Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy #1)(60)
Ana’s mind spun. “I don’t understand. Bid for her? What if we don’t win?”
“We will. I called in an old favor.” He finished his last bite of sourdough bread and wiped his fingers on his napkin. “If you can’t win it, just rig it.”
“This is not a game, con man,” Ana snarled, her temper rising at his levity, at the thought of May sitting in a cell somewhere in that horrible place from hell. “If even one thing goes wrong, then May’s life is in danger.”
The grin faded from Ramson’s face. He placed his spoon back in his bowl, carefully, deliberately, as though handling a weapon. “You think I don’t know the difference between life and death?” he said. “I’ve been in this business for seven years. I started as a street rat and worked my way up to where I am today—where I was. One slip along the way, and I would’ve been dead.”
Her breathing came shallow. Ramson Quicktongue had taken care to never reveal anything about himself to her, other than what was strictly necessary. Yet something had changed. She just couldn’t place…what.
“And that’s why we have backup plans,” he said, and the moment was gone. “I have one for several different scenarios, and they consist of secret tunnels and underground passageways.” He leaned forward, his hazel eyes bright in the morning light, tousled hair curling against his temples. “As soon as we have May, we need to be ready for the Fyrva’snezh ball.” He slid something across the table at her.
A piece of parchment, with names hastily scribbled on it. Ana scanned the title. “Kerlan’s Fyrva’snezh guests?” She thought of asking him how he’d procured it but knew that questioning Ramson Quicktongue’s sources would lead to precisely nowhere.
“Yes.” Ramson touched a finger to a single name in the middle of the list, and for a moment, all that she saw were the words blazing up at her. Mesyr Pyetr Tetsyev.
Ana drew a sharp breath. She gripped the parchment so hard that her knuckles turned white. “We’ll need to lure him somewhere quiet. Somewhere I can talk to him and then leave, unnoticed.”
Ramson’s eyes glinted. “There’s a secret room in Kerlan’s basement. It’s soundproof. I have it on good authority that no one will be standing guard during the ball.” He drummed the table in a restless beat. “It’s perfect. There’s a tunnel leading out from the basement to the back—it’s where all of the estate’s supplies come in. Food, flowers, clothing…the like. I’ll arrange for a carriage pickup. We just need to agree on the timing.”
* * *
—
They retreated to their rooms to hash out the rest of the plans. They discussed every minute, pinpointed every position, worked through all the potential scenarios, and carefully mapped it all out.
By the end of two days, they had exhausted every detail of May’s rescue and Kerlan’s ball, and even Ana’s diligence was wearing thin.
“There’s no chance we can get her today or tomorrow?” she’d pestered Ramson.
“No,” Ramson replied on the afternoon of the second day, lounging on Ana’s cot. “We need to attend the show and play by the rules.”
“But—”
“Do you really want to rob a man before attending his party?” He flipped a goldleaf between his fingers; the coin caught the late-afternoon sun, flashing as Ramson made it appear, and then disappear again. “We’re walking into the lion’s den. There’s only so much we can control. But if Kerlan wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.”
“Why do you say that?” Ana looked up from the corner where she sat, straight-backed and cross-legged amid dozens of parchments with the maps and plans they had scribbled. Parcels of their supplies were stacked neatly against the wall—outfits, mostly, for the next few days. They’d spent a good portion of their coin—and the rest, well, Ana assumed she and Ramson would split it between them when the time came to part ways.
The thought filled her with a strange feeling, and she quickly looked at him again—his tousled sandy hair peeking over her pillows—to make sure he was still there.
“I’ve been in touch with some of his contacts. He’ll be expecting us at his ball. That’s why, while you corner Tetsyev, I’ll be upstairs distracting Kerlan so he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.” He flicked the goldleaf into the air and caught it; when he opened his palm again, it was gone. “He thinks I’m going to offer him a Trade.”
Ana bit the end of her pen. “And what are you going to do?”
“Kill him? Charm him? Who knows.” Ramson gave her a wicked smile, and Ana suspected he knew exactly what he was going to do. She’d learned to stop asking for answers she’d never get.
So Ana returned to her papers, focusing on the things she could get: May, her alchemist, and a way back to her brother.
* * *
—
Boom-ba-da-BOOM.
The drums beat. The torches blazed. The audience cheered. Yet tonight they struck a different rhythm in Ana’s heart. Tonight they were a countdown for her as she weaved through the crowds of sleepy, intoxicated nobles.
It was the fourth night of their stay at Novo Mynsk, and the evening of May’s performance. Everything hinged on tonight.