Chapter 53 #2
Amryn’s heart ached for him. “I’m glad you found something that helps.”
He eyed her. “Carver struggled with sleeping, too, when we got back. And he had intense nightmares.”
“He still does,” she admitted softly. She wouldn’t share any details, as that should be Carver’s choice, but she felt comfortable confirming that much.
Protectiveness rippled in Ford, along with concern. She thought it was for Carver, until he said, “He hasn’t hurt you, has he? Accidentally?”
“No.”
Relief trickled in. “Good.” More softly, he added, “You’re good for him, Amryn. You have no idea what it was like before. What he was like.”
“Thank you for rescuing him from that horrific place.”
“I’d do it a thousand times over,” Ford said. “Just as Carver would for me.” He held her gaze and said, “Just like we’ll do for Argent.”
The pang in her chest made her breath catch.
Ford noticed. “I know Carver doesn’t think he’s alive,” he said quietly. “But I think maybe it’s just his way of protecting himself. From reliving the memories of his own captivity. As much as he doesn’t want Argent to be dead, he doesn’t want to imagine him suffering somewhere.”
Amryn didn’t argue, and Ford turned back to his painting.
Amryn watched him work a while longer before she turned to her own project.
She’d gotten the idea after Carver had given her the emerald ring.
Her gift wouldn’t be as expensive or fine—and it certainly wouldn’t be as exquisitely crafted, since she was making it herself—but she was excited to give it to him.
Since she couldn’t easily leave the palace, she’d recruited Ahmi to help her get the supplies. It should be finished by tonight.
When Ford asked what it was, and she explained, he grinned. “He’s going to love it.”
“I hope so.” Carver had given her so much.
The ring, and the cello. Love, and acceptance.
A family she never imagined would welcome her as they had.
And even though there were always demands being made of him, he made an effort to give her as much of his time as he could.
She treasured those rare and precious moments they had alone in their suite, where they talked about everything and nothing.
Sometimes—especially when the moon was high, and the protection of night had drawn around them—Carver shared some of what he’d been through in Harvari.
Amryn also shared stories about her life in Ferradin, and what it had been like to grow up as an empath.
They were closer than ever—heart, body, and soul—and Amryn had never been happier.
She ran her thumb over the leather cords in her hands. “I wish I could give him more,” she admitted softly.
“You have no idea what you’ve given him.”
Ford’s adamant words touched a place deep inside her, and she murmured her thanks. “You know what I mean, though. He’s given me so much.”
Ford glanced at the emerald ring on her finger.
He’d admired it for a good ten minutes the first time she’d shown it to him, grinning as he’d triggered the spring several times.
She obviously hadn’t explained why it was such a perfect weapon for an empath, but Ford was sufficiently impressed even without knowing that.
“The man adores you,” he said simply.
“And I adore him. I want to show him that.” An idea struck her. “Ford, will you help me with something?”
“Anything. And not just because I’ve been bored out of my mind.”
Her lips twitched. “It may involve abducting Carver,” she warned.
Ford’s eyes glittered. “Tell me more.”
Amryn still wasn’t sure how it had all come together so perfectly. Ford had convinced her to recruit Elowen’s help, and things moved quickly after that. Carver’s sister had pulled in Ivan and Alora, and Amryn had turned to Ahmi to help with a few other arrangements.
Now, soon after sunset, Amryn stood on the rooftop garden on top of the Vincetti townhome.
Despite coming to the townhouse a couple of times in the last week to train in self-defense and join Carver’s family for dinner, Amryn had never visited the rooftop garden until today.
The already idyllic space had been transformed with glowing lanterns and a small table set for two.
The potted trees and flowering hedges would give them privacy, and their view of the stars would be breathtaking once night fell.
Elowen had even thought to sprinkle the ground with vibrant flower petals.
Well, they’d mostly been thrown by Fowler and Wren, who had gotten into a fight with them.
But with the sky painted in shades of dusky purples, fading pinks, and darkening blues of night, the setting was almost surreal.
Certainly more than Amryn would have been able to do on her own.
She heard the carriage roll into the courtyard.
Sudden nerves danced in her stomach, and she brushed a hand over her dress.
