The scholar’s eyes flickered. “Do I have a choice?”
“You do. You can spend the next fortnight en route to saving your life under my squad’s best care. Or you can spend it in agony, being tortured and interrogated at the Blue Fort until your very last moments. One way or another, Ardonn, I’m getting that information from you, and I’d prefer if we worked on the same side.”
Ardonn gave a long sigh, his breath whistling faintly. “Risky of you, to gamble so much on…theories,” he murmured. “Either this girl matters more to you than everything that you’ve built for yourself here, or you’re not the man Kerlan warned us you were.”
Ramson’s breath stilled. The man was goading him, trying to pry out information that might prove to be useful to him. In a negotiation, one never showed their hand.
He leaned forward with a smile like a wolf’s. “I should warn you now that should I find you have overpromised and underdelivered on your grand theories, I’ll make Kerlan’s worst torture sessions feel like bedtime massages.”
The threat rolled off his tongue easily, but inside, every inch of him held taut as he looked into the man’s filmy eyes. This was the moment of truth: the indirect way to squeeze out an affirmation from Ardonn that the siphons could be destroyed.
That Ana could be saved.
An affirmation…or a denial.
Ardonn’s reply seemed to take forever in coming. At last, slowly, the man said: “You should know that our former master taught us to know better than to overpromise and underdeliver. Let me be clear: These theories—on destroying siphons, on the principles of magek—exist, yet as it stands, no scholars in this world bear any empirical evidence that they may succeed. But…all that said, there are ways. Ways to allay the effects of a siphon, ways to prolong a siphoned magen’s waning life…and, most importantly, a theoretical way to save the blood princess, should you wish to pursue it, Ramson Farrald.”
Relief surged through Ramson, so strong that he might have knelt and kissed the man’s wasted hands right there.
Ramson held Ardonn’s gaze. “Then I shall be first to prove those theories true,” he replied. “Well? Do we have a deal or not?”
The moment Ardonn accepted, Ramson would be putting in motion a plan that ran directly against the wishes of his king, one that could be considered treason. They had one chance to leavethe Blue Fort without arousing suspicion, and that was within the next hour, before the last of the supply wagons and boats set off and the Blue Fort closed its gates for the night.
Ardonn shut his eyes. Even in his emaciated state, wounded with burns, a faint smile drifted over his face. “I’m a scholar, boy. My life’s work has been to gather knowledge to advance humanity, and I admit I have an unhealthy penchant for curiosity. If I have the chance to see this saga to its end—whether blessing or tragedy—then I accept.”
Ramson held out his hand. “Trade up.”
His tongue curled against those words—words he’d said so often while he’d led a different life under a different moniker, as Alaric Kerlan’s Deputy. He wondered whether there was a part of him that would always be Ramson Quicktongue, con man and crime lord—whether the monster he’d spent years creating had irrevocably shaped his heart. He brushed a hand against his left wrist, tracing his tattoo of a flower with three bulbs and razor-sharp leaves. The Order of the Lily had indelibly left its mark on him.
So had his father.
So had Ana.
He’d been searching for himself, for the direction to his ship, for so long, yet perhaps the answer lay not solely in one of his identities. Perhaps he didn’t have to choose between con man or crime lord or captain. Perhaps he could carve a path different from those ordained for him by his father or Kerlan or Darias.
“Narron,” he said, straightening and turning to the young officer. “Help me escort Scholar Ardonn. We’re relocating him.”
Narron hesitated, confusion and wariness scrawled across his face. To the First Officer’s credit, he pressed his lips togetherbriefly and brought his fist to his chest. “Yes, Captain.” Then, he stepped forward and, without another word, bent to sling Ardonn’s arm around his shoulders. Ramson took Ardonn’s other arm, and in lockstep, they made for the doors. The two Royal Guards stationed at the door straightened as they exited, clicking their heels together and saluting.
Ramson tapped two fingers to his head and winked at them.
He’d left a letter in his chambers for King Darias to explain his plan—and to ensure that when it came down to it, he would be the one to take all the blame.
“Captain,” Narron said as soon as they stepped outside the healer’s wing. “With all due respect, sir, explain yourself.”
Ramson exhaled, counting the distance between where they were and the waterway, where his ship would be anchored and waiting. “Narron,” he said. “You were there during the interrogation. King Darias plans to let this man—the only man who holds all the keys to understanding the siphons—die. And I’m going to save his life.”
There was silence apart from their boots scraping against the stone paths as Narron quietly processed this. “You’re going to the Cyrilian Empire,” he said at last. “That’s why you asked me to prepare the ship and assemble the squad.”
Ramson’s lips curled at the edges. They were passing the Livren Skolaren now; Godhallem was just within sight, and beyond that, the waterway. “I knew I’d made the right choice appointing you as my First Officer, Narron,” he said. “You remind me of myself, when I was younger, with all that quick thinking.” A pause. “I’ve left a letter for King Darias in my chambers to let him know that you and the men in my squad were coerced into this. Of course, I’d appreciate your help on this mission, butI understand if you’re uncomfortable—and if I have to sail to Cyrilia by myself, I will.”
Godhallem loomed high over them, a shadow of turrets and crenellated walls carved against the night, pockets of light spilling out from its mullioned windows. Laughter drifted out on the cool evening breeze, between the whispers of alder trees and the murmur of water. It would be so easy, Ramson thought, to step away right now and follow the cobblestone path to the doors, into the warmth and golden firelight. He’d accept his position as Ambassador of Trade and Commerce, reshape with his own hands the system that had taken everything from him once, live out a comfortable life in the King’s favor. It was everything he’d ever wanted.
Once.
“I suppose, Captain, it would be impossible for one person to man a ship.” Narron spoke lightly. “Besides, if you’re going to fire me, sir, I’d have to face the wrath of my mother.”
Ramson’s smile stretched. He’d known he’d made the right choice when he’d appointed Narron as his First Officer. “Well, now,” he said. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
