Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy #1)(84)
Kerlan was silent again, and Ramson pushed these thoughts aside. Now was not the time for useless sentiment. “I knew what failing meant for me, Alaric. Our interests were aligned. The leak came from your side. And I’m going to destroy it.”
The grating of the ring stopped. Kerlan looked up at last, and he was smiling. Not for the first time, Ramson had no idea how to interpret his master’s smile. He’d seen that expression when Kerlan had promoted him to Deputy. He’d also seen it seconds before Kerlan slit a man’s throat.
“I had already made up my mind,” Kerlan declared, and Ramson’s stomach tightened. Even before Kerlan went on, Ramson’s mind was racing six, seven moves ahead, mapping out the many directions this conversation could take. “I just wanted to see you fight for it. You know I like playing with my food.”
Ramson glanced at the clock. Forty-eight minutes past nine. Only twelve minutes, and Ana would be out of here safely.
He needed to stall for a little longer.
“You keep looking at the time, my son,” Kerlan said, and Ramson snapped his attention back. “Are you waiting for someone…or something?”
Cold gripped Ramson. Kerlan never spoke without deliberately choosing every word. Ramson’s voice sounded distant even as he said, “I wouldn’t want you to be late to your own party, Alaric.”
“Ah, very well, then.” Kerlan drew out a piece of parchment from one of the drawers of his desk. He began to meticulously unscrew the cap of his gold pen, each twist causing a shrill squeaking sound that sent shivers down Ramson’s spine. “Shall we make this Trade? I’ve been looking for a replacement Deputy ever since you left. I haven’t found anyone nearly as close in cleverness and ambition as you, Ramson.”
Ramson bowed his head. The dagger in his sleeve shifted as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m honored, my Lord.”
Kerlan gave a delicate pause. His wrist brushed the contract parchment. “Of course, you’ve heard the old story of the Cat and the Lion?”
Ramson frowned. “I have not.”
Kerlan set his pen down, eyes crinkled in what would look like kindness to anyone who didn’t know the man. “It’s an old Bregonian story, son. I suppose your dead mother would never have been able to tell you.”
Ramson kept his face blank.
“The Cat was the predecessor and master to the Lion,” Kerlan continued. “The Lion begged the Cat to train him in all sorts of skills. ‘Master,’ the Lion would plead, and the Cat would take pity on him and teach him something new each day. And with each passing day, the Lion grew—quicker and cleverer and more ruthless. He wanted to overthrow the Cat—to become the ruler of the mountain.
“One day, the Lion turned on the Cat. He used his strength, his stamina, his size, and his sharper claws to fight. But the Cat was older and more cunning, you see. There was one trick he hadn’t taught the Lion—and that was to climb trees.” Kerlan steepled his fingers, rings flashing. “And that was how the Cat survived. He knew the danger of having an apprentice too close to him in ambition and intelligence; he knew it would be his downfall, so he’d kept one last trick to himself.”
Kerlan fell silent, his gray eyes boring into Ramson, a small smile curling his lips. Ramson’s throat was dry; his heart pounded and his mind raced.
Slowly, Ramson flexed his hands, feeling the bulk of his dagger against his forearm.
“And that is why,” Kerlan said softly, leaning forward, smile widening, “I believe it is against my self-interest to hire a Deputy who is going to try to assassinate me in this very room.”
Ramson was on his feet by the time Kerlan finished the last word. He flicked his wrist; the dagger slipped out with a schick, blade glinting in the lamplight. He leapt onto Kerlan’s desk, drew his hand back, plunged—
And his arm went limp. The blade clattered on the surface of Kerlan’s oak desk, Ramson’s fingers dragging uselessly on top. For a moment, Ramson stared in astonishment at his arm. He heard Kerlan laughing.
A strange feeling crept up his entire body—it was the way he’d felt back when he’d been on the streets and hadn’t eaten for days. It felt like his muscles had atrophied and given out, as though all the strength had been drained from him.
He gasped and crumpled to the floor. Move, he commanded his body, but his arms were still as stone on the plush red carpet, as though they didn’t even belong to him.
Polished black shoes rounded the desk. Kerlan bent and slowly, deliberately, picked up the dagger Ramson had dropped. “Fine little blade,” he murmured, and then his gaze dropped back to Ramson. The expression on his face almost resembled pity, but Ramson knew better. Kerlan was savoring this moment.
From the hallway outside, a woman slipped in. Her hair, so black that it caught a blue sheen beneath the lamplight, and bronze skin marked her to be from one of the Aseatic Isles kingdoms. She leaned against the wall, tall and athletic, watching Ramson like a cougar watching its prey.
“How careless of me,” Kerlan sighed, tapping his temple and looking genuinely confused. “I forgot to introduce you. Meet Nita, our newest member, and Deputy to the Order of the Lily.”
Ramson’s head spun; it felt like his muscles had melted into water and his lungs were collapsing upon themselves. As though from a distance, he heard Kerlan continue. “I think she would be classified as a flesh Affinite, though her Affinity lies in manipulating strength. Strength in your muscles, in your organs, in your heart…”