Chapter 45
Amryn
Amryn would have been utterly bored during Hector’s very long and excruciatingly detailed tour of the palace if it weren’t for Carver.
As the steward droned on about architecture, antiques, and anything else that caught his attention, Carver walked beside her, supplying her with his own whispered commentary.
“. . . There’s actually a chip in that priceless vase. Loreena and I accidentally knocked it over when we were kids, and we just twisted it around so the cracked side faced the wall. We buried the broken shard in the gardens . . .”
“. . . Argent and I would leave each other notes in that plant. No idea why we thought it was such a secretive place, when obviously a servant watered the thing regularly . . .”
“. . . Saints, I hate that painting. Who wants to gaze at the Scorched Plains? It’s utterly depressing. And that has to be the ugliest shade of orange I’ve ever seen . . .”
“. . . Morelli once convinced me this hallway was haunted. He and my father even laid in wait one night to make the appropriate terrifying sounds. I think they wanted to scare me so I’d stop sneaking around at night with Argent, but of course it didn’t work—partly because Morelli couldn’t help but laugh when my father gave a particularly high-pitched scream, so I knew it was them . . .”
She loved every memory and thought he shared with her, no matter how insignificant. Even if sometimes she struggled not to laugh. After all the tension of the last few days, it was nice to see Carver smile.
Well, unless he caught sight of Ivan and Elowen.
The Sibeten prince had invited Carver’s sister to join the tour. The moment Carver had seen them together, he’d scowled. Amryn had done her best to distract him, and Jayveh and her slew of guards had helped act as a buffer.
Carver still sent Ivan sharp looks, especially whenever Ivan moved a little closer to Elowen, or ducked his head so he could catch whatever she wanted to whisper to him. But for the most part, Carver had allowed himself to ignore them.
Amryn was glad. As monotonous as the tour itself might be, she enjoyed spending time with her husband.
Since the attack in Market Square, Carver had been locked in more meetings than ever.
The newest fear was that the more violent factions in Harvari might learn of the strike and be emboldened, or even try to replicate it in other cities.
Amryn also knew Carver was worried about everything he’d learned from Hector about the Brotherhood.
While there wasn’t much he could do to help with that investigation, he had read through Hector’s notes.
Even though he suspected the Brotherhood had killed Trevill—and was also targeting the Chosen—he was still looking into all that as well.
Carver was stretched thin, but he still made time to visit Ford every day. Thankfully, his recovery was going smoothly, though he was restless, spending so much time in bed. He’d begged Amryn to bring her cello and play for him the next time she came to visit.
There were days Carver was kept so busy, Amryn rarely saw him.
She worried about the stress he carried, and the relentless demands being made of him.
The continued late nights and too-frequently skipped meals couldn’t be helping.
And yet, he always seemed more concerned about her, even though she was recovering well from her injuries.
Her various scrapes and bruises were fading, and she no longer needed the bandage around her throat.
Still, Carver was being extremely careful with her.
Perhaps too careful. While he gave her soft kisses, he kept in strict control each time.
It was a little maddening, to be honest. Especially after he’d kissed her into such blissful oblivion.
But the bond between them was stronger than ever.
While she regretted the way they’d fought, she was glad they’d finally shared the things they’d been holding inside.
Lost in her thoughts, Amryn didn’t realize they were headed into the palace’s chapel until they were already inside.
The vaulted room carried a chill the rest of the palace hadn’t, despite the soaring stained-glass windows that glowed with sunlight.
Even Hector grew more somber, his tone subdued as he led them through the vast space.
Incense burned, infusing the air with a heavy, cloying scent.
Endless rows of wooden pews faced an elaborate altar.
Lining the chapel were gated alcoves that contained treasures of the church and holy relics.
Some were objects that sainted men and women had owned—a ring, a piece of cloth, or a personal talisman of some kind—and others were actual bones of the saints.
Amryn fought a shiver when she saw the bones displayed in their velvet-lined cases.
She avoided looking inside the alcoves after that.
Everything in the chapel had been done to excess, from the detailed woodwork on each pew to the towering gold candelabra that ringed the space.
