“And before his death, we must extract as much information out of him as possible. My scholars will use the knowledge to further their research on magek and siphons. I fully trust that my scholars will understand how to reverse the effects of the siphons.” King Darias’s eyes pierced Ramson like daggers. “Then, we’d know how to save Ana. Isn’t that what matters most to you?”
Once again, Ramson was caught off-guard by the boy king’s astuteness. He cleared his throat and looked away. “It is something I care about, Your Majesty.”
But his mind raced. By the time they finished interrogatingArdonn on the details…by the time the Blue Fort’s best scholars completed their research and located whatever artifact it was that would balance the effect of the siphons…it might be too late.
They die.
The words clinched tightly around Ramson’s heart, refusing to let go. He felt as though he held an hourglass, the sand trickling from the cracks of his fingers like water. Like blood.
The siphons themselves had taken decades to perfect. Ana did not have the time to wait for a group of scholars to complete their research. And if they let Ardonn die, the last source of information on the siphons and all the experimentation Alaric Kerlan had done…would be gone forever.
Darias was speaking again; it took every ounce of Ramson’s willpower to wrench his focus back to the present. Away from the plan that continued to unfurl in his mind.
“Have you given more thought to your appointment as Ambassador of Trade and Commerce?” the King asked.
Ramson hesitated. Lies swirled at the tip of his tongue; he could easily spin a falsehood to please the King, earn his trust. And yet…Darias was different. Ramson respected the boy.
Hewantedto work with Darias, in some ways.
King Darias’s lips curled in a wry smile. “I would have thought someone would be more enthusiastic about being given an appointment at the Blue Fort.”
Ramson had never expected to feel so conflicted when handed everything he’d ever wanted, on a silver platter.Ambassador of Trade.There it was, that feeling of fate, of destiny, reaching out to him. The memory of a sun-filled sky, a fishing boat, and a boywith raven’s eyes.Thing is, Ramson, you can achieve everything in this world, but if it’s for someone else, it’s pointless. Figure out what you want to do in this life. Live for yourself.
His vision of his future had always held a variation of this: returning to Cyrilia, taking back Goldwater Port, resuming trade and doing what he was best at: brokering, bartering, and bargaining.
The offer stretched before him, gleaming in the sunlit room.
And yet…over the course of the past moons, everything had changed with a girl. A girl who’d seized the broken wreckage of his heart and held the direction of his compass stubbornly, unyieldingly.
They die.
He knew what he had to do.
Ramson inclined his head. “Would you allow me some time to think it over, Your Majesty?”
The King leaned back in his throne, chin to knuckle, storm-gray gaze lingering on Ramson. Then he sighed and broke into the first boyish smile Ramson had seen all day. “Of course, Ramson,” said Darias. “I look forward to hearing your answer.”
Ramson bowed again, long and low, before he turned to leave.
Allow me some time to think it over.In a negotiation, one should always be as specific as possible. Ramson hadn’t lied, nor would he break his promise to his king.
He would think it over, very carefully.
He simply had a few other plans of his own he needed to see to first.
Ramson marched out, leaving the King sitting on his throne in a pool of fading sunlight, blue banners of Bregon waving over his gleaming crown.
—
The moon was just rising, silver light brushing through the whisper of alder trees and water when Ramson set off across thecourtyards of the Blue Fort. King Darias had set him up in the Navy’s wing. Ramson had walked this path a hundred times in his childhood, and it always ended up the same: before a tall stone building, gazing through a latticed window or from the shadows, trying to catch a glimpse of his father.
Ramson would never trace these footsteps again.
It was dinnertime, and most of the Blue Fort would be taking their suppers in the meal halls, winding down for the day. In the distance, outlined against the violet canvas of night, were the silhouettes of supply wagons and boats leaving the Blue Fort.
Ramson had spent the evening making preparations, methodically moving every piece of his plan into place. Now all that was left was to execute.
Someone was waiting for him in front of the door to the healer’s wing.
