on, anger and tears threatening to choke her as they did whenever she thought of May—“having never loved anybody or anything besides yourself.”
In one swift step, Ramson closed the gap between them. Instinctively, Ana shrank back, her head bumping against the glass behind her as Ramson leaned over her and braced a hand on the door behind her. He reached out with the other hand, and in that moment she had a wild premonition that he would either hurt her or kiss her—but all he did was press a finger to her lips.
“Please, shut up,” he whispered, and something about the urgency of his tone startled her into silence. He was so close that she could see the cuts and scratches on his chin, the slight bend to his nose, the sweep of his lashes over his hazel eyes, wide as he looked at her right now. He leaned in. His whisper was lighter than a breath by her ear. “We’re being watched.”
She looked past him. Through the blur of her tears, the alcove swam into view, barely wide enough for her to stretch her arms out on either side. She was suddenly aware of the silence beyond the curtains, of the music and hubbub that seemed a world away. Of how their voices must have carried to anyone listening outside.
Ramson’s hand shifted to her shoulder, his gaze locked on her as though she were something wild that could become unhinged at any moment. Ana swallowed. The deluge of her emotions vanished as quickly as it had come, tempered by the chill of fear and the need to act.
Holding his gaze, she reached out with her Affinity. It was like lighting a torch; she saw with her power the blood, hot and bright in Ramson’s body before her, pulsing quickly from the strong beat of his heart. Ana reached beyond that. The second floor of Kerlan’s banquet hall unfurled under the sweep of her Affinity, a darkness devoid of blood, until—
There.
A single figure stood by the staircase mere steps from their alcove, still as a stone.
Fear bloomed cold against her chest.
Ramson watched her expression, as though he already knew exactly what she was doing. “Do you sense someone?” His lips barely moved.
Ana nodded.
“Can you tell me anything else about them? What they’re wearing, or what they look like?”
As though in response to his question and to her Affinity, she sensed something reaching out to her—an icy, iron force that clamped against her Affinity, blotting it out like dousing a torch.
The feeling was all too familiar, and her knees almost buckled as she thought of the last time she’d felt it. “A yaeger,” she whispered.
