Blood Heir. Amélie Zhao Wen

I understand better than the gods-damned sting of betrayal.”

      “You were sent to murder the Emperor!” Igor exclaimed. “Deities, man, your mission was impossible from the start!”

      Ramson paused. This was the question he’d turned over and over in his mind back at Ghost Falls with no leads to an answer: Why had the greatest crime lord in the Empire wanted to murder Emperor Lukas Mikhailov?

      He remembered the storm that night, rain lashing at the windows in fury. Kerlan’s small, twisted smile, the simple cadence to his words, as though he’d just asked Ramson to pick up beet soup for dinner.

      Ramson had known, that very moment, that this was the ultimate test. If he had succeeded, Kerlan would have named him successor to the Order, cementing Ramson’s power once and for all. Everything he’d ever wanted in his life sat beyond that mission.

      Yet Ramson had forgotten that in a gamble where you stood to win everything, there was even more you could lose.

      And he’d lost.

      Perhaps capture by the Imperial Court had been a kinder fate than death at Kerlan’s hands.

      “I was his Deputy,” Ramson gritted out. “He entrusted everything to me. The mission got leaked. And I’m going to trace that leak and destroy everyone involved in it, starting with you.”

      “Ramson, please—”

      “Shut your damn mouth. The one thing I can’t stand is a spineless coward.” Ramson spread his hands on the polished oakwood table. His voice was a low growl when he spoke next. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I want something from you. I need a name, Igor.”

      “Pyetr Tetsyev!” The words came out in a sharp gasp. “He came to inquire about you and paid me a sum to turn you in if you came to my pub. And a week later you showed up.” Igor’s mouth was small, but it worked surprisingly fast. He fixed Ramson with a pleading gaze.

      “That’s all I know, I swear, man. And it was a lot of money.”

      “Pyetr Tetsyev.” Ramson rolled the name around his tongue; it had no taste of familiarity. “Who is he, and where can I find him?”

      “He’s under Kerlan’s employment, makes Deys’voshk for him. Showed up out o’ nowhere with a past murkier’n the bottom of my boot.”

      “Hmm.” Ramson leaned back, taking a swig from his goblet and smacking his lips. Igor watched him, his watery eyes pinned on Ramson’s every move. The fact that Ramson had reverted back to his drink seemed to comfort the bartender, for his expression became obsequious. “I’ll need to take a trip to Novo Mynsk, then.”