It was a nicer gown than she usually wore.
The soft lavender color seemed a perfect shade for the rooftop garden, especially with night approaching.
The skirt was long and flowing, with a fitted bodice, a square neckline, and intricate lace sleeves that flared at the wrist. Her red hair was pinned up in a relaxed bun, with loose curls falling to brush her shoulders and frame her face.
“He’s here!” Fowler hissed, running up to her.
“We heard the carriage,” Wren said.
He stuck his tongue out at his sister.
Amryn twisted to face Carver’s mother, who had just put the last dish on the table. “Thank you again for doing all of this.”
“It was my absolute pleasure,” Alora said, beaming. She squeezed Amryn’s hand, her voice lowering as she added, “He’s always looking after everyone else. Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
Elowen swept over, giving everything a last look before she nodded. “It will do.”
“It’s perfect,” Amryn corrected.
Elowen gave her a small smile, her eyes shining as she said, “He won’t even notice any of it once he sees you.”
Ivan and Keene had just finished lighting the last lanterns when the rooftop door opened. Ford stepped out first, guiding Carver. Who was blindfolded.
Amryn frowned.
Ford grinned at her. “Let me have my fun.”
Carver cocked his head to the side. “What?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Wren giggled.
“He doesn’t even know we’re here,” Fowler whispered gleefully.
Carver’s lips twitched.
Alora mouthed an apology to Amryn, even as she waved her children toward the door.
Ivan took Elowen’s hand as they followed.
Ford positioned Carver so he was facing Amryn, but still several paces away. He clapped Carver on the back. “You’re a lucky man, Carve.” He backed away, giving Amryn a last smile before he eased the door closed.
Carver stood there, still blindfolded. “Do I ever get to take this off?”
“You can take it off,” Amryn said softly.
Carver tugged the blindfold away. He blinked in the fading light of sunset, but the second he saw her, he froze.
“Surprise,” she whispered. Her pulse raced as his eyes ran over her. So many emotions rolled through him. Wonder. Appreciation. Awe. Everything about his reaction made her heart pound.
“What’s all this?” he asked, though his eyes barely flickered to take in their surroundings.
“You’ve been working so hard. I wanted us to have a meal together where we couldn’t easily be interrupted.” She pulled a face. “I did not tell Ford to use a blindfold, though. Sorry.”
His eyes held hers. “If this is my reward, I can handle temporary blindness.”
Her breathing thinned as he approached slowly.
Deliberately. Anticipation tightened the air between them until finally he was standing right before her.
In the flickering glow of the lanterns, his palms lifted to cradle her face.
His eyes searched hers. “I am the luckiest man alive,” he whispered.
Then he leaned in, his lips finding hers with a gentle caress.
Tingles spread through her. She pressed a hand to his jacket—a dark green one she couldn’t ever remember him wearing, but it reminded her of the deep pine forests of home. His spicy sandalwood scent, familiar and heady, made her melt.
When he pulled back, she felt a little dizzy. Holding onto him, she said, “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” The way he was looking at her sent molten heat through her veins.
She cleared her throat. “For food.”
“Oh.” His dimple flashed. “That, too.”
She could feel the pangs of his hunger, and she had to wonder if he’d skipped the midday meal. It wouldn’t be the first time. She tugged him toward the table. It was laden with an array of Carver’s favorite Westmont dishes—including a steaming, foul-smelling pot of coffee.
“Now I know you love me,” he teased when he spotted it.
Once he helped her into her chair, he took his own seat and they began to eat.
They talked and laughed easily, sharing childhood memories, favorite foods, and anything else that came to mind.
They didn’t talk about investigations, rebels, or prophecies—and it was wonderful.
The lanterns glowed around them and the stars grew ever brighter above them.
She asked about his wood carving, and he explained that he’d learned the art from his grandmother—the one who had made the carved panther Amryn had once admired on his bookshelf, as it turned out.
“She taught all of us the basics,” Carver said. “Once we were old enough that she trusted us not to cut off our fingers, of course. It was an effort to keep us still, I think, but I enjoyed it.”
“You’re very talented,” she said, recalling Fowler’s beautifully carved box.
