Red Tigress

by Amélie Wen Zhao

  Ana approached on the path that cut through the alder trees, her hair and gown spilling behind her and silvered by the moonlight. She was walking quickly, and he noted her stiff posture, the way she shifted her head every now and then, as though trying to glimpse behind her.

  It took him no time at all to spot the two guards trailing her, ducking between the trees.

  With a light leap, Ramson flipped over the railing of his balcony. It was a low drop to the ground, and the sound of wind and water masked his footsteps as he took a path that would cut directly into the walkway she was on.

  Ramson slipped behind an alder tree, counting down the even beat to her footfalls. Five, three, two steps—

  An invisible force wrapped around him and slammed him against the tree trunk.

  Ramson coughed as a familiar figure stepped in his path. “Ana—it’s me—”

  “Deities, Ramson,” she hissed, and he felt her Affinity loosen from him.

  He straightened. “You’re being followed.”

  “I know,” she scoffed, and in the dim moonlight, he saw her eyes flash crimson as she rolled them toward where he’d last seen the guards.

  “I need to talk to you,” he whispered. “Without…them.”

  She frowned. “Where?”

  The alcohol swirled in his head, emboldening him. He reached out and grabbed Ana’s hand, giving her a light tug toward him. Gently, he spun her and pressed her against the alder tree, shifting so that they were in a clear patch of moonlight.

  She stiffened as he closed the gap between them. “What are you—”

  He lowered his lips next to her ear. “Old trick, remember?” he said, and he knew they were both thinking of Kerlan’s mansion, of the way they’d dodged the yaeger back then. “Can you sense the guards’ movements?” She nodded, her hair tickling his chin. “Let me know when they turn around.”

  Her chest brushed against his as she inhaled. Wedged between him and the tree, she was tense, her breaths coming quickly. Ramson drew back slightly to give her space, and in that moment, she looked up, her features bright and clear beneath the moonlight. He couldn’t help but notice the soft curve of her lips, the flutter of her lashes as her eyes, too, roved his face.

  Her fingers slipped into his, cold but firm. And then she was leaning toward him, her lips parting and his thoughts were scrambling—

  “The guards,” she whispered. “They’ve turned away.”

  Then, with a light tug, she drew him behind the alder tree, and into the shadows of the courtyard.

  It wasn’t difficult to lose the guards. Ana followed Ramson through the trees, past winding paths and across streams, his hands tight against hers. The flickers of blood around them grew sparse and the trees thicker as they headed toward what Ana thought might be an older section of the Blue Fort.

  They stopped when they reached a section of the walls that were made of stone, close to the cliffs. Beyond, Ana could hear the crashing of the waves. Vines climbed up the wall, thick and dotted with small red flowers. They filled the air with a sharp, spicy fragrance.

  “Ramson,” she panted. “Where are we—”

  Ramson reached out and swept back the curtain of vines to reveal a set of stairs, leading into the wall. He gave a small bow. “Meya dama, up these stairs you’ll find the best ocean views this kingdom can offer.”

  The steps were narrow and weather-worn, severely needing repair. There were no balustrades, but Ramson kept a tight grip on her wrist. It was pitch-black but for slits in the wall, where moonlight dusted the darkness and small breezes stirred the stale air around them.

  Finally, it began to grow light, with the distant sound of waves. They emerged to open air.

  A small oh escaped Ana’s lips as she surveyed the scene around them.

  They stood on the walkway of a wall that had been built into the cliffs. Sections of it were crumbling, and the stone was so weather-beaten that it seemed to have melded with the cliff. Beyond them was nothing but the dark expanse of ocean, moonlight glinting like shards of glass on its waves.

  “It’s beautiful,” Ana breathed.

  “It’s an old guard tower,” Ramson said. A smile softened his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with a joy that she had almost never seen in him. The wind stirred his locks, and for a moment, he looked like a boy, standing at the edge of sea and sky. “I used to come up here with a friend.”

