Chapter 61
Amryn
Amryn stared at Tam, her pulse racing. Once, she’d viewed this woman as a friend.
Now, there was nothing recognizable in the princess of Kalmar’s face.
Gone was the girl who had been quietly grieving her mother in Esperance; her mourning had been replaced by a hardened, low burning anger.
There was no trace left of the Tam who had been kind to Amryn.
The Tam who had smiled with her, Jayveh, and Sadia.
All that remained was an arrogant, smirking woman with dark, glittering eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Chancellor Janson snapped.
Tam’s lips curved into a bladed smile. “I didn’t want you to forget about me.”
The chancellor ground his teeth. “You’ve made that quite impossible.”
Tam chuckled. “I’m flattered.” Then her eyes flicked to Amryn, registering her for the first time. Her eyes widened, her smile faltering. “What is she doing here?”
“The Rowan wants to see her, too.”
“She can’t come with us,” Tam protested. “She’s a traitor to the Rising.”
Amryn tensed, but Janson scoffed. “She says the same about you. Frankly, after the way you’ve attempted to leverage the Rowan’s attention, I’m inclined to agree with Lady Vincetti.”
Tam’s eyes narrowed.
“Surely this debate can wait,” Jamir said, shifting his weight as he glanced toward the open gate behind Tam.
“You won’t want to bring Amryn to the Rowan,” Tam warned.
Knowing the rebels were all staring at her now, Amryn said, “It’s my word against yours.”
Tam met her stare, and Amryn had to fight off a shudder. “True.” Her head tilted to the side. “I wonder how we could possibly prove that one of us is a liar?”
Amryn’s stomach twisted. The threat was utterly clear. Tam was ready to tell them Amryn was an empath. How she would attempt to prove it, Amryn didn’t know, but the accusation alone could be enough to condemn her.
Even rebels feared empaths.
“Enough,” Janson said. He dropped his hold on Amryn’s arm. “The Rowan wants to see both of you. He can sort this out.”
The inherent threat in those words made Amryn’s heart clench.
Jayveh’s uncle snorted. “I think I know who he’ll favor,” he muttered.
Amryn had no idea what Jamir meant by those words.
At this moment, she didn’t care. Her focus was on Tam.
She couldn’t just let her disappear into the night.
Not again. She was the only one who could bring closure to Jayveh.
Only when Tam faced justice could Argent finally rest in peace.
Capturing her was a risk, since Tam could tell everyone that Amryn was an empath.
But Tam didn’t know she carried a bloodstone that shielded her from the knights.
It would be Tam’s claims against the evidence of Rhone’s own senses.
Amryn would risk the knight’s scrutiny, for Jayveh’s sake.
Her thoughts raced. The tentative plan she’d been making now shifted.
Janson moved for the gate. “The wagon is waiting. Let’s go.”
Forcing her shoulders to loosen, Amryn walked forward with him. Without glancing down, she used her thumbnail to find the groove in her ring. The emerald sprang open, exposing the needle coated in voralis.
Tam watched her approach. “Your lies will be exposed,” she said softly.
Amryn drew to a stop in front of her, holding Tam’s gaze as rebels moved around them, heading for the gate. “So will yours,” she whispered.
Tam’s jaw tightened. She began to turn, and that’s when Amryn snatched hold of her wrist, squeezing hard to ensure the needle pricked her skin.
Tam jerked away with a curse.
Janson and the others whirled.
Amryn took a step back, her heart in her throat.
Tam’s hand scrubbed over her wrist, her wide eyes snapping to Amryn. Hysteria climbed in her voice as she demanded, “What was that? What did you do?”
Amryn lifted her hand, letting Tam and the others see the small needle in her ring. “It’s poisoned,” she said. “You’ll be dead in a moment.”
Tam paled.
It was a lie of course, but one she needed to tell. If the rebels thought Tam was dying, they’d be less likely to try and take her with them.
One of the rebels swore. All of them drew weapons. Janson’s shock was carved on his face.
