Chapter 12
Carver
“How what works?” Amryn asked, a furrow appearing between her brows.
Carver longed to smooth it out—with his fingers or his lips—but that’s why he’d forced himself to retake his seat.
He needed to keep the table between them, because he wouldn’t be able to focus if he was touching her.
And he needed to focus. Needed to understand exactly what he was up against so he could keep her safe.
“The knights,” he said. “How exactly do they sense empaths?”
Amryn picked at the bread on her plate.
Realizing she needed a moment, Carver dipped a piece of his bread in the nearby bowl of onion soup.
He’d been starving, but his hunger was a muted thing in the face of what she had shared with him.
Her fear of the knights had made perfect sense to him—of course all empaths would fear them.
But now, he knew exactly why she was terrified of them.
At seven years old, she’d watched them murder her mother. They’d tried to kill her, too. It broke his heart. And made him feel more than a little murderous himself. If Tiras hadn’t stepped in and saved her . . .
His blood suddenly chilled. Because only now was he realizing just how terrifyingly strong her brother must be.
“He killed them. Four powerful men, and Tiras destroyed them. He was twelve years old.”
The words Amryn had uttered in Esperance ghosted through his mind, making his skin tighten. Tiras, still a boy, had killed four knights.
“I don’t really know how it works,” Amryn said.
He glanced up at her soft words, momentarily fascinated by the sight of her red hair glowing in the soft lamplight.
It reminded him of how she’d looked when he’d first entered the room.
Seeing how she’d brightened at the sight of him, relief shining in her eyes, had warmed him completely.
And, Saints, that dress. It was enough to distract any man, let alone one who was already enthralled by her.
He forced himself to focus. “They use their rings, right?” He was trying to remember everything he’d ever heard about the knights, but in truth, he’d never paid much attention.
But he knew every fully knighted member of the Order wore a bone ring.
He’d never considered how macabre those rings were, but now it was all he could think about.
The knights wore a bone shard of an executed empath as jewelry.
He’d grown up thinking that empaths weren’t human.
Maybe that had made it acceptable somehow.
But now that he was sitting across from an empath—married to one—the whole idea was horrific.
Guilt sliced deep, because he knew it should have been horrific long before now.
Amryn bit her lower lip. Her pale green eyes were unreadable.
“I used to think the bone ring was what helped them hunt empaths. Almost as if that piece of an empath’s bone could recognize another empath’s bone; like being drawn to like, or something of that sort.
And maybe they do work that way, but I’m no longer sure that’s all there is to it.
Felinus was able to sense me without a bone ring, and he wasn’t sure how that was possible.
Maybe he gained the skill after wearing the ring so long, or maybe he had an innate gift for it already. ”
Carver frowned. “A gift . . . like your empathy?” Blazing Saints, were the knights empaths?
Amryn cringed, clearly following his thoughts. “I don’t see how the knights could be empaths, but . . . I suppose anything is possible. Empathy runs in families, and being a knight is often a family legacy, isn’t it?”
Carver nodded, immediately thinking of Rivard, a man who had once been his friend—and who had died in Esperance at Tam’s hand.
Rivard’s father and two older brothers were all knights.
Rivard had trained hard and dreamed of following in their footsteps, but he’d ultimately been denied entry into the Order.
That rejection had driven Rivard to sonne, the drug he’d later introduced to Berron.
“Can empaths sense other empaths?” he asked Amryn.
“No.” She frowned. “At least, not every empath can. My mother said some empaths have that particular gift.”
Determination to understand her world made him lean forward. “Empaths have different gifts, then. Like your healing. And there are various degrees of strength, right?” he asked, thinking of her brother.
“Yes.” Amryn hesitated, as if trying to find the right words.
“There are many things I don’t know about empaths.
I only really know what my mother shared with me.
But I know some empaths can barely discern the emotions of those around them, while others are immensely powerful. I think I’m somewhere in the middle.”
His eyes widened. Amryn, who could physically feel the emotions of those around her—and heal grievous wounds—was somewhere in the middle?
