Chapter 31 Amryn
Amryn
Amryn was just stepping out of her room when she spotted Berron returning to his.
“Hello, Berron,” she called out.
He scowled at her.
It had been two days since she had last seen him, though this time Carver wasn’t with her.
He was in a meeting with his father and some of the other generals to discuss the trouble along the border.
Amryn suspected Carver’s mood would be heavy when he returned, and she hated that for him.
He was already under too much stress, and she knew he hadn’t been sleeping well.
He certainly hadn’t been eating well. He regularly missed meals due to his many obligations and his continuing investigation into Trevill’s death.
Hector, the emperor’s steward, had given him a list of people who had all learned the Chosen would be returning to Zagrev, so he had quite a lot of people to question.
She didn’t like that he wasn’t taking care of himself, though.
Amryn suddenly wondered if anyone noticed if Berron was sleeping or eating. Something in her chest tightened. “How are you?” she asked.
Carver’s brother stared wordlessly at her, the ties of his eyepatch looser than last time she’d seen him. She wondered who tied it for him, or if he merely tugged it on and off until it was so loose he had no choice but to ask for help. Her heart hurt at the thought.
She knew Berron didn’t want sympathy or assistance.
She’d sensed that clearly enough when she’d helped him unlock his door the other day, just as she’d sensed he’d react better to subtle gestures of help, especially if she used humor.
He seemed most comfortable when he employed humor—even if it was dark and biting.
Into the growing silence, Amryn said, “I’m on my way to meet Jayveh and Sadia for tea in the garden.”
Berron said nothing.
Amryn tried to read his emotions, but it was hard to discern anything when it was all just varying shades of black. He wasn’t in a good mood.
But he hadn’t turned away.
She cleared her throat. “We’re helping Jayveh plan the emperor’s ball. I’m not very good at these things, but—”
“I didn’t ask where you were going,” he snapped.
Trying to act more undeterred than she felt, Amryn asked, “Would you like to join us?”
He blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” She cracked a small smile. “You can’t be any worse at planning a ball than I am.”
Berron’s dark brows slashed down. He said nothing else, just stepped into his room and slammed the door.
She supposed that was answer enough.
Sighing, she turned—and reared back when she saw Ivan standing right there. She slapped a hand over her pounding heart. “Saints, I didn’t hear you.”
Ivan was frowning at Berron’s door. “A Vincetti?” he asked.
“Yes. Carver’s brother.” Her brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you would be meeting with Jayveh and Sadia this morning.” The fact that he was here to escort her was not stated, but obvious.
She didn’t bother arguing. She politely dismissed the bodyguard Carver had arranged for her, and she and Ivan made their way down the stairs. “How did you know I was meeting them?” Amryn asked.
Ivan glanced at her. “Elowen mentioned it.”
Amryn smiled slowly. “When were you with Elowen?”
The slightest hint of color touched his high cheekbones. “We went for a walk last night.”
She couldn’t hold back her grin. She’d spent a little more time with Carver’s sister since the feast, and while they’d talked of many things, Elowen seemed the most interested when she asked casually worded questions about the Sibeten prince.
Amryn also couldn’t help but notice the way Elowen’s eyes lit up whenever Ivan made an appearance—which seemed to be any time Amryn needed an escort around the palace.
Or any time he thought Elowen might be visiting in Amryn’s suite.
The way the two of them looked at each other, and the emotions that bloomed whenever they did, made Amryn’s own heart race.
She hadn’t mentioned anything to Carver yet. She had a feeling he’d realize it for himself soon enough.
Ivan grunted. “Stop smiling like that.”
It only made her grin wider.
Tea was waiting for them on a shaded patio in a private section of the emperor’s vast gardens. Ivan positioned himself with Jayveh’s bodyguards, the group of men doing their best to give the illusion of privacy to the women.
While they waited for Hector and Chancellor Morav to arrive so they could continue planning for the upcoming ball, they chatted about a variety of things. The weather. The delicious pastries that had been served with their tea. The beautiful flowers that bloomed all around them.
Then Sadia asked, “Has High Cleric Lisbeth been cornering each of you?”
Amryn shook her head, though Jayveh said, “Yes.”
At Amryn’s surprised look, the princess explained, “She’s come to pray with me a few times. I think she truly wants to help us process what happened at Esperance.”
Amryn vaguely remembered Lisbeth’s offer of counseling, and she knew the female cleric had approached both Carver and Ivan with similar offers.
Jayveh lifted her teacup. “The prayers and meditations have actually brought me some peace.”
Amryn took a slow sip of her own tea, but the drink did nothing to warm her. She didn’t like the idea of Lisbeth spending time with Jayveh. Something about the high cleric continued to unnerve her.
“I’m glad she’s helping you,” Sadia said to Jayveh. Her finger slid over the delicate handle on her teacup. “She apologized to me for the way Zacharias accused me of being an empath.”
A shiver rippled through Jayveh. “I still can’t believe he thought you were one of those monsters.”
Amryn’s heart lurched. She set down her cup, the small clink barely registering as her pulse raced.
“The whole thing confuses me,” Sadia said, lines appearing on her forehead. “I didn’t really question Samuel’s healing at Esperance. I called it a miracle, and that was that. But we’ve talked about it since, and it just doesn’t make any sense. Why would an empath heal anyone?”
“I don’t know.” A furrow grew between Jayveh’s brows. “But it makes me worry that there’s something else going on that we don’t understand yet. Some larger plot we’re not aware of. And if an empath is involved . . .” She shook her head. “I fear we’re in more danger than we realize.”
