lingering in her vision. He was looking directly at her, his eyes almost a bright shade of gold in the lamplight. “I’m sorry about May.”
She tried to ignore the rising wind outside; tried not to think of whether May would be cold and alone.
“They stay with us,” Ramson said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. He tapped his chest. “In here. So long as we don’t forget them, or what they stand for.”
Ramson was right. Nothing would ever fill the despairing absence left by loss…but Ana would carry with her the promises she had made May. And in that way, May would live on.
Ramson’s hand closed around hers, and she almost jumped at the sudden touch. “Thank you,” he said, his voice husky. He slipped the rag from her fingers and rinsed it in the water.
He took her arm and, with a gentleness she would never have expected from him, began to dab at the wound near her shoulder from Nuryasha’s steel blade. She almost shivered, goose bumps rising where his fingers grasped her. For several moments, there was only the sound of water sloshing and the cool, circular trails of the towel where he wiped away the blood, droplets of liquid sliding down her skin and mingling with the traces of warmth that his fingers left.
Ana closed her eyes. She needed a distraction. Something—anything. Before she knew it, words tumbled out from her mouth—the first that she could think of. “Were you a guard or a soldier before you…before this?”
Ramson laughed. “Did Shamaïra teach you to see the past as well?”
“You fight like one,” she said. “I’ve seen trained men in combat; your moves are sharp and precise, just like theirs. You have calluses on your hands. And scars on your body. They’re not all from daggers—they’re long, broad cuts from swords.”
She hadn’t meant to say this much—she’d only meant to shake some sense into herself. But, sitting this close to him, the ghost of his touches still lingering on her skin, she felt her heart opening to him. The question of his past had begun gnawing at her quite some time ago, and though there was nothing in their Trade that required them to disclose anything to each other…she wanted to know.
He was looking at her with that same glint in his eyes, that quirk of his lips. “I’ll give you a clue,” he conceded. “I was neither a guard nor a soldier, so you’re wrong in that aspect. However, you’re right in that I was trained for combat.”
Ana frowned. He’d been a recruit of some form of organized combat group—perhaps he had never been deployed. Was he a deserter? Or had he dropped out from training to make a more lucrative living for himself? “How did you get here?”
Ramson tapped a finger to his chin. “Let’s see. If I remember correctly, we came to Novo Mynsk by horse, narrowly escaped death at the Playpen, had no choice but to follow your Redcloak friend—”
“Ramson.” His name was weary on her lips. She should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer from him.
His response surprised her. Ramson lowered his gaze, a mop of hair falling into his face. “I fell in with the wrong people.”
Ana leaned forward. He looked so vulnerable in this moment, bare shoulders hunched and head bowed. She wanted to reach out to touch him.
Ana stamped down that urge, and instead, the warm blaze of Shamaïra’s words spilled from her lips. “Life isn’t going to be all happiness and wonder. We have to take what we are given, and fight like hell to make it better. That’s what Shamaïra told me—and she’s right, Ramson.”
Ramson was silent. Slowly, he exhaled and looked up, his eyes wide. “Noblewoman.”
Ana blinked. “What?”
“You had a try at my past. Now I’m taking a guess at yours.” He cocked his head, a playful smirk curving his lips. “Noblewoman. You speak a noblewoman’s Cyrilian, with that singsong lilt and fully rounded vowels.” He narrowed his eyes, tapping a finger on his chin, thinking. “You’re incredibly educated; sometimes I feel like you’ve memorized an entire library. And you act like you own me, giving me orders and your little airs and empty threats—”
“They are not empty.”
“The way you raise your chin when you regard something with disdain. I am often on the receiving end of that look.” Ramson was smiling now, and something in his eyes made her feel breathless and light-headed at the same time. “When you’re scared, you