Chapter 34 Carver
Carver
Carver’s mother had surprised them all with her arrival in Zagrev—including Cregon.
“I told her to stay in Westmont,” he grumbled as they waited for the carriage in the palace courtyard.
Alora Vincetti did not like staying at the palace when she visited the capital.
She preferred to have her own kitchen and garden, and a yard where her younger children could run freely.
Cregon had bought her a large townhome near the palace soon after they were married, and that’s where she currently waited for them.
She had invited them all over for dinner.
“She was supposed to send Jayveh’s brothers with Hugo,” Cregon continued to mutter. “Not escort them herself.”
Carver couldn’t help but smile. “Mother has always chosen her own path.”
“And I love her for it,” his father said. “I just wish she’d listen to me when it comes to matters of her safety.” Cregon never liked it when his wife traveled without him. Even if she had an army of guards, he stressed if he wasn’t with her. Now that Carver was married, he understood perfectly.
Amryn stood beside him, along with Ford. They were waiting on Elowen—who apparently needed to change, since she’d been out riding—and Jayveh, who Carver knew would be anxious to see her brothers after their months of separation.
The carriage would be full, but when Alora Vincetti invited you to dinner, you did not refuse.
Unless you were Berron, apparently.
When Carver and Amryn had left their room, they’d run into his brooding brother. Berron’s usual scowl was twisting his face, and the way his eye darkened when it landed on Carver was not unexpected.
“Did you hear your mother arrived in Zagrev?” Amryn asked.
Berron’s focus slid to her. There was a subtle softening of his hard expression as he said, “My father told me.”
“Do you want to walk down to the carriage with us?” she asked.
Any sign of softening vanished. “I’m not going.”
“I’d love it if you came,” Amryn said. “It would be nice to have a friendly face there.”
Berron blinked, then gestured to his surly expression. “What in the world makes you believe this is a friendly face?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It must be that charming personality of yours, Berron. It shines right through.”
He shook his head and stepped into his room.
Carver saw Amryn’s shoulders fall slightly, and he wanted to curse. Her words were still ringing in his head. “I know I’m not your first priority.”
He had no idea what to make of that statement. He had responsibilities he couldn’t neglect, especially if he wanted to make sure they could leave Zagrev as soon as the emperor’s ball was behind them, but for her to think she wasn’t a priority to him? Nothing could be further from the truth.
Their conversation had been interrupted, which meant he hadn’t been able to reassure her enough to banish the shadows in her eyes. But he couldn’t bear to see them darken further.
“Berron,” he called out.
His brother’s single eye flew to him.
Carver remembered every word Amryn had said about Berron’s pain and the scars no one realized he bore. He knew his wife was trying to heal those scars, and his stubborn brother was making it as difficult as possible. He didn’t want Amryn to think she was alone in trying to help him.
“Thank you,” he said.
Berron froze, his hand on the door, ready to close it.
Carver shifted his weight. “The other night, when you came to help . . . I didn’t get a chance to thank you. Especially for staying with Amryn like you did. For taking care of her when I couldn’t.”
Amryn set a hand against his lower back, a silent gesture of gratitude and support.
Berron stared at Carver, his jaw working. In the end, he said nothing before closing the door on them. But even if he was going to ignore the words, Carver felt better for having said them. And when he caught Amryn’s eyes, they were brighter than before. That counted for something.
The carriage rolled up just as Elowen joined them.
She and Ford were the first to enter the carriage, and Carver was helping Amryn inside when Jayveh arrived.
She had several bodyguards with her, who would be riding horses so they could better protect the carriage.
Not that Carver was especially worried about an attack.
His mother’s impromptu appearance hadn’t given assassins much time for planning.
Once they were all inside, the carriage lurched forward. Amryn’s tense arm brushed his. He knew she was nervous to meet his mother. He didn’t know how to convince her that Alora Vincetti, while a force to be reckoned with, was the most warm-hearted person in the entire empire.
It didn’t take long before the carriage turned into the quiet neighborhood that housed the Vincetti townhome. The properties here were all large and mostly owned by the elite of the Craethen Empire. The row of homes were painted with the last blazing light of the late afternoon sun.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the large townhouse.