  There was something raw to his voice, a tender honesty in the way he spoke. Ana realized that he’d kept his fingers twined around hers, and the touch sent shivers through her belly.

  “Wait till you see the pool,” Ramson said, and pulled her forward.

  The walkway tapered off into a flat stretch of cliffs. Water gushed from a crevice higher up in the cliff wall, collecting in a natural basin before spilling over the edge and plunging out of view into the sea below.

  Ana thought of the waterfall they’d jumped down at Ghost Falls, of the roaring white currents of the Tiger’s Tail river. She shrank back. “It looks dangerous.”

  Ramson’s smile was wicked. “It probably is,” he said. “It has a rather gruesome origin myth. Want to hear it?”

  Ana raised an eyebrow. “This had better not be what you brought me here for.”

  “Legend has it,” Ramson began, “that the first King of Bregon fell in love with a siren. He possessed the magek to water—that is, he was a water Affinite—so he manipulated the current of ocean water so that it flowed uphill at nighttime. That was when they would reunite, with only the stars and the moon as their witnesses.”

  Ana thought of the statue of the man and the siren in the Livren Skolaren.

  “In his old age, the King simply vanished one day. Bregonians think that he dove into the ocean to be united forever with his lover. By drowning,” Ramson added, as though to clarify. “As a kid, I’d always thought—if there was any truth to such a preposterous tale—that this might be where he dove off and died.”

  She frowned at him. “That’s a horrible love story.”

  Ramson grinned. “It’s a very Bregonian love story.”

  “Well, remind me not to fall in love in Bregon,” she replied. He caught her gaze, and the teasing smile on his face softened as something flickered in his eyes. Heat crept up her neck, but before she could say anything, Ramson strode past her, kicked off his shoes, and dove into the pool.

  Ana rushed to the edge of the water, her heart thrumming as she searched for him. There it was, that age-old fear, pumping adrenaline into her veins, heightening her panic.

  For several moments, Ramson was submerged, darkness clouding him. And then, from beneath the surface of the pool, the water began to glow. It was as though the moon were blooming from beneath him, dusting light from the depths that fractaled up all around Ramson as he swam the length of the pool.

  “It’s glowing,” she exclaimed when he surfaced.

  Ramson laughed and straightened, his hair dripping water, his shirt wet and clinging to the ridges of his body. He pushed aside a lock of hair, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes. It took her a moment to realize that he was glowing, silver trickling like liquid mercury down his cheeks, his jawline, his neck, glistening on his shirt and pooling at his chest.

  Ramson held up a hand, silver droplets threading down his wrist. Ana could just make out the faint outline of his tattoo, a curled stalk with three stems. “Seadust,” he said. “They’re actually infinitely small creatures that glow when they come into contact with heat, but Bregonians believe they’re the souls of the ones we’ve lost, come to greet us in the oceans.” He dropped his hand into the water again, making a small splash. “It’s why our oceans glow during the hottest days in the summers, and why our Moon Lagoon in the south shines the brightest. Whereas you Cyrilians celebrate the First Snows, we celebrate Sommesreven, the Night of Souls.” His smile dropped sligh
tly, and his eyes had a distant look. “We commemorate those we’ve lost on Sommesreven, when the oceans are brightest and the souls of our dead linger in between, held by our Three Gods.”

  She’d never learned this in her studies, which had always been focused on politics and economics. “It’s beautiful.”

  His gaze snapped up, and he held out a hand. “Try it. Seadust is good luck. Go on.”

  She hesitated, but he waded to her and took her hand in his. His eyes flicked to hers and he paused, one finger hooked under the edge of her glove, as though asking for permission. When she didn’t protest, he gently peeled back her glove.

  She shivered at the combination of cool night air, the rough calluses of his fingers trailing feather-light against her skin. As though he held an infinitely precious object, Ramson set her glove at the edge of the pool and clasped her hand in his. Slowly, he lowered it into the water.

