Bregon.
Hope sparked a small flame in him, and suddenly, his future unfolded like the pages of a storybook. A future in which his path and hers might lead to the same destination.
“There is something else,” he said, and he told her everything he had found out about Alaric Kerlan and his new trafficking scheme with Bregon. She listened to him with a frown, chewing on her lip. “I’m going to find him and put an end to all this,” Ramson finished.
“But you don’t know who the buying party in Bregon is?” Ana prompted.
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Ramson replied. “The Bregonian Kingdom has never shown interest toward the magen—our term for Affinites. It must be a black market activity.”
Ana turned to him. “We should work with the Bregonian government.”
“No.”He spoke too fast, the word tumbling from him inpanic.
“Why not? I’ve been thinking about it. With the Redcloaks’ ”—she hesitated for a brief moment—“withdrawal, I need to think of other possible alliances. Bregon would be a good place to start. If I extend the offer of an alliance with their leadership—”
“No,” Ramson repeated. His tankard clanked loudly against the guardrail.
Ana raised her eyebrows. “No?”
He fumbled, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. “The Bregonian leadership will never agree to negotiate with you.” His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.
She swept her eyes to the distant skyline, and for a moment, her pupils flashed red. “I’ll ask to speak to the King.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “I’ll warn the Bregonian government about Morganya’s pursuit of this artifact and propose a strategic alliance with them to protect it. They might even agree to a counterattack against her. They have the most powerful Navy in the world, after all.”
Ramson put a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Ana, I can see you’re trying to strategize, but this isn’t going to work.”
He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Ana met his gaze, and he noted the jut to her chin, the spark of challenge in her eyes. “Why not?”
A flash of alder trees, a cold shoulder, a shadowed face.
Tell her the truth,pressed a voice.Tell her whose son you are.
But the thought of her knowing who he was—who hereallywas, down to the core of his childhood and those whispers ofpacksaddle sonandbastard—sent a wild bout of panic throughhim.
At his hesitation, she narrowed her eyes. “Ramson,” she said, “you have to promise me you won’t hide anything from me anymore. We’re in this together.”
He balked. He knew, from experience, that expectations of honor from him would only lead to disappointment. “I don’t make promises, Ana,” he replied. “That way I don’t have to break them.”
She fixed him with an imperious glare. “Fine.”
“Look, you do whatever you want with whoever you want,” Ramson found himself saying. “I’m going to track down Alaric Kerlan and find out what he’s doing trafficking Affinites to Bregon.”
“I’ve always done whatever I want,” she replied. The wind swept her hair back, and her expression shifted, her smile turning dagger-sharp. Ramson began to draw back, but her hand darted out, fingers coiling around the fabric of his shirt, rooting him in place. “But while I have you here on this ship, you’re going to help me withwhateverI need.” She tilted her head. “Did you think I forgot where you were from, Ramson ‘Quicktongue’? Or should I say…Bregonian Navy defector?”
Ramson’s thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about Bregon,” Ana said. “When we get there, you go after Alaric Kerlan, and I’ll make for the Blue Fort.” She released him and held out her hand. “Well? Do we have a Trade, con man?”
It was a good solution, Ramson had to admit as he considered. He would help her get as close to the Blue Fort as he could, and then he would split off to take care of his business with Kerlan. This way, he would never have to return to the place he had run from all those years ago, and she would never learn the truth of who he was.
He nodded. “All right. Trade up.”
Her palm was warm in his as they shook, and he realized that this would be the first deal he made with her in good conscience, one that he would hold true to his word. No false promises, no broken expectations. And when he finished what he was after in Bregon, he would be free to live his life far, far away. He would turn his back, once and for all, on this strange chapter of a story he’d never meant to play in, and a princess he’d never meant to fall for.
By the time Ana and Ramson returned to the main section of the deck, lamps were lit and a meal of tinned food had been laid out across the bar counter. The captain of the ship, Ana learned, was a sailor from the Crown of Kusutri: a girl several years older than Ramson, quick of smiles and even quicker of wit. Her eyes widened slightly when Ramson introduced Ana.
“So you’re the one they claim will save that empire,” Daya said, unchaining a small knife from her belt. She stuck it into a can of tinned sardines and gave a woeful sigh. “The Red Tigress. I’ll have to apologize for the food on this ship—I wasn’t told we were having more guests.” She shot a nasty look at Ramson, who was digging into a chunk of hard bread slathered over with beet puree.
Ana was about to accept the sardine sandwich when she sensed two bodies approaching.
