Chapter 38
Carver
Carver stepped out of the jeweler’s shop wholly satisfied.
Though the errand had taken longer than anticipated, the jeweler had been thrilled to create such a unique piece.
They’d talked through many options, and Carver had looked at different settings, styles and gems before settling on a design he thought Amryn would like.
While the gift served a practical purpose, he wanted her to enjoy wearing it.
The jeweler assured him the commissioned piece could be completed in a couple of weeks, if he prioritized it above all his other projects.
Carver paid him handsomely to do just that.
When he reached Piera Denvoux’s shop, he wasn’t surprised to find Amryn and the others had already left. He turned toward Market Square, knowing that’s where Elowen would have pulled them all.
“Carver!”
He pivoted, fighting back a curse as he spied Rhone Quinn in the crowd. The man was dressed in the customary red uniform that marked him a knight of the Order. The garish color made him stand out.
“Rhone,” he greeted with curt politeness.
“What brings you into the city?” Rhone asked as he came to a stop before him.
“Just some errands. You?”
“The same.” Rhone offered a smile. “It’s rare I have time to myself, but when I do, I like to visit old collection shops. It’s a particular hobby of mine to search for forgotten treasures. You never know what might be hiding, just waiting for discovery.”
He couldn’t picture Rhone rummaging around dusty shops of antiques, but then again, Carver had a hard time imagining him being anything other than a knight. When Carver had met Rivard so many years ago, his older brother had already been fully knighted.
“Have you come alone?” Rhone asked.
Carver nearly said yes, but it didn’t seem worth it. He didn’t want to be caught in a lie, no matter how seemingly innocent. “No. My wife, sister, and Ford are here. Ivan Baranov as well. I had a separate errand to run, but they’re expecting me.” It was a subtle cue that he didn’t want to linger.
“Ah.” Rhone’s unwavering smile remained in place. “I don’t wish to keep you from them. Perhaps I can walk with you?”
It was the last thing Carver wanted. Even if the bloodstone shielded Amryn from detection, he didn’t want her anywhere near Rhone. But there was no polite way around it. He nodded, and they began making their way toward the nearby square.
“I’m relieved you and Amryn are both all right after the attack in your room,” Rhone said. “Have you made any progress figuring out who hired the assassins?”
“No.” The frustration he felt made the word come out hard.
Carver had been interviewing everyone Trevill had named, as well as the people the emperor had shared Jayveh’s letter with.
The list Hector had given him was longer than he liked.
Thankfully, his father and Morelli had both stepped in to help whenever their duties allowed.
“I’m sorry,” Rhone said. “Let me know if I can assist in any way.” When Carver merely inclined his head, the knight changed the subject. “I heard Berron is at the palace, but I haven’t seen him yet. How is he?”
Carver thought of his brother’s dark gaze. His biting sarcasm. The constant pain Amryn said he was in. “He’s been better. But he’s also been worse.”
“Sonne is a curse.” Rhone shook his dark head. “I saw horrible changes in my brother as well. It’s difficult to witness.”
Carver didn’t reply. There wasn’t really a need. Especially when the truth hung over them: Rhone’s brother was the one who had first given sonne to his brother.
Rhone sighed. “I know this is a difficult topic for us, but I want you to know I understand your position, because I lived it with Rivard. It’s difficult watching your younger brother struggle. If you ever need someone to talk to about your frustrations, I’m here.”
As if he would ever confide in the knight. Still, he murmured, “Thank you.”
The crowd thickened as they drew closer to the square. Carver was trying to think of a polite way to disentangle himself from the knight when Rhone said, “I’m curious about something.”
Carver glanced at the man beside him. “What?”
Rhone sidestepped a mother gripping the hands of two small children. The mother paled when she spotted Rhone’s red uniform. She quickly tugged her children a different way.
She wasn’t the only one who shied away from Rhone. Knights might be a rare sight, but everyone in Craethen knew what that uniform meant. Truthfully, if Carver was in his uniform he’d probably garner the same reaction.
People had an innate aversion to dangerous men.
Rhone clasped his hands behind his back, seemingly untroubled by the reactions of those around him. “Now that you’ve had more time to consider your time in Esperance, I was curious if you’ve recalled anything that might be helpful in our hunt for the empath.”
