shouted. “You don’t understand, because you’ve never had a family!”
Jonah’s eyes darkened; his brows furrowed. “I do understand. You’re my family, Ramson. My sea-brother and my best friend. I would do anything for you.”
Ramson snatched his foot back as though he’d been burned.
“Wait, Ramson,” Jonah began, but Ramson had already taken off. He ran past the alder trees in the Blue Fort’s courtyard to where he knew his father’s office was. The Naval Headquarters was an adjoining building to the Blue Fort Academy that recruits seldom visited—Ramson would sometimes walk past with his classmates and sneak glances into the shaded courtyard and latticed windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of his father.
A figure hovered by the door; Ramson’s heart ballooned at the sight of his father’s sandy hair and solid frame.
“Admiral!” he called. His father never answered to anything else. “Admiral—”
His father turned, the shadows of the alder trees dappling his features. Ramson saw now that he’d been speaking to someone—the dark-haired Commander of the First Fleet. The one Ramson’s father wanted Ramson to impress. If everything worked according to his father’s plans, Ramson would join the First Fleet aboard Commander Dallon’s ship.
Roran Farrald’s face remained stoic, even when he caught sight of Ramson.
“I need to speak to you,” Ramson panted, slowing when he drew within a dozen steps of his father. He added, “Please.”
Roran Farrald’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m very busy.”
“Please, sir!”
“Another time.” Roran Farrald was turning away, striding after Commander Dallon.
“My mother is dying!” The words burst from Ramson. “Please, she needs your help.”
Roran Farrald froze. His back was to Ramson, but even beneath the shade of the trees in the courtyard, Ramson could tell his outline had gone rigid. Farther ahead, Commander Dallon watched impassively.
Roran Farrald barely turned; Ramson could just make out the profile of his face, cleanly cut and square, utterly ascetic. “And why,” Roran Farrald said softly, his words slicing through the slight breeze that stirred the leaves in the yard, “would your mother have anything to do with me?”
Ramson stood there a long time after his father was gone, beneath the swaying alder trees, the leaves rattling around him in the wind, their shadows scattering over him. The bright flame in his heart turned to stone that day, and when he went back to Jonah, he spoke quietly, with measured calculation. “Show me where the medicine is.”
They snuck out of their dorms that night, when the moon retreated behind the clouds.
The Naval Headquarters began at the western end of the Blue Fort, stretching across cliffs that plunged precariously into the ocean. It was a symbol of the Bregonian Navy’s dominance of the seas—and utterly off-limits to the public. Jonah had speculated that it held classified information, such as naval secrets and warfare strategies.
It was near pitch-black outside, the cool breeze briny and speckled with sand, the grass of the courtyard soft beneath their boots. They stole across like shadows, and within minutes, they were outside the headquarters.
A pair of patrols passed by; Jonah shoved Ramson behind a tree. Ramson had never felt like this: adrenaline pumping through his blood, his heart pounding as though it wished to tear from his chest. And then, a beat later, Jonah was rounding to the back of the building. Ramson watched in awe and fascination as he pushed and a door appeared in the stone wall.
“An escape tunnel,” Jonah whispered. “I studied structural maps of castles. They all have these. So I found the Headquarters’.”
It was dark and silent inside, and it smelled of salt. The flooring was uneven, and Ramson stayed close to Jonah. After a while, the tunnel opened up. They stumbled through an iron door, and then they were inside the Bregonian Naval Headquarters.
This section of the Headquarters was dark—but from several hallways down came the faint light of torches. They passed corridor after corridor of seemingly endless doors, the marble floor sleek beneath their velvet steps, until at last, Jonah paused in front of an iron door that looked exactly like the rest.
“In here,” Jonah whispered, and pushed.
A shrill peal blasted through the silence; Ramson clapped his hands over his ears, but the sound seemed to set off a reactionary chain. He heard the muffled sound of distant bells beginning to ring, the high-pitched alarms blending into a cacophony of screams. Jonah was shouting at him, tugging at his arms, but his knees had buckled and he sat on the floor, dizzy and paralyzed with fear.