Amryn eased back another step, the ring still brandished in front of her. “I’m not going with you,” she told Janson. “If you try and take me, I’ll kill you, too.”
Tam swayed—then collapsed.
The rebels flinched back from her crumpled body.
Janson’s gaze sharpened into a glare. “You fool,” he seethed at Amryn. “She was the only one who knows where Prince Argent is!”
His words made her thoughts and breath stutter. “Argent is dead. Tam killed him at Esperance.”
Janson’s eyes blazed. It was as if he hadn’t heard her words. “The Rowan will be disappointed,” he growled. “But I’ll let him take his anger out on you.”
Amryn turned and ran.
She heard Janson’s barked orders, heard the crunch of gravel as the rebels tore after her.
Her eyes were fixed on the prison door. If she could get inside—lock it—she’d be safe. Gravel bit through the thin soles of her shoes and her long skirt dragged against her legs, slowing her down. Her breaths came harsh and fast, her heart beating madly.
A hand clutched her skirt, yanking her to a halt.
She cried out as she stumbled.
A solid arm snared her waist, jerking her back against a hard chest. A meaty fist strangled her wrist, immobilizing her ringed hand.
She screamed.
“Silence her!” Janson ordered.
A hand clapped over her mouth. Two rebels easily wrestled her into submission, despite her best efforts to get free.
Panic clawed inside her, terror choking her as they began to drag her away from the palace.
The prison door burst open. Carver charged into the yard, sword drawn, fury twisting his face. Ivan and Ford fanned out behind him, with three palace guards following.
Amryn could have wept.
Janson cursed. He snapped orders, and rebels rushed to intercept them. Amryn’s heart clenched. Saints, the rebels outnumbered them.
Carver didn’t seem to care about that fact. His focus was on her, even as his sword swung without hesitation.
Even with the bloodstone, Amryn felt a slice of pain as a rebel howled.
The second man who had helped subdue Amryn rushed to join the fight. The hand covering her mouth disappeared as she was yanked off the ground and hauled toward the gate.
Desperation flared. “Carver!” she screamed.
“Amryn!” He was so close, but still too far. The clash of blades filled the night, punctuated by shouts.
She kicked, elbowed, and bucked against the man holding her. He grunted with each blow she managed to land, but the arm banded around her only tightened, constricting her breath. The fingers around her wrist were a vice, making her bones grate painfully together.
Then they were passing through the gate and entering a shadowed road. Jamir was already kneeling on the back edge of a waiting wagon, which was laden with crates. Stark fear roiled inside him as he spluttered at Janson. “Just leave her! Let’s go!”
Janson jogged to the wagon, but he didn’t climb in.
He threw a look over his shoulder, back through the gate.
The sounds of battle rang out. Cries of pain.
The ringing crack of swords. Shouts for reinforcements.
Janson’s eyes shifted to Amryn. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his rage cold and dark as he viewed her. “It’s too late,” he said.
Ice filled Amryn’s veins.
King Jamir blinked. “What? You’re not even going to try to—”
For the second time that night, Amryn watched in horror as Janson stabbed a man in the gut. The fiery pain dug into her own stomach, making her shudder.
Janson yanked the blade from Jamir’s belly. The former king of Xerra choked, curling in on himself. He gripped the edge of the wagon with one hand, his neck craning to look at Janson. Shock, pain, and confusion twisted his expression.
The chancellor’s face could have been carved from stone as he answered the dying king’s unspoken question.
“My orders were to free you. But failing that, I was to kill you. The price of knowing too much, I suppose.” He leaned in, adding quietly, “I asked the Rowan not to reveal his identity to me for this very reason. I refuse to miss the day of my revenge.”
Jamir gagged, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.
Amryn flinched, the bloodstone’s protection fracturing under the onslaught of emotion. Jamir’s pain, Janson’s fury, and the fight raging in the palace yard were all too much.
Terror burst in her chest when Janson twisted to face her, turning his back on the dying man in the wagon.
Janson’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his knife, blood streaking the blade. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Amryn’s stomach dropped as he advanced.