  “There,” he said. Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound huskier than normal? “Now you’re blessed by our Sea God.”

  She chuckled, wriggling her bare fingers and marveling at how the water lit up. “Well,” she said, lifting her gaze to look at him from beneath her lashes. “Please extend my thanks to your Sea God.”

  A far-off sound interrupted them. At first, Ana thought it was the whistle of the wind between rocks, but the noise grew louder: a haunting keening sound that echoed off the rocks surrounding them, cresting.

  Ramson straightened, gazing out at the expanse of night, stock-still. “Gossenwal,” he murmured. “Ghostwales.”

  Beneath the surface of the ocean far below, Ana could see glimmers of light weaving through the water. They grew brighter and brighter until one burst through the surface, emitting a call that sent shivers down her spine. Even from this high up, she could make out their fins, the sleek twist of their bodies and the curve to their tails as they arced out of the water before diving in again.

  “They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

  “The Sea God,” Ramson said quietly, “had a disciple named Jonah. The myths say that after he died, he was reincarnated as a ghostwale. That his soul still wanders the oceans every night.”

  Ana had never heard this story, but she was surprised at the way his voice caught.

  Ramson looked as though he were in a dream, his face bright with reflections from the water. Ana could have stayed here and listened to him talk about his kingdom and his gods forever. The sky, strewn with stars like a canvas smudged with the dust of pearls, the whisper of the water and the wind, and the glow of seadust draping them both in light—it felt like a dream, like another world.

  And perhaps it was the surreality of it all that held her still as Ramson turned to her and reached out a hand to brush aside a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes, his touch blazing heat down her cheek.

  “Do you believe in Sommesreven?” she asked, her voice barely a breath.

  Ramson’s eyes were half-shut as he trailed his fingers down a lock of her hair. “No. What’s dead is dead, and there is nothing in this world or the next that can bring them back.”

  She shivered at his words, the faces of her dead swirling in her mind. Mama. Papa. May. Luka. All those who had died by her hand.

  And all those who would die, if she didn’t find the artifact before Morganya.

  “Ramson,” she said, pulling her attention from the tips of his fingers on her hair to her words. “Tell me about your father.”

  Ramson turned his gaze away. Drops of silver liquid clung to his lashes. “Don’t trust him, Ana,” he said. “There are things he’s not telling us regarding the artifact. It’s here. He knows about it.”

  Her stomach tightened. “What did he say to you? When did you see him?”

  “He came to see me earlier. I bluffed; he fell for it, and let it slip.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s very likely that the Bregonian government won’t want to tell us more about this artifact for defensive purposes, but I have the feeling my father is hiding far more than that. I asked him about the Bregonian Affinite trafficking scheme, and he wouldn’t give me a direct answer, either.” Ramson narrowed his eyes. “I keep thinking there’s a bigger picture we’re not seeing.”

  “Affinite trafficking—as in, Alaric Kerlan’s scheme?” She frowned. “Why would your father make a deal with him?”

  Ramson shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. “I don’t think he would, either—but the Sea Court controls the ports, which means no ships enter without their knowledge. Unless someone else is approving Kerlan’s entry.” He met her gaze. “I’m going to get to the bottom of all this.”

  “You’re leaving?” Ana suddenly felt cold. “In the midst of all this?”

  “Ana, listen to me carefully.” His voice was low, his words coming fast, urgent. “The Admiral is going to make you an offer: an alliance, in exchange for the chance to study your Affinity.”

  An alliance. Her heart leapt. Yet…“To study my Affinity?” she repeated. “Why?” She’d expected the Admiral would be interested in her and her Affinity—perhaps as a valuable addition to their forces, certainly, to fight with…but to be studied. That invoked memories of her childhood, of dungeons and Sadov’s pale white fingers prodding at her in the dark. Ana suppressed a shudder.

  “I know as much about it as you do,” Ramson said. “But in the event that he does…” He blew through his mouth. “I just don’t feel good about it, Ana.”

