Chapter 24 Carver #2
“What about Ivan?” Amryn asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Jealousy rose, and he fought to smother it. “What about him?” he asked.
She shrugged one shoulder, keeping her bandaged arm still. “He wants to be my defender. Maybe he’d be willing to protect me by doing this.”
“I don’t really want to introduce Ivan Baranov to the Rising.” Carver’s tone was dry, but the words were pure truth. Ivan would make a dangerous rebel.
“Ivan might not be the empire’s greatest supporter, but he doesn’t like the Rising.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes, actually.” She pursed her lips. “And when I spoke to him today, before you came in, he all but confirmed he knows I’m an empath.”
Carver’s pulse kicked. “Did you admit anything?”
“Of course not. But he told me about a childhood friend who must have been an empath, because he healed Ivan when they were young.” She shook her head.
“It would explain his sympathy for me, and how he knew some empaths have the ability to heal. That’s not something the church shares.
And you know how he calls me il mishka?”
Carver stiffened. “No.” He had not known the Sibeten Wolf had an endearment for his wife.
“Oh,” Amryn said, blinking once. “I guess he’s never said it around you.”
No, he had not.
Amryn cleared her throat. “He started calling me that after Zawri. It means little miracle. That makes it pretty clear he knows I healed him.”
Unfortunately, Carver agreed with her assessment. He wanted to curse. Instead, he inhaled a measured breath. “Do you think he can be trusted?”
“Yes.”
The answer came with no hesitation. Something in him rebelled at that, but Amryn would be able to more accurately judge Ivan than he could. Especially with his biases when it came to the Sibeten prince.
He cleared his throat. “All right.” Saints, those were hard words to utter.
Her expression gentled. “Thank you, Carver.”
He only hoped he wouldn’t come to regret this.
The emperor’s feast was a crowded affair.
All of his top advisors and their spouses were present, as were his top generals and the higher-ranking members of the emperor’s court.
The celebratory air was somewhat dimmed by the very public attack on Jayveh earlier, but the emperor had refused to cancel the feast. Not when it was so important to show no sign of weakness.
Standing in the vast great hall was the last place Carver wanted to be. Especially because Amryn was standing beside him. She’d insisted on attending, despite her injury. But he was watching her closely. At the first hint of pain, he intended to take her back to their room.
They’d just left Jayveh, who was stationed near the door with the emperor so she could greet every guest. Carver had watched as the princess gently embraced Amryn, relieved they’d both survived the attack today.
Ford hadn’t been able to catch the shooter.
He’d searched until Carver had finally ordered his exhausted friend to rest. It was a testament to his exhaustion that he hadn’t argued.
He’d had a long journey, and he’d earned a night off.
Though, at the moment, Carver was wishing he’d taken Ford up on his offer to come to the feast. Having another pair of eyes tracking any possible threat to Amryn would have helped Carver relax.
Maybe.
“Carver! Amryn!” Elowen beamed as she cut toward them.
The crowd was thick in the large dining room.
Long tables were set to one side, although no one was seated yet.
Dinner would be served later. Right now, everyone was sipping wine or brandy and mingling before the feast would officially begin.
Carver’s sister navigated the space with ease, with their father trailing behind her.
When Elowen reached them, she didn’t hesitate to hug Amryn, though she was mindful of her injured arm.
Amryn appeared startled by the exuberant greeting, but she returned the embrace.
When Elowen drew back, she gave Amryn a full smile. “You look absolutely beautiful!”
Amryn wore a long, sweeping dress of deep green.
While the sleeves covered her bandaged arm, the thickness of the wrapping was evident.
Her red locks had been twisted and pinned atop her head in an elaborate bun, with only a few silken curls hanging to brush against her bared neck.
Her lips were painted a deeper shade of red than her hair, and it only made her porcelain skin appear more ethereal.
Her pale green eyes were lined in kohl, with a shimmery blend of colored powders that complimented the color of her dress dusted on her eyelids.
She was easily the most breathtaking woman in the room. And judging by the stares she’d garnered already tonight, Carver wasn’t the only man to think so.
“You’re the beautiful one,” Amryn returned quickly.
And it was true. Carver’s younger sister was undeniably beautiful.
She wore a lavender gown that he personally thought was cut too low, and her dark chestnut hair fell in loose waves down her back.
A pearl necklace circled her delicate throat.
Her makeup was lightly applied, like Amryn’s. Neither woman needed it.
Elowen grinned. “How about we’re both utterly beautiful?” She sobered a little as she said, “I’m so relieved you’re all right.”
“Are you well enough to be here?” Carver’s father asked Amryn, his concern obvious. “You’re not in too much pain?”
“My arm is sore,” Amryn admitted, “but I’m all right.”
“I’m glad you felt up to coming,” Elowen said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”
Amryn had released Carver’s arm when his sister had hugged her, and he missed the contact. He set his hand against her lower back, the warmth of her body bleeding through the soft material of her dress and heating his palm.
Elowen scanned the space behind them. “Is Ford here? Father mentioned he’d arrived today.”
“No,” Carver said. “He’s resting.”
“Ah. I suppose I’ll be claiming my winnings later, then.”