Carver should have expected the question, since Rhone had asked Amryn the same thing only yesterday. Still, muscles in his back tensed as he said, “Nothing that comes to mind.”
“A pity. Sometimes, clarity comes with time and distance. When I asked Prince Samuel the other day, he confided a new detail.” He shrugged, the motion almost nonchalant. “I thought I’d ask, just in case.”
Carver kept his eyes trained ahead. He probably shouldn’t ask. It risked showing interest. But he’d already demonstrated curiosity during his interview with the knight, so . . . “What did Samuel recall?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.
Rhone cast him a look, and Carver knew they were both perfectly aware of the truth.
Neither of them was as indifferent as they were pretending to be.
The corner of Rhone’s lip twitched. “You have the curiosity of a knight, Carver.”
“No. I have the curiosity of a general.”
Rhone chuckled. “Perhaps. We fight in different ways, but the goal is the same—the defense of the innocent and the protection of the empire.”
Except when it came down to it, Carver answered to the emperor and Rhone answered to the Holy Superior of the Church. That alone made them fundamentally different. Also, Carver did all he could to protect the innocent, while Rhone hunted them indiscriminately.
They entered the bustling square. There were the usual hagglers and shoppers, as well as musicians and other street performers. Clusters of people choked the entire square. Carver had no idea how he’d find Amryn, but he instinctively started scanning the crowd for fiery red hair.
Rhone straightened beside him, both of them pausing as a handcart laden with crates of grapes rolled in front of them.
“Prince Samuel recounted his miraculous healing during his interview, but when I asked him about it the other day, he recalled more. Specifically, how it felt.” Rhone’s brow grew lined as they resumed walking.
“The wound was knit unnaturally, of course. That alone felt strange. Wrong. But he said he sensed a shift in the healing, toward the end. It changed from an overall feeling of warmth to something sinister. He knew in that moment that, just as easily as his body was repaired, it could have been torn apart again.”
The back of Carver’s neck prickled. Had Samuel somehow felt the bloodstone overtaking Amryn’s will?
That could explain the menacing edge he’d detected.
Carver hadn’t felt anything sinister when Amryn had healed him of Tam’s poison.
Mostly, Carver remembered feeling panic.
It had grabbed hold the moment he realized Amryn was somehow pulling the deadly poison into herself.
He’d felt fear, too. That she was saving him, at the expense of herself, had terrified him.
But Samuel’s wound had been far more grievous.
Perhaps it had taken longer to heal, so he’d had more of a chance to feel the bloodstone as it had taken more and more from Amryn.
Carver knew Rhone was waiting for a response. He cleared his throat. “What do you think could cause such a shift?” he asked.
“There are a few possibilities. We already know the empath is dangerously powerful. Most healings I’m aware of must be done in immediate proximity—through touch.
And yet, all in the temple were healed at the same time.
That is unprecedented strength. Terrifying strength.
It’s possible Samuel was simply reacting to the inherent threat in such immense power.
” Rhone’s mouth tightened. “If the empath was Tam, the ominous feeling also makes sense. But the healing itself doesn’t, since it was one of her men that stabbed Samuel.
” He shook his head. “It’s possible there were multiple empaths in the temple, though that still doesn’t explain the absolute power. Unless . . .”
Carver glanced at him. “Unless what?”
Rhone released a breath. “There is another explanation. It delves into lore that few even . . .” His voice trailed off, his eyes sharpening.
Carver tensed. Not just from Rhone’s words—Saints, was he about to talk about the bloodstones?—but because the knight had stiffened.
He followed Rhone’s gaze, cutting through the laughing crowd to see a man skirting its outskirts, headed for an alleyway across the square.
There was nothing about the man’s clothes that drew the eye, but his skulking gait didn’t fit the mood of the others in the market.
Alertness shot through Carver. “Do you recognize him?”
“No,” Rhone said. Like Carver, he’d merely seen the man and felt an instinctual suspicion. The man might be nothing more than a petty thief. No one truly dangerous. But pickpockets lost themselves in crowds, while this man was avoiding them. Simple observation screamed he was up to nothing good.