Scholar Ardonn barked a laugh. It cut off quickly as Ramson shook him hard enough to break bones.
“How can the siphons be destroyed? How can we return the Affinities stored within to the original owner?” He paused, and pushed the last question from his lips. “And what happens to those whose Affinities were siphoned?”
Scholar Ardonn’s shoulders were shaking, and Ramson realized the man was giggling. “I have a fortnight to live, if I’m lucky, and I have no plans to die the slow, painful death that ricyn promises.” He waved the candle, dripping wax on the carpets. “Look around you, Quicktongue. You see that dust on the carpets? Smell something strange about them?”
Ramson froze. He could smell it now—something metallic mixed in the fusty, wet-wood scent of the mansion. He recognized the aroma now, too late: a highly flammable powder developed by the Bregonian Navy, used in the explosives that their rigs fired. It was one of the reasons the Bregonian Navy was the preeminent navy in the world.
One spark, and the entire mansion would go up in flames.
“That’s right,” Ardonn chortled. “Red powder.”
And then, with a maniacal smile, he turned and flung his candle to the floor.
Time seemed to slow. The candle arced through the air out of Ramson’s reach, flame flickering, hot wax dripping in a smooth curve.
Ramson turned and leapt for the scholar.
He reached Ardonn just in time. He heard the muffled thumpof the candle landing, the fizz of flame as it came into contact with the explosive powder that coated the carpet.
Ramson pressed the scholar between him and the wall and arced his back.
The mansion lit up in a blinding, searing maelstrom of whites and reds and oranges. The explosion hit Ramson so hard that black spots smothered his vision. From a distance, he heard shouts, the bark of a dog. Smoke—there was smoke, acrid and bitter and asphyxiating, choking his throat and coating his tongue with bile.
Ramson fought against the darkness closing in on him. He pushed off from the wall, gritting his teeth against a scream as the flesh on his back seemed to split.
Ardonn was wedged between him and the wall; besides a bloodied nose and spectacles knocked askance, he was unharmed. The man’s confusion turned to fear as Ramson seized the front of his shirt, ignoring the pain in his arms, and drew the scholar so close that he could feel his stale breath on his cheeks.
“You forget,” Ramson gritted, spitting each word, “that I, too, am a man with nothing to lose. And I’ll doanythingit takes to get what I want.” He lifted an arm, the sleeves of his new Navy doublet seared into his flesh, his skin a raw, red, glistening mass. Behind him, flames continued to lick at the walls and the floor; a part of the ceiling had collapsed, and he could hear shouts as his men continued to try to break through. It would only be a matter of time.
The smugness in Ardonn’s expression turned to fear.
“If I’m willing to do this to myself,” Ramson panted, holding his burnt arm so that the scholar could see every bloody inch of it, “what do you think I won’t do toyou?”
A series of loud thumps from behind them, the cracks of wood splintering and orders barked.
“Even if you save me,” the scholar rasped, flames flickering in those hollow eyes, “the poison will kill me. There’s nothing you can do.”
The smoke was overwhelming now, the world growing fuzzy. But Ramson held himself between the scholar and the roaring fire, even as heat seared streaks of white, burning pain down his back.
There was a loud smash, and he heard the shouts of his men as they finally broke through the debris barrier. There was the hiss of liquid dousing flames as one of their water magen went to work.
“Over here!” someone bellowed. Ramson recognized that voice—First Officer Narron, Ramson’s deputy.
Ramson shrugged off his squad’s hands as they swarmed around him. “Take the scholar,” he gasped, his voice like sandpaper against stone. “If anyone touches a hair on his head, I’ll skin them myself.”
They stepped out into bright daylight. The midday sun hung halfway across the sky, reflecting from the cobalt ocean like shards of glass.
Ramson inhaled lungfuls of fresh, salt-sprayed air. The healer of their squad was already rushing over; Ramson held up a hand, wincing as his burns screamed. He hobbled to Ardonn and knelt on the sand next to him.
Leaning very close to the scholar, Ramson said: “Here’s my offer. Your life, for the information I want.”
Ardonn’s face was streaked with soot, his cheeks sweaty andhollowed. Yet his eyes were cunning as they turned to Ramson. “The informationyouwant, or the information the Blue Fort wants?” he wheezed.
The crash of waves rolled over his words so that none other than Ramson could hear them. Something tightened painfully inside him, as though the scholar had slit open his chest and seen through to the deepest parts of his raw, beating heart.
He and the Blue Fort were aligned in their goals, if not by their motivations. Together, with the team of scholars King Darias had assembled at the Blue Fort, they would wring all the information there was to know about siphons from Ardonn.
Ramson straightened, his lips curling. “You’ll be singing soon enough at the Blue Fort,” he said.
