When Admiral Farrald finally drew back, it wasn’t anger or fury on his face.
It was disappointment.
“I loved your mother, too, you know.”
Of all the things Ramson might have expected his father to say, it wasn’t this. The words hung in the air. Froze him. Turned his plan around and threw it back in his face. “This has nothing to do with my mother.”
“I had them bury her, right outside Elmford. On a hill of white heather, by the sea.”
“You lie.”
“It wasn’t fair of me to love something more than I loved my kingdom, you see. Love made me weak. Love made me a fool. Lovedestroysus.” The Admiral circled to the window and looked out. And there, on the windowsill, sat a small pot of white flowers, leaning against the glass.
Ramson’s knees went weak. His mind fractured; his world shrank, until there was nothing left in it but his father and that pot of white heather.
Roran Farrald reached out, absentmindedly stroking a petal. “So I made sure to destroy it first.” He turned around, circling the table to close the distance between them. “And now, I see that love has made claim on my own son. Would you trade our kingdom, Ramson, for the life of one girl?”
No,he wanted to yell.Don’t you dare put this on me.
Instead, Ramson lifted his shoulder in the most infuriatingly insouciant shrug he could muster. “It’s not my kingdom,” he said. “It’s yours. And it just so happens that I have information of an attack by Cyrilia.”
Roran Farrald’s face was serene as he waved a hand. “It doesn’t interest me,” he replied, returning to peruse his papers. “You see, your beloved Blood Empress was one step behind in the game all along.” He lifted his gaze. “I already have an agreement in place with the Kolst Imperatorya Morganya.”
The world shifted sharply off-balance.
“Oh, yes,” the Admiral continued tonelessly, seeing Ramson’s expression. “I have been developing something that requires the help of magen to, ah, test. The new Empress agreed to sell Cyrilian Affinites to me, under the condition that I share our results with her. Much more convenient than having to kidnap our own magen, which ruffled a few feathers in our government when it came to light.”
Ramson grasped wildly for words. “The siphons.”
His father regarded him with mild surprise. “Yes. It seems you do have some ability, after all. You can see why I took thedeal, my son—the Empress never stipulated whether the results I shared had to besuccessful.The siphon I shipped recently to Cyrilia broke en route, with its weak-minded bearer driven mad.” Admiral Farrald looked thoughtful for a moment. “I imagine it to be quite overwhelming, to be a siphon bearer exposed to multiple magek at once. It requires an individual strong of will and strong of mind.”
With a chill, Ramson thought of Linn’s encounter with the blackstone wagon, the Affinite with two Affinities. “Why would you give Morganya a siphon?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” the Admiral replied with a shrug. “I would never. The entire point of the siphon experiments was to bolster Bregon’s defenses against the growing threat of Cyrilia.” He paused. “Nor would I be able to give her a siphon, even if I wanted to. Currently, we have only one perfected version, and it rests with my own lifeblood.”
Something didn’t fit in this picture—something was missing. His father had been purchasing—trafficking—Affinites from Cyrilia, under an agreement he’d struck with Morganya. Kerlan had been working with Morganya to provide the shipments and sneak his forces in…yet Admiral Farrald had vehemently denied any involvement in this scheme with his old enemy, Alaric Kerlan.
Which meant…
There was a third person involved in this picture, a traitor in their midst. Ramson’s mind hurtled forward, but it felt as though he was coming to the realization too late.
Crisp footsteps sounded outside, and the next moment, the doors to the study opened.
“Oh, howinteresting.”
He would have recognized that sharp, lilting voice anywhere.
Ramson turned as Sorsha sashayed into the room. “Did I miss the summons for our little family gathering?”
Admiral Farrald stood. “What are you doing here so soon?” His lips curled, his tone turning dismissive at the appearance of his daughter. “Do you have the Blood Empress?”
Sorsha sank into a bow. Somehow, she made it look mocking. “I certainly do, Daddy Dearest.” She stalked up to him, and that was when Ramson caught it: a flash of a band around her wrist, the color of ocean, of searock—the same that Bogdan had worn.
Everything around him seemed to slow.
“Well, Daddy Dearest,” he heard Sorsha tease, “do I get my reward now?”
The Admiral had just opened his mouth to reply when Sorsha lifted a blade and plunged it into their father’s heart.
