since you left. I haven’t found anyone nearly as close in cleverness and ambition as you, Ramson.”
Ramson bowed his head. The dagger in his sleeve shifted as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m honored, my Lord.”
Kerlan gave a delicate pause. His wrist brushed the contract parchment. “Of course, you’ve heard the old story of the Cat and the Lion?”
Ramson frowned. “I have not.”
Kerlan set his pen down, eyes crinkled in what would look like kindness to anyone who didn’t know the man. “It’s an old Bregonian story, son. I suppose your dead mother would never have been able to tell you.”
Ramson kept his face blank.
“The Cat was the predecessor and master to the Lion,” Kerlan continued. “The Lion begged the Cat to train him in all sorts of skills. ‘Master,’ the Lion would plead, and the Cat would take pity on him and teach him something new each day. And with each passing day, the Lion grew—quicker and cleverer and more ruthless. He wanted to overthrow the Cat—to become the ruler of the mountain.
“One day, the Lion turned on the Cat. He used his strength, his stamina, his size, and his sharper claws to fight. But the Cat was older and more cunning, you see. There was one trick he hadn’t taught the Lion—and that was to climb trees.” Kerlan steepled his fingers, rings flashing. “And that was how the Cat survived. He knew the danger of having an apprentice too close to him in ambition and intelligence; he knew it would be his downfall, so he’d kept one last trick to himself.”
Kerlan fell silent, his gray eyes boring into Ramson, a small smile curling his lips. Ramson’s throat was dry; his heart pounded and his mind raced.
Slowly, Ramson flexed his hands, feeling the bulk of his dagger against his forearm.
“And that is why,” Kerlan said softly, leaning forward, smile widening, “I believe it is against my self-interest to hire a Deputy who is going to try to assassinate me in this very room.”
Ramson was on his feet by the time Kerlan finished the last word. He flicked his wrist; the dagger slipped out with a schick, blade glinting in the lamplight. He leapt onto Kerlan’s desk, drew his hand back, plunged—
And his arm went limp. The blade clattered on the surface of Kerlan’s oak desk, Ramson’s fingers dragging uselessly on top. For a moment, Ramson stared in astonishment at his arm. He heard Kerlan laughing.
A strange feeling crept up his entire body—it was the way he’d felt back when he’d been on the streets and hadn’t eaten for days. It felt like his muscles had atrophied and given out, as though all the strength had been drained from him.
He gasped and crumpled to the floor. Move, he commanded his body, but his arms were still as stone on the plush red carpet, as though they didn’t even belong to him.
Polished black shoes rounded the desk. Kerlan bent and slowly, deliberately, picked up the dagger Ramson had dropped. “Fine little blade,” he murmured, and then his gaze dropped back to Ramson. The expression on his face almost resembled pity, but Ramson knew better. Kerlan was savoring this moment.
From the hallway outside, a woman slipped in. Her hair, so black that it caught a blue sheen beneath the lamplight, and bronze skin marked her to be from one of the Aseatic Isles kingdoms. She leaned against the wall, tall and athletic, watching Ramson like a cougar watching its prey.
“How careless of me,” Kerlan sighed, tapping his temple and looking genuinely confused. “I forgot to introduce you. Meet Nita, our newest member, and Deputy to the Order of the Lily.”
Ramson’s head spun; it felt like his muscles had melted into water and his lungs were collapsing upon themselves. As though from a distance, he heard Kerlan continue. “I think she would be classified as a flesh Affinite, though her Affinity lies in manipulating strength. Strength in your muscles, in your organs, in your heart…”
Even as he spoke, pain throbbed through Ramson’s chest, sending spasms of nausea shooting through him. He choked a gasp.
Kerlan chuckled. Nita smiled. And then there was the cold, hard drag of a blade on his cheeks as Kerlan held Ramson’s dagger to his face.
Terror locked its grip across Ramson’s throat. He’d seen Kerlan torture men; he’d stood there and handed Kerlan the scalpels.
“As I said, dear boy, I like to play with my food, so don’t worry. I’m keeping you for later.” Kerlan stood, brushing off his