Cregon was the first one out, with Jayveh following close behind.
Elowen and Ford went next, but before Amryn could follow, Carver gently caught her wrist. “You don’t need to be anxious,” he said, his thumb glancing over her soft skin. “My mother is going to love you.”
Her pale green eyes held painful nervousness. “What if she doesn’t?”
The insecurity in her voice broke his heart. “She will, sweetheart.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His hand shifted so his fingers could tangle with hers. “She’s going to love you because you’re incredible.”
She bit her lip.
Giving into the impulse, he stroked his free thumb over her lower lip, freeing it from her teeth. He leaned in and brushed her worried lips with his own.
The kiss was supposed to be quick and gentle, but it still set his blood aflame. Forcing himself to pull back, he whispered, “Trust me.”
She studied his face, more intently than he’d expected. After a long moment, she whispered, “I’m trusting you with everything, Carver.”
He couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes, but there was an awful sinking in his gut. Like he’d made a mistake, only he didn’t know what it was. He certainly didn’t know how to fix it. Something was straining the air between them, and he hated it.
Amryn slid across the bench, moving toward the carriage door. Carver followed right behind her, so he was there to see his father offer a hand to Amryn.
She hesitated before taking it.
Cregon’s smile barely faltered as he helped her down, but Carver still saw it.
Elowen, Ford, and Jayveh were already halfway up the gravel path that led to the gleaming black door.
The caretakers of the home kept everything in perfect condition when the Vincettis weren’t in residence.
From the paint on the door and shutters to the pink and white flowers that grew alongside the path, the townhome was inviting.
The stonework was a light sandstone, and there were tall windows on each of the three floors.
Carver could even make out some of the potted fronds and trees on the rooftop garden his mother loved.
Memories tugged at Carver as he stared at the townhome.
It wasn’t his childhood home, but he’d spent much of his childhood here.
Even when he’d grown up and opted to stay at the palace, he’d visited here whenever his mother traveled to Zagrev.
Argent had accompanied him here many times.
That thought brought a melancholy edge to the home.
Especially when he wondered if Berron would ever step foot in it again, either.
The door swung open and a flood of people rushed out. Two boys ran for Jayveh, who let out a strangled laugh that bordered on a cry as she embraced them both at the same time.
“CARVER!”
The mingled shouts of his name were yet another surprise, but he grinned as Fowler and Wren ran for him.
He braced as his two youngest siblings slammed into him, and he just managed to keep them all from tumbling to the ground.
He laughed and hugged them while they spoke in an excited rush.
Distantly, he heard Elowen grumble good-naturedly about being overlooked.
“Did we surprise you?” Fowler asked. The ten-year-old seemed to be bursting with energy as he clutched Carver’s arm and jumped in place.
“Completely,” Carver admitted.
Wren beamed, her words almost running together in her eagerness. “Mother didn’t even tell Father we were coming but we all wanted to see you and your new wife—well, Loreena and Leo stayed behind with Bethi and Jerome—but the rest of us came!”
Carver wasn’t surprised his older sister had remained in Westmont with her husband and two young children. Leo was Cregon’s top strategist, and he usually remained in Westmont whenever the High General was called away.
Keene wandered up to him. Saints, his little brother had gotten tall. Smiling, Keene clapped a hand on Carver’s shoulder. “Glad to see living in that temple didn’t turn you into a cleric.”
“I left my robes at the palace,” Carver joked.
The sixteen-year-old laughed, then his eyes went to Amryn. They widened a little before he pasted on his most charming smile. “You must be Amryn. I’m Keene.”
Amryn might have been a little overwhelmed by the unexpected—and exuberant—crowd, but she smiled as she took Keene’s offered hand. “Carver’s told me a lot about you.”
“Don’t believe a word of it.” Keene paused. “Unless of course it was all good, then please believe every word.”
She chuckled.
Carver rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hold back his smile, especially as he turned his youngest siblings—now tucked under his arms—toward Amryn. “Fowler, Wren, this is my wife, Amryn.” He met her eyes, tightening his hold on his brother and sister. “Amryn, this is Fowler and Wren.”
