Blood Heir. Amélie Zhao Wen
the comfort of slumber.
Fear seized her. Now she recognized the symptoms of near-hypothermia she’d been experiencing, and how close to death she’d been. That warm darkness had been a menace … and the voice had saved her.
Ramson Quicktongue, she thought, her sleep-addled brain suddenly alert as she scanned the cabin. Everything was just as she’d left it. Her rucksack leaned against the wall, her belongings spread out across the small worktable. No sign of a disturbance; no sign of any intruders.
Ana loosed a breath and pushed herself into a sitting position. Someone had washed the blood off her arm, but the wound was still raw and fresh. She remembered now, a little girl with dark hair, the edges softened by the glow of candles, almost like a halo.
“May?” she called softly. The cabin was utterly still. She leaned back against the wall, trying to quell her anxiety. The con man was nowhere to be seen, either. The remnants of the Deys’voshk were still in her system; she could feel her Affinity beginning to return, drifting in and out of her reach. Trying to use it now was like trying to set fire to wet kindling.
From the wash closet door in the far corner came the sound of splashing water. The movements were too careless for May. A masculine cough confirmed her suspicions.
The con man was still here.
Ana gritted her teeth against a groan of frustration. She’d spent months searching for this man. She’d pinned all her hopes—and more—on him. And he’d fooled her, and admitted he didn’t even have a clue who her alchemist was.
And now she was stuck with him.
The door to the hut creaked open. Her thoughts scattered as a child struggled in with a pail of fresh snow. As soon as May caught sight of Ana, her eyes widened and she dropped the pail, bounding to Ana’s side.
Ana sighed in relief as she buried herself in May’s embrace. “Hey, you,” she murmured. Being with May always, in some ways, felt like being at home.
The darkness in the boreal forest had been absolute the night Ana had run into the Syvern Taiga, though it had been nothing compared to the shadows in her heart. But May had found her and brought her to shelter by the soft glow of a globefire. May had been bound by a contract then, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying to save Ana, unbeknownst to her employer.
May straightened and fixed Ana with a stern gaze. Her eyes were the startling aquamarine of the ocean waters of the Aseatic Isles that Ana had once seen in a painting, sun-kissed and warm. Ana touched her forehead briefly to the child’s, her lips tugging into a smile.
“Did you get the alchemist?” May demanded. Eleven moons ago, when they’d first met, she’d been much quieter, her words a featherlight whisper. Only her quick eyes had told Ana that she drank in the world and gathered it in her heart, and gave back with kindness that had never been shown to her.
“Almost.” Seeing May always cleared her mind and calmed her nerves, and the word nearly felt real. “Were you all right by yourself?”
May nodded, and a copperstone appeared in her hands. “I have three cop’stones left. Do you want them back?” The copperstone caught the shine of the firelight, a small leaf engraved in the center of the coin.
Ana hesitated. She knew what these coins meant to May, who had spent her life accumulating meager sums of money to pay off the impossible amount of the contract she’d been made to sign. In the past, Ana might have spent dozens of cop’stones on a piece of ptychy’moloko milk cake, coins flowing through her fingers like water without a care as to their value.
Meeting May had changed that.
Ana gently curled a hand around May’s, tucking the coin back into the girl’s fist. “We earned this together. Keep it, and let’s buy ourselves a treat at the next town.”
May slipped the coin carefully back into her tunic. “Do you think we’ll find Ma-ma at the next town?” she asked.
Ana paused, studying May’s face carefully, but the child’s hopeful gaze didn’t waver. It haunted Ana that this girl loved so easily after what she’d been through. Over time, Ana had pieced together the child’s story: a long journey from the Chi’gon Kingdom, her home in the Aseatic region, with her mother in search of a brighter future, only to find those dreams shattered and her mother sent away by a separate contract.
And May had been exploited for her earth Affinity and stuck with a debt that kept growing.
With every day, the realization had grown louder and louder in Ana’s head: That could have been me.
“We will,” Ana replied. “We’ll find your ma-ma even if I have to knock on every single door of this empire.”
May’s smile stretched, and she threw her arms around Ana, burying her face against Ana’s shirt. “You won’t leave again, right?” Her voice came out muffled, and when Ana looked down, she caught a pair of bright ocean eyes peering up at her shyly. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
A knot formed in Ana’s throat. She knew the ache of having lost a mother at such a young age. The feeling that you had done something wrong, that you could be abandoned by those you loved all over again, never went away.
So Ana squeezed May tight in her arms and whispered, “I’m always here.”
The sound of splashing water drew both of their attention to the wash closet.
May’s eyes narrowed. “That strange man brought you home, and because he sort of saved your life, I told him he could have a warm bath before leaving,” she said.
Ana felt her lips curling despite herself. “Smart girl,” she said conspiratorially.
“He was smelly. And dirty.”
“I know,” Ana said. “He’s disgusting and stupid and ugly.” It was immature, but it felt good to say anyway.
The wash closet door flew open.
In a flash, Ana heaved herself from the bed and shoved May behind her. Her injured arm throbbed at the sudden motion, but all of her attention was focused on Ramson Quicktongue.
He had shaved and cleaned the grime from his face. Now she could see that he was much younger than she had guessed—perhaps only a few years older than she. His tousled sandy hair curled on his forehead, droplets of water carving a path down his chiseled cheeks. The contrast from his filthy, unkempt state earlier made him appear startlingly handsome—the type of roguish good-looking face more befitting a Bregonian marine or Cyrilian Imperial Patrol than a shady underground crook.
Quicktongue shot a smile at May. Ana imagined it had fangs. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“Don’t talk to her,” Ana snarled. She turned and said quickly, “May, please go and take a bath.”
The child grabbed the pail of snow and slipped into the wash closet. She turned and, glaring at Ramson, drew a finger across her neck before slamming the door shut. A satisfying click sounded as the door closed, and Ana’s heart settled.
She rounded on Quicktongue.
He was bruising; on his wrists where the sleeves of his tunic ended, angry red patches bloomed from where she had broken blood vessels. Guilt churned in her stomach, but she pushed it down. He hadn’t hesitated to use and betray her. Guilt was an emotion wasted on this kind of a man.
Quicktongue’s mouth quirked into a smile that was both devious and charming at once. “Well, Ana, love,” he said, and her insides turned cold. “Here we are. You asked for my aid, and I asked for a way out of Ghost Falls. If only wishes came true every day.”
Ana bit back a sharp retort. This wasn’t some argument she was having with Luka or Yuri. This was a calculated stance against an enemy. There was no telling what he was planning and what he was hiding from her—even his accent, she noticed, had shifted slightly from last night. She had to tread very carefully.
“I’ve