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 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