Thankfully, Hector and Morav arrived then, ending the conversation before Amryn was expected to contribute to it.
The emperor’s steward looked a little more harried than usual as he took his seat, but he didn’t hesitate to pull out ink and paper from his satchel, and then they resumed their planning.
Even though Amryn was there as they discussed food, music, and how to decorate the garden space—a setting the emperor had insisted upon—she felt removed from the others at the table.
She couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react if they knew she was the empath they feared.
Amryn thanked Ivan for walking her back to her room. He studied her carefully but didn’t ask her to explain why she’d been subdued since leaving the garden. Perhaps he’d overheard their conversation about empaths, and he knew exactly why there were shadows in her eyes.
“I am here if you ever need me, il mishka,” was all he said.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He dipped his chin and then he was gone.
As Amryn reached into her pocket for her key, one of the guards at her door said, “It’s unlocked, my lady.”
She frowned. She didn’t understand the look the guards exchanged, but she felt an unexpected pulse of .
. . anticipation? She instinctively reached out with her empathic sense, using the bloodstone’s help to discern things more clearly.
She didn’t sense any menace or danger from the guards, but she did sense someone in the room.
Her frown only deepened as she stepped into the suite—and nearly ran into Ford, who was on his way out.
He grasped her arms, steadying them both. “Saints,” he swore, though his tone was good-natured. “Don’t tell Carver I wasn’t fast enough.”
Amryn’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
Ford grinned. “He wanted it to be a surprise. Frankly, I think he wanted you to think he’d done it all himself, but he only ordered everything. And had the idea. And wrote a note that’s bound to be sickeningly sentimental, but let’s all remember that he had me set it up.”
Her confusion only grew. “What are you talking about?”
He gave her arms a gentle squeeze before releasing her and taking a step back. “I sincerely don’t know how you lug such an unwieldy thing around. I nearly dropped it three times. But don’t tell Carver that.” He sent her a wink, then stepped around her and closed the door behind him.
Utterly lost, Amryn turned to face the room—and froze.
Propped against one of the cushioned chairs was a cello. The polished wood gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight that poured in from the glass balcony doors. A beautifully ornate music stand stood beside it.
Shock gripped her, but she managed to drift forward, her skirt whispering against the floor as she crossed the room.
Her fingertips ghosted over the strings, the long, smooth neck .
. . and then she looked into the open case that had been laid out on the floor.
A bow rested inside, along with a stack of sheet music and an envelope with her name on it, written in a neat, masculine script.
Her heart pounded as she knelt before the case and lifted the envelope.
A single sheet of paper was folded inside.
Amryn,
I’m sorry it took me so long to give this to you. I know how much music means to you, and how difficult it’s been for you to live without it. I hope this cello measures up to the one you had to leave in Ferradin.
—Carver
The paper trembled in her grip. Her free hand covered her mouth, her throat too tight and her eyes suddenly stinging.
She tucked the letter back into the envelope and pressed it into the case, knowing she would always keep it there.
She leafed through the stack of music, noting many of the songs were written by composers from Ferradin.
She knew several of the pieces, but there were new ones to learn as well.
She also found a small bar of rosin, which smelled faintly of pine, and a soft, deep purple cleaning cloth. There were even spare strings.
Carver had thought of everything.
Her heart felt too full. Like her chest was ready to burst with the pressure of her joy, her gratitude. Love.
She had never been given such a perfect gift.
She eased the bow free and balanced it in her hands. Her fingers slipped effortlessly into position, the weight of the bow a comfortable reminder of hours spent playing.
The cello sitting before her was easily the most beautiful instrument she’d ever seen, clearly crafted by a master. The gleaming surface was perfectly carved and pieced together. A thrill shot through her as she let her fingers wander over the smooth curves and planes of the polished wood.
She didn’t remember standing, but she was suddenly lowering herself to the edge of the chair, shifting the cello into position in front of her, tuning it until it sounded perfect to her ear.
Then she was playing the first notes of one of her favorite pieces.
Long, drawn-out pulls of her bow. The subtle rocking of her wrist as she pressed her fingertips against the strings.
Low, resonant chords filled the room and her eyes fell closed.
She bowed her head, letting everything she felt pour out of her and into her music.
She was barely aware of the tears that leaked from her eyes. All she could do was feel.
One piece slid into the next. Some songs she played were slow and aching.
Some were lovely and gut-wrenching. Others, passionate and furious.
She poured out her grief at losing Argent.
Her fury at the knights, Tam, and whoever was targeting Jayveh.
Her pain at knowing her friends thought all empaths were monsters.
Her fear of the bloodstone, and the uncertainty of the future.
Her sorrow that Carver seemed intent on holding back from her.
And the unrelenting terror that she would lose everyone she’d come to love.
She poured out every agony of her soul. Filled the room with everything she couldn’t verbalize, but could no longer bear to carry.
The warm, deep notes enveloped her. Soothed her.
The vibration of the strings under her fingers, the drag of the bow—it felt like a missing part of her had been restored, offering a comfort so deep it reached her very soul.
Once, she thought she sensed Berron standing on his balcony, listening. She hoped something in the music would reach him.
She was unaware of the passage of time, oblivious to the sun as it shifted across the room. She didn’t notice the ache in her fingertips, which were no longer used to playing so relentlessly against the strings.
Amryn lost herself in the music—and she found herself, too.