Panic shot through him like lightning. Ramson threw a glance at Ana. Her face was creased in confusion.
“Oh.” Sorsha looked between them and gasped with delight. “Oh!Don’t tell me she doesn’tknow! My dearest guests,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery as she gestured to the rest of the group, “meet mydearestbrother…Ramson Farrald.”
And then she was charging again, landing one, two blows that he parried with grunts. Ramson ducked as her sword sliced the air where his neck should have been. He danced back, back, focusing on leading her away from Ana and the others as she bore down on him, his arms rising to meet her challenge with each slash of her blades.
She wasgood.No, not good—she wasextraordinary.She fought with all the skill of a well-trained swordsman, each move vicious and each blow immaculately placed. She would have outranked even Jonah back at the Naval Academy, Ramson thought, in skill—but she struck with a wild vengeance that Jonah had lacked.
She struck to kill.
He twisted, slamming both of their swords down so that the tips plunged into the cracks between the cobblestones. Dirt flew in their faces. “Did the Admiral send you as part of a welcome committee?” he gritted.
“Oh, Daddy Dearest doesn’t know yet.” Sorsha’s voice was saccharine, coated with venom. “I’m extending you my own welcome, as Lieutenant of the Royal Guard!” And then her blades were out and she slashed up—
Ramson spun. Sorsha was still caught in the momentum of her blow, her sword tracing an arc through the air.
He curved forward and drove his misericord toward her waist.
He didn’t see the metal tips of her shoes swinging toward him until it was too late.
Something sharp and hard slit open his flesh and slid into his side. Pain, bright and burning, slashing through him. Warmth blooming through his tunic and trickling down his side.
Behind him, Ana cried out.
Blood,Ramson thought, and dared a look down.
Sorsha’s boot had connected with his ribs—but the metal tip had slid out and turned into a small, sharp dagger, buried inside him.
Sorsha wriggled her foot.
Pain shot through him. Ramson grunted and sank onto one knee.
There was the sound of aclick,and then the blade disengaged from her boot. With crude casualty, Sorsha yanked the blade from his flesh. Ramson’s vision blurred. Blood—his blood—speckled the air like rain and painted the cobblestones crimson.
“I don’t think…Daddy Dearest…would want you to murder me before he met me,” he managed, wiping the spittle from his chin.
Sorsha was laughing, dangling the hilt of the small blade like some prize, blood coating it and drip, drip, dripping onto the ground. “Youreallythink Father wants the world to know hisbastard sonis alive, after all these years?” she yelled. “He’d thank me on bended knees if I brought your head to him on a golden plate!”
Ramson pressed a hand to his side. His breaths came fast, shallow, and as warmth seeped from him, so did images—images of that arrow turning, curving, through the air, and the crimson that drenched Jonah’s shirt. Of the image of his father’s turned shoulder and cold gaze that had been carved indelibly into his bones.
He’d never planned to see that man again.
There was the sound of metal scraping stone, punctured by a rhythmictap, tap, tap.And then Sorsha stood before him, face shadowed against the dark storm clouds overhead.
“You little half-breed runt,” she whispered. “You’ve been running all these years. It’s time that I put a stop to that.” Slowly, lovingly, she lifted the blade that was slick with Ramson’s blood to her face and ran her tongue down the length. Her cheeks came away stained crimson. “As I suspected. Gods, it tastes filthy, like the scum from the whoring districts of Sapphire Port.” Her sword flashed. “Good-bye, Brother Dearest.”
Two things happened at once.
Sorsha swung her blade down.
The arc cut short—and she soared back through the air and slammed into the opposite wall.
“Enough,”Ana snarled, stepping in front of Ramson. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but he thought that he’d never seen Ana that furious before. Her lips were curled in disgust, her gloved hands clenched into fists. In the gray light, her eyes were red.
On the opposite wall, Sorsha struggled, splayed like a butterfly.
A flash of movement over their heads. On the rooftop of a building, a marksman appeared. Metal sliced gray in his hands.
Ramson lunged forward, a cry of warning at his throat—but someone leapt over them, light as a shadow, flitting through the air. There were severalplinks,and then blades clattered to the ground as Linn landed like a slip of wind. Kaïs stepped to Ana’s side, his double swords in a defensive position.