Fowler, with awe in his voice, said, “I’ve never seen hair as red as yours.”
Color touched Amryn’s cheeks. “Oh, um . . . thank you?”
“It’s really pretty,” Wren said at once.
Fowler’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t say it wasn’t! I just said I’d never seen hair that red.”
Keene laughed softly and ruffled Fowler’s hair. “Smooth, little brother.”
The smaller boy kicked at his older brother’s shin, but because he didn’t move out from under Carver’s arm, his boot didn’t get close to landing.
That’s when their mother appeared beside them. “Can you all please not act like crazed animals in front of Amryn? She’s going to think the worst of us.”
Cregon already had his arm around his wife, but he released her so he could wave for Fowler and Wren to join him. They left Carver to embrace their father, almost as heartily as they’d hugged Carver.
Alora’s eyes settled on him. Unshed tears made them shine in the sunlight, but her bright smile was unstoppable. “Carver.” She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. She always smelled like her kitchen—warm and sweet with a hint of spice.
His throat closed up at the familiar scent.
“My sweet boy,” his mother whispered, squeezing him tightly. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“I’m not sure I believe you just yet.” She pulled back to study his face, as if assuring herself he was truly standing before her. Then she patted his cheek—and instantly grimaced. “You need to shave.”
He chuckled at the familiar critique before easing away. He scooped Amryn’s hand into his own, noting the slight tremble running through her as they faced his mother. He squeezed her chilled fingers. “Mother, this is Amryn,” he said, unmistakable pride filling him as he added, “My wife.”
Amryn inclined her head, her tone respectful as she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vincetti.”
“Oh, no need for any formalities, dear.” His mother embraced Amryn, perhaps slightly less tightly—but no less lovingly—than she’d just hugged him.
“You can call me Alora. Or Mother, if you prefer—Saints know a dozen others do.” When she drew back, she was smiling widely.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. Cregon told me a little about you, of course, but I can’t wait to get to know you myself.
You’re welcome in this home, always.” She brightened.
“In fact, why don’t you stay here with us? ”
Carver sighed. “Mother, we’re staying at the palace. The emperor wants—”
“Don’t mention the emperor to me,” Alora said with a scowl, planting her hands on her rounded hips. “That man refused to let me attend my own son’s wedding.”
Ford coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Alora twisted to face him. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Ford Gallo?”
Ford—wisely—chose to hug her. “Not at all, Mother Vincetti.”
Cregon stood with Wren tucked under his arm, his free hand resting on Fowler’s head. He was smiling as he said, “She still hasn’t responded to the emperor’s apology.”
“He sent me a letter,” Alora snapped. “And it was obviously written by Hector. Why should I forgive him so easily when he can’t even be bothered to speak to me himself?”
“He is the emperor,” Keene pointed out, long arms crossed over his chest. “He’s a little busy, I think.”
“I missed my firstborn son’s wedding,” Alora stressed. “And Argent’s! I can’t forgive that.”
Carver tensed at his friend’s name. A quick look at his father made it clear that Alora hadn’t been told about Argent’s fate yet. She must believe the public lie—that Argent was at the palace right now, only ill.
Alora glanced over at Jayveh. The princess had moved to the side of the yard to have a more private reunion with her brothers.
Her guards had fanned out, keeping watch.
Tears streamed down Jayveh’s face as she talked quietly with the two boys, all three of their dark heads bent close together.
Everything in Carver’s mother softened. “Those boys have missed her terribly.”
“She’s missed them, too,” Carver said.
She patted his arm. “I know how she feels. Being away from the ones you love—not knowing if they’re safe and well—is sheer torture.”
Carver wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m here, and I’m safe.”
“I’m so glad.” She pulled in a breath, then asked, “Berron?” It was only one word, but it held an ocean of longing.
Carver’s throat flexed as he shook his head.
Hurt flashed in her eyes, but then her shoulders straightened. Raising her voice enough for the others to hear, she said, “Let’s head inside. Dinner will be getting cold.”