Her head tipped to the side as she studied him. “That surprises you.”
“Yes,” he said, though it hadn’t really been a question.
She’d felt his surprise, after all. It was still a little unsettling to know she could feel everything he felt.
It put him at a bit of a disadvantage, and that wasn’t something he was comfortable with.
Still, honesty was in every word as he said, “The power you wield is incredible, Amryn. You are incredible.”
Color suffused her cheeks. Since he didn’t have her gifts, he didn’t know if she flushed due to pleasure, or if she was just self-conscious.
Maybe it was a mixture of both, because she whispered, “Thank you.” She scratched a spot on her cheek, her eyes falling from his.
“There’s a lot I don’t know about empaths, but my mother explained it this way: every person has the ability to be empathic. Even you, Carver.”
He snorted. “Pretty sure I’m not an empath.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Not in the way that I am, no. You might call it intuition. Haven’t you ever walked into a room and felt the energy of it? Whether the people standing there were happy, or sad, or mad?”
He frowned, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, but it’s not like I’m truly sensing their emotions. Their expression or demeanor might give them away. That’s not empathy, it’s observation.”
“Perhaps. But why couldn’t there be an element of both?”
He shrugged, then said, “Maybe that’s what the knights have. Just a small amount of empathic intuition.” And maybe Rivard hadn’t had it, and that’s why he’d failed his trial to become a knight. He certainly hadn’t been able to sense the danger in Tam when his wife had decided to kill him.
“Maybe,” Amryn allowed. “But while everyone has some empathic ability, the people gifted with actual empathic magic fall into three main types. The first are those who can discern the emotions of others. The second are those who actually feel those emotions.”
“Like you.”
“Yes. Empaths who can actually experience the emotions of others often manifest other abilities as well. It’s tied to what we feel, I think; when we feel someone’s pain, it connects us somehow.
That’s why we can often do more than the lower-level empaths, since they don’t have that same level of connection. ”
“Like your healing ability.”
“Yes.”
It still bothered him that he’d never known empaths could heal. Amryn had alluded to the fact that the church and the emperor had hidden many things over the years because they needed people to fear empaths.
“I have the ability to heal,” Amryn said, “But other empaths like me possess other abilities.”
Curiosity filled him. “What sorts of abilities?”
“Some empaths can sense the emotions of animals. Some, according to my mother, can even communicate with them.”
Carver stared. “They can . . . talk to animals?”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “After everything you know now, that seems hard to believe?”
She had a point. Saints, she could put her hand on someone and heal a wound that would otherwise kill them.
Communicating with animals certainly seemed less impossible.
He thought of the dogs his family had had through the years, including the little mutt his youngest brother Fowler loved so much, and the horses Carver had personally trained and ridden into battle.
They were all intelligent creatures, and though he’d never spoken to them, he had to admit they’d communicated on some level.
“If it helps,” Amryn said, amusement threading in her voice, “I don’t think they have actual conversations with the animals. My mother knew one such gifted empath, and apparently it’s more about impressions than actual words.”
“It’s all rather fantastical.”
“It is.” She lifted her glass of wine and took a sip.
He reached for his own glass; if she was at ease enough to turn to food again, then he could, too. “What other gifts are there?”
She released a breath. “I’m sure I don’t even know a fraction of them.
It’s not as if empaths can safely talk about their gifts—and the only other empaths I ever knew were my mother and Tiras.
But my mother shared some of the gifts she knew about.
There are some empaths who have the ability to detect lies—they feel them, like a physical burn.
Others can create illusions, and some can touch a person and walk within their dreams. There are also empaths who can touch an object and glean things about its history.
And while I can heal physical wounds, there are empaths who have the ability to heal emotional wounds, like grief or heartache. ”
It all sounded so incredible. He shook his head slowly. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have any of those gifts.” He paused, then asked, “Is it ever overwhelming? Feeling what someone else is feeling . . . I can’t imagine,” he repeated.