Dread settled in her stomach when the first woman retreated to her companion’s side, raising her hands toward them in a defensive stance. Two small steel blades appeared out of nowhere, hovering above her shoulders, poised to strike. Affinite, Ana realized, and she reached out for her own bonds.
The second woman snarled, and Ana felt a strange, cold pressure on her Affinity: familiar, yet not as strong as the wall-like blockade that the yaeger had pressed on her at the Winter Market in Kyrov. Ana stifled a gasp. The woman was a yaeger.
They had been discovered.
Ana’s thoughts scrambled. Instinctively, she grasped for her Affinity, preparing for the rush of blood and power that would flow through her.
A voice interrupted her. “Deities, how thoughtless of me.” Ramson sighed. In a flash, he positioned himself by her side, his hand gripping her waist as he yanked her against him. “She’s mine.”
Ana tried to tear away from his grasp, but Ramson gave her a light squeeze. A warning—a signal. Let me handle this. She stopped struggling.
“Show your contract,” the yaeger growled. The pressure on Ana’s Affinity did not yield.
Contract, Ana thought, swallowing and trying to steady her racing heart. Of course. Ramson had given her papers back at the hotel, and told her to keep them on her—as a precaution.
With shaking fingers, she took them out and handed them to the yaeger.
“Hmm,” the woman purred, displeasure seeping into her features. She gave the papers a cursory scan, then shrugged and tossed them aside. Ana watched them flutter to the floor. “No.”
“No?” Ramson repeated, but Ana’s temper flared at the sight of the yaeger’s nonchalance, the way she had so casually discarded Ana’s papers. Those papers, Ana now knew, could mean the difference between life and death for an Affinite.
“Why not?” she demanded. “I showed you my papers!”
“Your papers are necessary to prove your status.” The yaeger’s eyes flashed. “But we are not obliged to let you enter, witch.”
The insult struck her harder that it ever had, coming from the mouth of one who should have been on the same side as her. Why? Ana wanted to ask. Why do you do this?
But she knew why: the same reason that yaeger back at Kyrov’s Vyntr’makt had fought against her. If I am not the hunter, then I become the hunted.
Ramson seemed to reach a decision. “You have the authority on these decisions?” The arrogance and disgruntlement had vanished from his tone, leaving only cold calculation.
The yaeger lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“Then you’d do well to remember your place.” Ramson let go of Ana and strode over to the two women, his steps lithe and powerful. His back was to Ana, but what the two women saw had them widening their kohl-rimmed eyes and staring up at Ramson with fear plainly written on their faces.
“Please, mesyr,” the cat-masked woman whispered. “We never meant—we didn’t know—”
“Enough.” The brusqueness of Ramson’s voice made Ana jump. “Open the door now.”
“Yes, mesyr,” said the first courtesan, while her companion stared at Ana with horror. “Thank you for your kindness, mesyr.” She thrust a hand up, and a series of metallic clicks sounded within the two locked mahogany doors. They swept open, revealing a winding set of stairs lit by torchlight.
Ramson extended an arm, the shadows beneath him stretching long. “Come,” he crooned. Ana hurried over, scooping up the fallen papers on the floor. She felt rigid under the stares of the two courtesans, but then Ramson’s arm closed around her and they were through. The two doors clanged shut behind them, trapping them in darkness.
Only then did Ramson stop and lean against the door. His arm was still slung around her waist, as though he’d forgotten about her, and she found herself leaning into him, their hearts beating the same relieved murmur.
Ramson exhaled, his chest heaving beneath him. A second passed, and then another, then he seemed to realize their strange proximity. Ana pulled away just as he tucked his arms against his sides.
“That was close.” Ramson’s voice was rough as he turned to the steps. His mask flashed, his eyes glinting as they caught the strange, far-off light.
Ana glanced at his wrist, which was covered by the sleeve of his peacoat. “What did you show them?”
“A con man’s tricks,” he said briskly, and she couldn’t tell whether he was still acting or speaking the truth. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
As Ana looked at the stone steps that led down into the unknown, she suddenly felt cold,