Large paintings depicting the All-Seeing Divinities, revered saints, and illustrated stories from scripture covered the walls.
The floor was made up of stone markers, showing where saints, clerics, and knights were buried, along with some of the wealthier nobles who could afford to pay for such a holy resting place.
The chapel might be beautiful, but the entire space felt cold to Amryn.
Others didn’t seem to agree, however.
Many were gathered in the chapel, praying in the long pews or listening to the old male cleric who was leading a sermon.
Amryn even saw Cora’s parents seated near the front of the room.
Their heads were bowed, their hands clasped together.
With the bloodstone muting the emotions in the room, Amryn couldn’t pick theirs out specifically.
But she didn’t really need to. Their grief was carved into their faces, even as she assumed the Amins prayed desperately for some measure of peace.
Ivan stiffened when he spotted Cora’s parents, but thankfully their heads remained bowed as Hector led the Chosen back up the long aisle.
They were nearly to the heavy doors that would lead them out of the chapel when Amryn spotted High Cleric Lisbeth.
She stood in one of the gated alcoves, speaking softly to a younger cleric.
When her eyes flicked up, they locked on Amryn.
Flickering candlelight played with the shadows on Lisbeth’s face.
The coldness that always seemed to emanate from the female cleric was somehow even more chilling than the rest of the room.
It was such an intense coldness, it made it easy to latch onto Lisbeth’s emotions.
That was the only way Amryn caught the flash of resentment.
But there was something else there, too.
An emotion that was almost akin to . . . longing?
As quickly as it rose, the feeling was gone. The skin around Lisbeth’s eyes tightened, and Amryn was the first to look away.
Once the heavy doors of the chapel thumped closed behind them, Amryn felt like she could breathe again. Carver’s hand wrapped around hers also helped drive some of the chill away.
“We’ll head to the Sculpture Gallery now,” Hector said. “It holds some of my favorite pieces in the entire palace. Then we’ll conclude our tour in the treasury.”
“Finally,” Jayveh murmured.
Amryn completely agreed. The strange incident with Lisbeth notwithstanding, there was simply too much wealth and lavish décor to truly take in.
Even Samuel and Sadia—who had been the most engaged during the tour—seemed to be growing weary.
Amryn didn’t think anything could truly impress her at this point.
She was wrong.
The Sculpture Gallery was filled with some of the most breathtaking and emotive art she had ever seen.
Some of the pieces depicted historical figures or events, and while those were impressive, it was the sculptures that captured simple moments of humanity that filled her with awe.
A little boy in tattered clothes, kneeling before an emaciated dog and offering food from his open palm.
A mother, holding an infant in her arms as she placed a kiss against his forehead, her sculpted dress and the infant’s draping blanket both trailing in waves down to her bare feet.
A man clutching a woman in a passionate embrace, his lips on her neck, her head thrown back so her long hair cascaded over the muscled arms locked around her body.
Amryn didn’t know how the artists managed to convey such softness and life out of cold, hard stone but she was utterly mesmerized.
“Hello, Chosen,” a weathered voice called out.
Amryn twisted, shock jolting through her as she saw the emperor move toward them with his bodyguards.
A few low gasps filled the room. The emperor had made most of his galleries public so anyone in the palace could wander in and admire his art. There were at least a dozen nobles sharing the space with them, and their excitement and awe at seeing the emperor was clear as they hurried to bow.
The Chosen also bowed, and the emperor smiled, the wrinkles in his face creasing even deeper.
“Rise,” he said, lifting one age-spotted hand.
“I didn’t mean to intrude upon your tour, but when I saw you in my favorite gallery, I couldn’t resist.” His voice lifted, speaking to the whole room. “Please, don’t let me distract you.”
The dismissal was enough for the room at large to return to their wanderings, though many eyes continued to watch the emperor.
His focus was on the Chosen, his voice a little lower as he said, “I’m sure Hector has been giving you a most thorough tour. I’ve asked a servant to bring water and light refreshments before you continue on.”
They murmured their thanks, and Jayveh moved forward to greet him warmly. The emperor met her with clear affection, taking both her hands in his own.