Chapter 32 Carver
Carver
Carver heard the muted music before he reached their room. His footsteps slowed as he drew closer, until he stilled completely right in the middle of the corridor, in full view of the guards stationed at the door.
He didn’t care. He was rooted to the floor as he listened to Amryn play.
The music was breathtaking. Beyond anything he’d heard before, at any concert hall he’d ever visited. It was as if Amryn’s very soul lived in the notes. Vibrant. Spectacular. Beautiful.
She had downplayed her skill. Drastically.
One of the guards—a soldier named Allen—watched him, his voice a low murmur as he said, “She’s been playing for hours.”
Carver’s chest burned. Saints, he should have given her the cello sooner.
Music continued to drift through the closed door. It was one of the reasons Carver hadn’t opened it yet. He knew the moment he stepped inside the room, the song would end.
Soul-gripping. That was the best way to describe her playing. The song was beautiful, even though it was sad. Some of the chords were so deep, so mournful, it wrenched something inside his chest.
Hearing the music Amryn created was almost like a chance for him to feel what she felt as an empath.
This was the closest he could ever come to knowing her emotions.
To feeling them. It was a gift, even if it bruised his soul to think she might be feeling any measure of the heartbreak she poured into her music.
When the last drawn-out note faded, Carver eased into the room.
Amryn sat in the corner of the suite, the grayish light of early evening spilled over her.
She sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, her long skirt flowing in a graceful waterfall behind the large cello.
Though she wasn’t playing, her graceful hand still circled the neck of the instrument, and her other held the long bow that was poised above the strings.
Her posture was upright, almost regal, and with her red hair spilling down her back and over her shoulders, she was truly breathtaking.
Then he realized there was no music sitting in front of her. The song she’d just played had come from inside her. Somehow, he was both humbled and impressed by that, even though his heart suddenly ached.
Her eyes found him. “Carver.” It was only his name, but the hushed way she whispered it was everything.
He pushed the door closed, his eyes not leaving her. “You’re incredible.”
Color bloomed on her cheeks as she lowered the bow. “You were listening?”
“Just that last piece. It was . . .” There were too many words, yet none were sufficient. He shook his head. “You’re extremely talented.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, then set aside her bow, her hand flexing against the soreness he had no doubt she felt after hours of playing.
He knew the wound on her arm no longer bothered her, but he had to wonder if it was protesting now.
Before he could ask, she said, “Thank you doesn’t feel like enough.
This cello . . .” Her hand ran gently down the long neck of the instrument, her head shaking slowly. “It’s beautiful, Carver.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He would have given her a thousand cellos just to see that light in her eyes. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “If there’s anything else you need—any piece of music you want—let me know.”
“You’re spoiling me.”
“You deserve it.”
That flush remained in her cheeks as she busied herself with loosening the tension in the bow before putting everything away. Her movements were careful and practiced, her touch so soft it was nearly reverent.
He wandered closer. “That song you just played . . . did you write it?”
She glanced up at him. “No. It’s just a piece I memorized a long time ago.”
Beautiful as it had been, he hated that she’d played such a sad, tormented song often enough to memorize it.
“Is that how you feel?” he asked quietly.
She glanced up at him, her hands resting against the closed lid of the case. “Sometimes.”
He swallowed hard. “It was . . .” Heartbreaking.
Her mouth pressed into a line. “I was thinking of Jayveh and Argent. That’s what her grief feels like.”
He couldn’t imagine what that must be like, to feel another’s grief so completely. Feeling his own loss was agonizing enough.
“I was also thinking about you.”
Her soft words were a physical blow. His lungs locked. “I make you feel that way?” Her song had been beyond sorrow. Devastated came closer to what he’d just heard from her. The thought that he caused her to feel that way gutted him.
Her expression gentled, though her sea green eyes remained turbulent.
“No, not at all.” She rose, straightening to stand before him.
“I know how lost you feel sometimes. How desperate you are to protect me and everyone else around you. I know you’re exhausted, but you can’t sleep.
Sometimes, you’re glad you can’t, and I think that’s because you don’t want to fall into another nightmare.
