lift your head and throw your shoulders back, like you’re telling yourself to be brave. When you’re thinking hard, your eyebrows crease, just a little, right there. And sometimes, when you think no one’s watching, you have a faraway, almost sad look in your eyes.” His smile had vanished, and the warm spark in his eyes was suddenly ablaze—a roaring fire, threatening to consume her. To destroy her. “When you walk into a room, you have the grace and gravitas of an empress, and I swear, even the Deities must pause to look at you.”
She realized that she had forgotten to breathe. Her heart raced against her rib cage, drawn by some inexplicable, magnetic pull toward him. All she could think to say was, “I’m not sure those are necessarily characteristic of a noblewoman.”
“Perhaps I haven’t met enough noblewomen, then,” he said softly. “At least, none like you.”
Her heartbeat quickened as he reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. His touch sent heat rushing through her body. The room was too warm, the heady scent of incense intoxicating as her gaze flicked to his hand.
And caught sight of something.
“What’s this?” she whispered, reaching up to trace a feather-soft touch to the inside of his wrist. A tattoo curled in the black outline of a plant with three tiny, bell-shaped flowers, simple and elegant.
A sharp intake of breath from Ramson and he snapped his arm back, rubbing his hand over the spot where she’d seen his tattoo. “It’s nothing.”
“Ramson—”
“We should rest. It’s getting late.” His face had closed off, and she wondered whether she’d imagined the last few minutes, delirious with grief and fatigue.
The room was suddenly too stuffy; the heat and the aromas and the cramped shelves were too much to bear, and she needed to leave, now. Ana stood. Her cheeks flushed with—with what? Shame? Disappointment? But what had she expected from Ramson? Had she really come into this room thinking he would spill his soul and secrets to her? That he would stop donning one mask after another for just long enough so that she could glimpse his real self again?
Or had that simply been another mask?
As Ramson stood, pulling on his shirt and turning away from her, she felt the sting of tears deep in her throat. And Ana wondered whether she had actually seen someone worth saving in that dark, dark fog, or whether it had been just a trick of light and shadows all along.
A tug of blood at the edge of her mind chased away all other thoughts. Ana flared her Affinity. Ramson’s blood burned bright and hot; the other Affinites’ ran steadily in the parlor as they slept.
But outside, there was something else. “Ramson.” She caught his arm, and he shot her a look of surprise. “There are people—”
At that moment, three faint raps sounded on the front door, in Shamaïra’s parlor. Ana sensed an Affinite getting up and reaching for the door.
A feeling of foreboding filled her. She’d barely let out a cry when she heard the front door slam open.
A scream, and the air exploded with blood.
Ana sprang for the brocade curtains, but Ramson caught her shoulder firmly, grunting as he pulled her back and clamped a hand over her mouth. “We haven’t been discovered yet.” His whisper was fast, urgent. “We need to use that to our advantage. Stay calm, assess the situation, and decide on the course of action.”
Glass smashed in the parlor; shouts and screams erupted, sounding disturbingly close in the small dacha. Ana’s breath caught, and Ramson carefully slid his hand through the curtains and drew one back, just a slit for them to peer through.
Past all the multicolored divans and clusters of blankets, the front door was open; a cold wind swept through the house. In the open doorway an unfamiliar man held an Affinite girl. A dagger glinted in his hands; he pressed it against her neck. “Move, and this girl dies.”
It was then that Ana saw Yuri, facing the door with his back to her, his fists clenched at his sides. The rest of the Affinites clustered behind couches and divans, fear carved into their features, nightmares that Ana couldn’t even begin to fathom haunting their expressions.
Nobody moved.
Suddenly, behind the intruder, from the depths of the night, a second man stepped into view. “I’m afraid I’m going to need all of you to return to the Playpen.”
The man’s pale blond hair caught the lamplight, and his eyes shone a