Amryn frowned at Elowen, while Carver scowled. “Don’t tell me you took part in his ridiculous bet,” he grumbled.
Elowen grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. “I did. And while I didn’t guess the red hair, I was right about the northern half of the empire.”
His father sighed. “Amryn, let me apologize now. Ford facilitated bets concerning what Carver’s bride would be like.”
Amryn’s eyes widened. “He did?”
“If I’d known it was happening, I would have stopped it,” Carver assured her. “But I found out after the fact.”
“We couldn’t be at the wedding,” Elowen said. “We needed to be involved somehow.”
Carver shook his head. “I completely disagree with your logic.”
“Are we talking about Ford’s bet?” Morelli asked, appearing beside them. “I lost completely on that one.” He sent Amryn a smile. “I’m glad I did, though, because I can’t imagine anyone more perfect for Carver.”
Carver could feel Amryn relax marginally beside him.
This was the first time she was interacting with Morelli outside an official meeting.
She’d given her report to him and Keats on the rebels in Esperance yesterday, and this afternoon they’d met with them again—as well as the emperor and his father—to discuss her proposal to infiltrate the Rising.
Carver’s misgivings remained, but everyone else was eager about the plan.
Catching several members of the Rising—in the palace, no less—would be a massive blow to the Rising.
Samuel had already agreed to help, and so had Ivan.
Now, they just had to wait for Bram to make contact again.
Distracted by his thoughts, Carver missed what led Morelli to say to Amryn, “If you need any embarrassing childhood stories about him, I’m happy to oblige.”
Carver groaned, while Cregon and Elowen chuckled.
Amryn’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she assured Morelli.
He winked. “Please do. Though, all joking aside, Carver is an extremely good man.”
“He is,” Amryn said, and something in Carver loosened at hearing her verbal agreement.
Morelli elbowed Carver’s arm lightly. “I think you’re rather lucky,” he said conspiratorially.
Carver met Amryn’s gaze. “I’m well aware.”
Her cheeks pinkened.
Would he always feel a thrill of satisfaction when he made her blush? Saints, he hoped so.
Elowen let out a dramatic sigh, her mouth curved up at both corners. “You two are adorable. Your love story is an absolute fairy tale. I’m so bloody jealous.”
Cregon scowled at his second eldest daughter. “Language, El.”
Elowen gave him a look. “You said worse over breakfast this morning.”
“I’m the High General of Craethen, and your father. I’m allowed to swear.”
“Mother disagrees.”
“Your mother isn’t here.”
“I know. That’s why she hired me to be her spy.”
Cregon frowned. “She did not.”
Elowen flashed a secretive smile, then rose on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I have a few friends I promised to find before dinner. I’ll see you all later.”
They said their goodbyes before watching her flit away.
His sister had always been friendly and sociable.
Carver had only minded when she started noticing young men.
Or rather, when they had started to notice her.
He’d threatened his fair share of her admirers.
Then Elowen had found out, and she’d threatened him.
He might have ignored her, but his mother had joined in, and that was one woman he had no desire to cross.
He still kept an eye on her, though.
A servant with wine came by, and they each took a glass.
Morelli took a slow sip. “No Berron tonight?”
Cregon’s brow furrowed slightly. “He’s around here somewhere.”
The unexpected news made Carver tense. He still hadn’t seen his brother since arriving in Zagrev, though he assumed Berron was occupying his usual room next to Carver’s own.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly feel ready to face Berron again.
Things between them were too bitter, too strained, too broken.
He certainly didn’t feel prepared at the moment, considering the questions he needed to ask his brother.
Their relationship couldn’t really get worse, but it certainly wouldn’t improve when Carver asked if Berron was a traitor.
Still, Jamir’s claims had to be investigated.
Morelli settled a consoling hand on Cregon’s shoulder. “He’s improving. Not fast enough, but . . . I’ve seen glimpses of promise since he’s been here.”
“So have I,” Cregon murmured.
The mood in their small circle had shifted to something much too somber for the room’s atmosphere.
True to form, it seemed to bother Morelli the most. The naturally jovial man cleared his throat, obviously searching for a safer topic.
“Carver, I noticed Morav across the room. If you wanted to ask her a few questions, we could go together. It might make things feel less like an interrogation, and more like a conversation.”
Carver didn’t want to leave Amryn. But he knew he shouldn’t miss this opportunity to speak with Chancellor Morav.
Even if she wasn’t the one targeting Jayveh, she could perhaps shed some light on who might be, since she knew the other chancellors.
Still, indecision tugged at him. Two loyalties, pulling him opposite ways.
He had to wonder what Amryn sensed from him when she offered a thin smile. “Go. I’m fine.”
“I’ll stay with her,” his father offered.
Amryn didn’t look entirely reassured, but Carver was. He knew his father would make sure she remained safe.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss against her temple. “I’ll return before dinner starts,” he murmured.
She gave him a small nod. He caught the flicker of nervousness in her eyes, and his resolve wavered. Still, he forced himself to step away.
He and Morelli navigated the crowd, and Chancellor Morav had just come into view when High Cleric Lisbeth slipped in front of them. Her eyes slid right to him, and Carver couldn’t help but feel a chill as the woman gave him a narrow smile. “General Vincetti. I was hoping to run into you.”