wasn’t an issue. That brute was made for throwing around his weight and bullying chained victims in confined spaces, not for actual freestyle sparring. And his prerogative, judging from the way he hovered near his master, was to protect Kerlan. It was the other two he had to watch out for.
He glanced at the yaeger, whose swords were out. Ramson was about to spring at him when he caught a sharp movement to his right.
The marble Affinite flung his hand out, and two fist-sized balls of marble shot from the ground. Ramson ducked behind a nearby pillar, feeling it shudder as the two projectiles smashed into it.
A sudden coldness touched his arm. A piece of marble debris snapped around his wrist. Within the blink of an eye, it twisted and closed over itself like a handcuff, and the ground jerked from beneath him. Ramson was flung bodily across the hall—or rather, the marble around his wrist hurtled so fast that his arm felt like it was going to be ripped from its socket—and the world blurred around him.
Ramson crashed against the wall. Pain flared through his body, but Kerlan was keeping him alive, torturing him. Panting, Ramson tried to heave himself up. It was just like Kerlan, to know that he had Ramson outnumbered and overpowered, and to savor his victory by quashing Ramson’s hope bit by bit.
The marble on his wrist was moving again. It dragged him along the ground, toward where Kerlan and his bodyguard stood. Ramson reached out for anything to grab onto, but his traitorous, marble-manacled wrist persisted.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the body of the female Affinite he’d struck earlier, crumpled in the hall. The yaeger stood on the other side of the corridor. His eyes narrowed briefly before he turned and took off down the hallway.
No, not toward Ana, Ramson thought. He strained against the manacle, but it was no use.
“Well, my son.” Kerlan’s eyes twinkled pleasantly as he looked down at Ramson from beneath the shadow of his huge bodyguard. “Had enough yet?”
Ramson coughed up blood. He was curled on the floor, every fiber of his body throbbing in pain, his manacled wrist dangling from the marble Affinite’s control. He forced a smile to his cracked lips. “That the best you’ve got?” he croaked. “You’ve become soft, Kerlan.”
Kerlan’s smile did not waver, but his eyes promised death. He motioned at the marble Affinite. A second piece of debris sculpted itself around Ramson’s unshackled wrist, dragging his other arm into the air, lifting him so that he knelt before Kerlan. His dagger clattered to the ground, the sound reverberating across the empty hall.
Tap…tap…tap.
It took Ramson a moment to realize where the noise was coming from. Kerlan watched him with an amused smile, his gold fountain pen rapping against his ring.
Tap…tap…tap.
The sound sent a shiver through Ramson.
“I don’t know how you define ‘soft,’ ” Kerlan said, raising his pen so that it caught the light of the chandelier overhead. He pressed the end with his finger. With a click, a ring of tiny, sharp blades shot out from the tip, glinting like teeth. “Perhaps you’ll let me know how this feels.”
He slammed the pen into Ramson’s chest, right where he’d seared the Order of the Lily insignia.
Ramson screamed. Kerlan laughed and twisted the pen, the razor-sharp blades burrowing into Ramson’s flesh. And then he tore it out.
Ramson fought to stay conscious. It felt as though his flesh were on fire, and the pain sent fuzzy edges of darkness shooting through his vision.
He was shaking as he threw up, his tears mingling with sweat. Kerlan’s maniacal laughter rang in his ears.
I’m going to die, Ramson thought.
But even as his body began to slump, he scanned the area around him, his brain working frantically to find anything that could help him.
A shadow flitted in the hallway behind Kerlan.
There was a soft whoosh and a whisper of a thud. The marble Affinite staggered forward. Blood poured from his mouth.
The Affinite crashed to the floor, eyes still open, the metal hilt of a dagger protruding from his back. The marble cuffs around Ramson’s wrists, cracked and crumbled away.
Kerlan and his bodyguard turned. Seizing his opportunity, Ramson grabbed his dagger from where it had fallen and slashed at Kerlan.
His vision was blurred with tears, blood, and sweat, and his aim was weak; his blade bit into Kerlan’s flesh, leaving only a shallow scratch. Kerlan stumbled back, his face contorting in a snarl.