Bregonian. “Scholar Ardonn, would you do us the favor?”
Ramson’s heart thudded in his chest. Not only was Alaric Kerlan working with a Bregonian ally, he was also working with someone within the Blue Fort. A scholar, no less.
“Yes, meinsire,” came a third voice. Ramson watched as the shadows on the wall moved to the center of the hold. A click of a lock, and the sound of a door opening. Ramson suppressed a groan. He could kill himself for not having thought of a trick compartment in this ship last night. Now, the chance was gone.
There were footsteps; one by one, the shadows of Kerlan and his companions disappeared as they descended through the trapdoor. Ramson waited, counting to three, before he turned and peered out.
The landing was empty, the lamplight flickering out from the trick opening in the center of the hold.
He steeled himself, drew a silent breath, and stood. And that was when he heard the moans—clearly, this time. It sounded like someone pleading from behind a gag. Something about the voice struck him as strangely familiar—but then again, Ramson thought as he slid over the pile of crates, he’d stood by for so many of Kerlan’s torture sessions, they’d all started to blend together.
When he drew close enough to the trapdoor, he dropped to his hands and knees. Sending a prayer to the gods, Ramson pressed himself flat against the floor and peered over the opening.
It looked like the inside of a laboratory, built in the hull of the ship. Metal tables had been nailed to the floor, and makeshift shelves were strapped to the walls, holding jars and scalpels and scrolls. Two figures clad in long white robes sat at the table, scribbling notes on parchment beneath the glow of the lamp.
“Well? Is it working?” Alaric Kerlan stood almost directly beneath the hatch. He had changed from his Cyrilian-style purple suit to a sharp-cut Bregonian vest and breeches, studded through with gold. By his side was a woman that Ramson recognized by the blue-black sheen of her hair: Nita, his Deputy, the Affinite who specialized in manipulating strength. There were two others behind them, cronies that Ramson recognized from his days at the Order.
“The siphon works. But the subject is in frail condition.” The scholar who spoke was barely visible from Ramson’s vantage point; all he saw was a flash of white robes.
“Show me,” Kerlan commanded, and the scholar turned, his robes vanishing from sight. Ramson heard the click of locks, and a low groan. When the scholar returned, he was dragging someone by a set of chains. Roughly, he shoved the prisoner to the floor.
The scholar held out a hand. In his palm was an ingot of gold. “Lift this with your new magek,” he crooned in Cyrilian, the words sounding harsh and clumsy. “Like we practiced.”
The man let out a moan. His hair was matted and hung over his face; his shoulder blades protruded from thin, tattered clothes. It was odd, Ramson thought, peering closer, that the prisoner’s jacket looked to be made of velvet, in the fashion of a Cyrilian nobleman’s outfit. He could swear those were gold stitches at the collar.
It was when the prisoner lifted his head that Ramson realized why. He nearly dropped the hatch door in shock.
Looking up was the once-handsome face of Bogdan Ivanov, the Penmaster of Novo Mynsk, and Olyusha’s missing husband.
It had taken Linn little time to find the walled-off courtyard that King Darias had mentioned. The ironore doors indeed bore the carving of a scroll, but they were guarded by an entire squad of Bregonian guards surrounding the courtyard. Linn had sought out a vantage point to observe and found that within the walls was a second set of doors that looked to lead into the back section of the Naval Headquarters itself.
There was no way she would get inside with the guards watching in broad daylight, so she had settled onto a nearby veranda directly overlooking the courtyard, watching and waiting.
The day had gone by unremarkably; though courtiers and other members of the Blue Fort passed by the Naval Headquarters frequently, no one had neared the courtyard. The sun crawled across the sky, falling into the sea; the winds turned urgent, carrying with them the distant scent of rain.
The bells chimed six hours of the evening, and Linn had just gotten to her feet, ready to head for the Livren Skolaren to meet with Ana, when something caught her attention.
From far off,