Something broke inside her. Perhaps it was the way that he watched her with a mixture of hesitation and hope in his eyes; perhaps it was that he still knew nothing of what they had discovered in the Throneroom. Of the victory that had been snatched so suddenly from them. Of what she still had to do.
She could not bear the thought of parting with him again. She did not know if she had the resolve.
Perhaps some good-byes were better left unsaid. Ana turned away, feeling the sting of tears in her throat, their warmth as they trickled down her cheeks. She held a hand up. “Ramson, I told you.” Her voice threatened to crack. “I can’t do this.”
She began to walk away to the gates, to where Linn would be waiting for her.
“Ana,” he said, following her. She heard the exact moment he stopped, the crunching of his boots in snow giving way to silence.
She strained to listen. Wished he would call her back, plead with her to stay.
She might just give in, if he did.
Instead, he said, “You’ve made your feelings clear. But I’m done lying. I don’t want to have any more regrets of things left unsaid. I love you, Ana. I’ve only ever loved you.”
The air around her fractured. She might have chosen death a hundred more times over what she was about to do.
No more casualties,whispered a voice in her head.No more hurt, because of you.
Ana turned around. Met his gaze. Held it. “I’m sorry, Ramson.”
She saw his heartbreak written across his face. It took every ounce of strength to turn, to lift one foot before the other, and to walk in the direction of the gates. A numbness was spreading through her body, and it felt as though she were watching herself from above, no longer in control of what she did or what she desired.
Anastacya Mikhailov, the girl who had been the Blood Witch, no longer existed.
All that was left was the Red Tigress.
Ana left the boy she loved standing alone beneath a night of silently falling snow.
The Salskoff Palace was retaken. They had won the battle.
The victory felt hollow.
Ramson strode through the hallways, checking on their troops. The Palace was large enough to house their entire army, which meant it was packed, from corridor to corridor.
That was good. He could not take silence in this moment.
He’d instructed his men to go to the servants’ quarters and the laundry rooms to retrieve all the blankets and pallets they could find. Parren had taken control of the kitchens and was already beginning to feed the army.
Ramson showed his squad the hidden servants’ passageways in the walls that allowed them to move throughout the Palace without being seen—an old and outdated monarchic tradition. Still, as Ramson watched his men file out, sheets and laundry spilling from their arms, his thoughts drifted inevitably to Ana. He pressed a hand to the cold marble walls, dully taking in the engravings of Deities and angels and snow spirits and remembering how he’d run down these halls barely half a year ago with Ana. Gods, was there even a time when she hadn’t been in his life and set his world on fire?
Shame pricked at him as the age-old lesson echoed in his mind.Love is a weakness,his father had insisted, but no one had ever prepared Ramson for the way his heart ached, the way his every breath felt empty. There was still work to be done; Ana still hadn’t sent him word of where she’d captured Morganya and rounded up the rest of the Whitecloaks, nor had she brought up Linn or the Deities’ Heart and her plans there. Ramson would straighten it all out with her—but right now, in this moment, he needed to be alone. Away from her.
“Captain Farrald, sir.” A voice cut through his thoughts. A soldier from his squad stood before him, and for a moment, Ramson imagined Narron’s face, the gentle grin of his former lieutenant.
He blinked the image away, but the pain in his heart remained. “Yes.”
The young man—the fire magen named Torron—brought his hands against his chest in a quick salute. “Ardonn has arrived, along with the rest of our—and the Red Tigress’s—squad. They have been taken to the healers’ wing, as you instructed.”
Ramson nodded. “Does Shamaïra—the lady—have everything she needs?”
“Yes, Captain. And…she is properly awake.” Torron smiled. “Lady Olyusha had a helping hand, I believe.”
A sliver of good news, at last. “Thank you. I will see her in the healer’s wing.” He paused. “Tell Kaïs to meet me there, please.”
“Captain?” The young magen was staring at him. “Will we return to Bregon after this?”
He had not thought of this—not yet. There had been a moment when he’d first drawn open the gates of the Salskoff Palace and gazed across the bridge into Ana’s familiar, bright eyes thatRamson had actually dared imagine the possibility of a future with her in it.