” Her lips pursed. “I know how dark your nightmares are. I know you don’t want anyone to know just how many demons haunt you.
And I know how much guilt you carry, especially for Argent. How much it tortures you.”
Carver stared at her, his heart pounding. His mouth was dry, his palms slick. She’d just laid bare nearly every one of his vulnerabilities.
Amryn met his gaze, and he swore he saw her own vulnerability shining back. “I know there are things you never want me to know. About Harvari . . .” Her throat flexed as she swallowed. “I just wish I knew how to help you.”
Carver’s breathing had thinned. “I can’t talk about that.” Any of it.
Amryn’s expression closed off, but not before he saw a flicker of hurt.
He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I'm sorry," he murmured. "Please understand . . .” He couldn’t talk about it. Couldn’t bear to think about telling her, of all people, what he had suffered. How he’d broken.
“I understand,” she whispered.
He didn’t think she did. But when she tugged her hand away from his, he let her go.
Amryn’s scream ripped Carver from sleep.
He was already reaching for the blade he kept on the bedside table, his eyes blinking into the darkness of their room. Moonlight filtered in through the balcony door.
The open balcony door.
A shadow stood at the foot of their bed.
Carver cursed and shoved up, one hand clenched around his knife, the other jerking the blankets aside so he could free his legs.
The shadow rushed forward.
Amryn cried out a warning. Carver’s foot caught in the tangled sheet.
He bit out a curse as the attacker lunged, knife raised.
Rolling to his knees, Carver lifted his own dagger.
The blades clashed. The jolt traveled up Carver’s tensed arm, but he was already striking out with his free fist, burying it in the man’s gut. The assassin grunted and fell back.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Amryn shift. “Stay back!” he barked, his terror all for her in that moment.
She scrambled backwards until her spine hit the headboard.
The assassin’s blade flashed again. Carver parried the blow, this time with enough force the assassin stumbled.
Carver finally kicked free of the clinging sheet and leaped off the bed, taking a defensive stance beside it.
He was sure to keep his body between the attacker and Amryn, braced for the man’s next attack.
“There’s another!” Amryn gasped. “Carver—!”
Someone rammed into his side. They bounced off the side of the bed and slammed to the floor.
Carver kept hold of his knife through sheer training.
The relentless practice—honed over years—also helped him absorb the fall and made it instinctual for him to pull his attacker closer, right into his angled blade.
The knife entered the man’s throat.
Gurgling filled his ears. His pulse thundered, his eyes fixed on the assassin’s wide-eyed gaze.
It was stunned and quickly dimming of life.
They’d surprised each other. Carver had been so focused on the man’s friend, he hadn’t seen this assassin until it was too late.
And the assassin had vastly underestimated Carver.
Not only his skills, but his fierce need to protect his wife. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her.
The assassin slumped lifelessly, and Carver shoved free of his heavy body.
He looked to Amryn and saw her doubled over on the bed. Panic flared, until he recognized her quiet retching.
The life he’d just taken. She’d felt it. Saints, any blow he delivered was going to hurt her. How was he supposed to protect her when—
The other assassin charged forward, dagger swinging.
Carver sprang to his feet, striking out first. He wasn’t aiming to kill. He just needed to disarm him. Subdue him, so Amryn wouldn’t have to feel his death. It would also give Carver someone to interrogate.
As he wrestled with the attacker, he was aware of Amryn sliding off the bed. The way her eyes darted to the door, he knew she was hoping to reach it. To get help, probably from the guards in the hall. Frankly, Carver was surprised they hadn’t rushed in already.
“Help!” Amryn shouted as she darted for the door, her voice sounding too breathless and pained.
Carver tackled the last assassin standing, not giving him a chance to run after her.
The assassin punched Carver in the ribs. The blow momentarily stunned him, but the bite of pain cleared some of the last vestiges of sleep.
He finally realized why the guards hadn’t rushed inside.
His gut dropped, even as his head snapped up. “Amryn, stop!”
But she’d already opened the door. Opened it easily, because it hadn’t been locked. And the guard who stepped into view looked livid as he shoved Amryn back into the room.
“You said it’d be quiet!” the palace guardsman hissed.