Carver murmured his thanks, and Amryn sensed the swell of emotions building within him.
“I used to make carvings all the time. My siblings loved them. When I was in Harvari, I made little toys for the children in the villages we protected.” He released a slow, thin exhale.
“There was one boy . . . I gave him a carved horse. He was so excited. He carried it everywhere.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “A week later, I had to help bury him.”
Amryn’s heart broke for that young boy—and for the general who still cared so much about him.
Later, she brought up Ford’s painting and asked what Carver turned to in order to fight his demons.
“You.”
The simple answer, so easily and sincerely given, made her still. “Carver . . .”
“I meditate,” he added. “And I spar. But I’m not lying when I say you help silence my demons.”
Warmth suffused her chest.
The night continued on, the conversation carried so easily between them. When a chill breeze swept in, Carver shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
Amryn couldn’t stop smiling. She had never thought she would have this. Between her father’s betrayal and her empathic abilities needing to remain secret, she had always assumed she would never have a husband. And yet, she’d been blessed with Carver. She couldn’t imagine her life without him.
They were now eating dessert, a lemon confection that was a bit tart for Amryn’s taste, but Alora had assured her was a favorite of Carver’s. The bars had a light crust, a gooey layer of lemon filling, and powdered sugar dusted on top.
Sugar dusted Carver’s lips, and Amryn was certain her own mouth was also covered, but she didn’t mind. She loved seeing that smile on his face and feeling his joy.
“Thank you,” Carver said suddenly. He took in the rooftop garden, gently shaking his head. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”
“I have something else for you.”
Curiosity twined through him as she set the velvet pouch on the table between them. He glanced at her before lifting it, and she bit her lip as he opened the drawstring bag.
He pulled out the braided wristband, his brow furrowed as he studied the dark corded leather. Four separate strands were twisted and knotted together.
“It’s an arwyd,” she explained as his thumb traced over one of the more intricate knots.
“It’s an old tradition in Ferradin. The cords are knotted for specific purposes.
This one is for protection and peace.” A flush touched her cheeks.
“I know it’s just a superstition, but I thought it might bring you comfort. Maybe even help you sleep better.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “You made this?”
She nodded.
His heart swelled, the warmth in his chest matching the heat in his eyes as he said, “I love it, Amryn.” He fit the wristband into place, pulling one of the leather cords to cinch it, before he met her gaze once more. “I’m never taking it off.”
When the moon was high in the sky, and Amryn was beginning to feel Carver’s tiredness—as well as her own—they blew out the lanterns and gathered the remnants of their food to take down to the kitchen. The house was silent, so they moved quietly through the shadowed halls.
Once they’d deposited their dishes on the wooden counter, Carver laced his fingers with hers. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked quietly.
It was later than she’d expected to be out, so it was easy to nod.
As he led her toward the kitchen door, she whispered, “Do you think I’ll get in trouble for abducting a general?”
He tossed her a half-smile, his thumb brushing against her skin. “I don’t think it counts when I came willingly.”
She grinned. “I suppose I also made Ford do it. Did he tell you where he was taking you?”
“No. All he said was that you’d be there. That was enough for—”
A shadow stepped into the doorway.
Carver slid in front of Amryn, his hand dropping for the knife at his hip before he paused. “Morelli?”
Amryn clutched Carver’s jacket, which was still wrapped around her shoulders.
Her heart pounded as the older general took a slow step forward, bringing him out of the shadows.
The usual warmth in his eyes was absent, his emotions a dark, twisting mass inside him.
The moonlight slicing through the kitchen window revealed his solemn expression—and the blade in his hand.
Carver’s entire body went rigid.
“I’m sorry, Carver,” Morelli rasped, grief and devastation tearing through him. “I didn’t have a choice. They sent me to kill you.”
Shock exploded in Carver. But his disbelief didn’t stop him from drawing his own knife. He shifted into a fighting stance, tension riding him hard as he gritted out, “Amryn—”
Morelli lifted his blade—and tossed it onto the nearest counter. He raised empty hands, his voice shaking as he said, “I’m surrendering to you, General Vincetti. Arrest me.” He swallowed hard. “I’m ready to tell you everything.”