  “An alliance, though,” she said quietly. It was all so tantalizingly close, just within her grasp. Everything she had been working toward—an army, a rebellion, challenging Morganya—suddenly seemed possible…if she just gave a bit of herself away in exchange. “I know we don’t trust your father, but if I work with the Bregonian government—the King, the Queen Regent, and the Three Courts—then it should be fine.”

  Ramson sighed and combed his fingers through his hair again—a sign, she had learned, that meant he was stressed. “Look, I don’t want to let my personal biases get in the way. It’s your decision.”

  “Are you leaving tonight?” she asked instead.

  He averted his gaze and gave a nod. For some reason, disappointment surged through her. She’d expected this, she’d known that he wasn’t in Bregon purely to help her, and in their original plans, he’d never meant to end up at the Blue Fort. But with everything they had just learned, she’d thought he would change his mind.

  She’d come to rely on him too much. This time, she had plans of her own. It started with gathering all the information she could…and tracking down a certain scholar again. For if Admiral Farrald was aware of the artifact Morganya was after, then Tarschon had most certainly lied about it.

  She also had the Admiral’s offer to consider.

  Ana stood. The air had grown cold, the crash of waves on the cliffs below rising to a roar. Ramson still stood in the pool, but the seadust had dimmed, and only a faint glow remained in the waters around him. She thought of the levity to their conversation earlier, the way his fingers had sparked heat on her skin. It had seemed too good to be true, and now she realized that it had been. Their paths had always led to different destinations.

  “Good luck, Ramson,” she said, and left him standing there, still as a statue in the pool that tumbled over the edge into the ocean below, the seadust shimmering faint around him like remnants of a dying dream.

  By the time Ramson went back to his chambers and put on a fresh change of clothing, the clock on his mantelpiece showed that it was past midnight. He made sure to be noisy, banging around the cabinets and splashing water in his bathroom. He extinguished his candle, waited several minutes, and then snuck out through his veranda. The guards stationed outside his chambers didn’t suspect a thing.

  The Bregonian court outfit he’d changed into was a deep royal blue, almost black. It wasn’t difficult to blend into th
e shadows, to slip through the courtyards into the section of buildings that made up the Naval Academy.

  Here, the buildings were older and made of solid stone, with none of the new searock and ironore enhancements Ramson had seen in the Naval Headquarters. Ramson passed by a training hall and looked inside. A feeling, both tender and painful, rose in his throat as he took in the empty stone hall, inevitably filled with memories of Jonah Fisher.

  It wasn’t long after that he began to make out the faint torchlight of the keep at the Crown’s Cut, which inspected supply wagons coming in and out of the Blue Fort, usually leading to connecting towns. When he’d left Bregon as a boy, he’d learned that the inspection was much more stringent on incoming wagons than outgoing ones. This was the only way out of the Blue Fort without boarding one of those gondolas at Helmesgatten and attracting his father’s attention.

  At this hour, the courtyard was relatively empty, but there were several supply wagons still parked in line, waiting to leave. Ramson drew a breath and, with a prayer to the gods, he darted forward and leapt onto the back of a wagon. A flick of his wrist, and a pin appeared; within seconds, the wagon door was open, and Ramson slipped in, latching the door behind him.

  He had a sense of déjà vu as he crouched in the back of the wagon, watching as the lights of the Blue Fort winked smaller and smaller until the night swallowed them.

  Sapphire Port was deserted when the wagon pulled up at the stables. Ramson hopped out and ducked into the shadows of the streets. He retraced his steps to the docks. The Black Barge was a silhouette against the night.

  He whistled and a head appeared over the railing. “Finally,” said a familiar voice, and the next moment, a rope was thrown over the side of the ship. With enviable agility, Daya swung herself overboard and slid down the length of the rope. “Where in the name of Amara have you been?”

  Ramson tapped two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. “Sorry. Ran into a slight delay.”