Olyusha moved so fast that Ramson nearly missed her. The woman lunged at Ardonn, her face twisted in fury as Ramson caught her against his arms, restraining her and praying that none of those daggerlike nails would scratch him.
“Olyusha,” he panted. “Olyusha,control yourself.”
Olyusha wiped her chin and spat on the floor at Ardonn’s pallet, calling him a string of words that impressed even Ramson. She turned to Ramson, her lips pale and trembling, and raised a finger. “No. You controlhim,Quicktongue, or I’m out.”
“It’s all connected,” Ardonn continued, apparently invigorated by Olyusha’s outburst. “When Cyrilia discovered blackstone’s properties of magek and used it to restrain and oppress their Affinites…that was the first time humanity began to twist the magek the gods had left us in this world into something wicked. And now, we have the same thing, do we not? A mad monarch on the throne willing to do anything to gain the magek that the Deities had.” He gazed up at the ceiling, a faint smile on his face, eyes wide. “This is not a tale about gods and monsters,my friends. This is a story of the rapacious greed and boundless cruelty of humanity, and how far we are willing to go…for power.”
“Cut the bullshit.” Ramson turned his misericord back to the scholar’s neck. “So, you believe there is some artifact imbued with magek, and that it has something to do with reversing the effects of the siphon. That it can…it can control magek itself.”
“It is a common theory,” continued Ardonn, “among scholars from many lands and kingdoms and empires who have dedicated themselves to the study of magek, or alchemy, ormagic…that there is a core—a source—to the magek of this world. Like a beating heart, it pulses, emitting power that flows into our world. Whoever finds it…may be able to control all the magek in this world. To direct it as they please. To take it, to inhibit it. To create it…and to destroy it.”
Ramson’s knuckles whitened against the hilt of his misericord. “You mean it would be able to destroy a siphon?”
“Presumably so.”
His breathing came shallow. “So what is this core? Where can I find it?”
Ardonn rasped a laugh. “You think if anyone’s managed to find it, the world would still be as it is, boy?”
A cord drew taut inside Ramson. Did Morganya know of this? No one in the Blue Fort had known at the time of Ramson’s departure, which meant Ana—wherever she was, on her way to overthrow Morganya’s reign—was unaware.
But someone, somewhere, had to have knowledge of this source, this core.
Ramson simply had to find it first.
And then there was the matter of Sorsha Farrald and the lost siphons, he thought with a sudden pang. Alone, the siphons were already unimaginably powerful, with the ability to steal and store Affinities. Indestructible, as far as anyone knew thus far.
Unless Ramson used this core to destroy them…and to restore Ana’s Affinity.
His heart began to race again as he paced the room, tapping his misericord against his thighs as his thoughts sped ahead. Morganya sought the siphons, yet it was Sorsha who had siphoned Ana’s blood Affinity onto the oneshebore on her own wrist. Ramson needed to find those siphons, wherever they were.
Sorsha had jumped off the edge of Godhallem to escape, yet so far, there had been no reports of a body. And Ramson knew better than to underestimate his half sister.
He had a plan.
He whirled, mind spinning to something else Ardonn had said, back in the Blue Fort’s infirmary. “You said there were ways to alleviate a siphon’s effects, and to prolong the life of a siphoned magen.”
“Ah,” Ardonn sighed. “Yes. We fed certain elixirs to the subjects of our experiments to test their limits. Some slowed the effects of a siphon on its bearer—it can be extremely overwhelming to have access to new magek, you see—and some prolonged the life of those whose magek was siphoned from them, though that was never our priority. Those, I can deliver with certainty. But…I am no alchemist myself. I will need help from those experienced in the makings of balms, salves, and potions.”
Ramson tilted his head. “What about a poison magen?”
Ardonn shrugged. “I will work with what I have.”
“Good.” He kept his voice even against the tide of relief that crashed into him. Hope, there was hope—now he simply needed to find Ana. “Then I want these elixirs developed as we search for this core of magek.”
The shadows on Ardonn’s face cut deep. “I should warn you,” the former scholar said in a tone that stirred caution in Ramson. “The elixirs will prolong life, yes…but there will be pain, and there may come madness. You see, when one wishes to take from magek, one must pay a price. Should you wish to claw back a life that belonged to the gods, that life will be a cursed one. One that drove many of our subjects to the brink of madness, to the depths of despair.”
His words hung in the space between them for several moments, haunting, echoing.
A knock on the door rent the silence. Ramson stood abruptly, straightening as one of his men entered. The soldier saluted. “Captain Farrald. Our morning patrol came across tracks in the snow. A lot, sir; seemingly from several days ago.”
The practical matter was jarring against the discussion he’d been having with Ardonn. Ramson pressed two fingers to his temples. “Is there a direct threat to our safety?”
“Well, no, sir, but—”
“Then explain to me why you think I care?” he demanded.
“Well, sir,” the soldier said. “I thought you’d be interested, because…because the bootprints, Captain—they appear to be of Bregonian make. To be specific…Bregonian Navy make.”
