Chapter 65 #3
“I can handle the bloodstone, Felinus,” she assured him softly. “I haven’t used it to do anything spectacular.” Except to heal Carver in Market Square. But she’d been much more controlled that time, compared to her first time using the bloodstone.
Felinus’s unease rippled between them, and she had the sudden fear that he’d sensed the lie of omission. Then he said quietly, “Any use of the bloodstone is dangerous. After all, sometimes it is the small, whispering indulgences that are the most insidious in our lives.”
Wanting to remove the attention from her bloodstone, she pocketed the amulet and met Felinus’s stare. “Did you find anything in the library?”
It was clear he didn’t want to change the subject so soon, but he gave in with a sigh.
“Not enough. But I did find something.” He returned Von’s journal to her, then reached into his bag and withdrew a worn leatherbound book.
“It’s a book of lore,” he explained, “gathered by a little-known scholar named Merrell Elevikus. I researched what I could find about him, to see if it could shed light on his words. From my understanding, he wrote this book after empaths were deemed unacceptable by the empire. But in many of his passages, he talks about the wonderful empaths he’d met over the years.
I also learned that he publicly decried the violence against them.
He wanted the emperor to reconsider his ruling against empaths, and he even wrote letters to the Highest Cleric about it. ”
“That was brave of him.”
“Yes. It’s also what led to his death.”
Amryn sucked in a breath. “The church had him killed?”
Felinus nodded, expression grim. “The knights branded him an empath, though from everything I’ve read, he was only sympathetic to them.”
Chilled, Amryn looked at Elevikus’s book. “Did he mention the bloodstones?”
“Yes.” Felinus flipped to a bookmarked page and began to read.
“‘Of the fabled bloodstones, I can only speak briefly. Those who whisper about them do so with great caution, but I am now confident they are no mere myth. I am told there are five in existence. I know for a fact that Saul Von, the most reviled of empaths, sought them. I know that the bloodstones call to strong empaths, and that they will be compelled to use the stones. I know that bloodstones are an abomination, evil to their core—they should never have been made, the process being too horrendous and vile to catalogue here. I also know that a bloodstone can only be destroyed by wielding the power of another bloodstone, and that the act itself is so violent, the world would be torn asunder. For even the earth shakes when two bloodstones are in close proximity.’”
Amryn set aside her wine, her head suddenly throbbing. “None of that sounds good.”
“No,” he agreed grimly. “But did you catch that last part? The earth shakes when two bloodstones are in close proximity.”
The back of her neck prickled. “The first morning here, there was a quake. And when I first saw the Dagger of Hafsin as well.” Her eyes widened. “And in Esperance!”
“That’s the only one I knew of, of course,” Felinus said. “But if this theory proves correct—which your finding of the second bloodstone seems to prove—then I believe there is a bloodstone hidden somewhere in the temple.”
“But I had the bloodstone for weeks before the quake in Esperance. Why weren’t there any quakes before that final night?”
“I don’t know. It could be that a quake takes longer to build if the bloodstones are both dormant. You had only just awakened your bloodstone the night of the Feast of Remembrance, and then the quake struck at Esperance soon after.”
“And when we arrived at the palace, it took about the same amount of time for the first quake to hit.” She met Felinus’s gaze. “If there’s another bloodstone at Esperance, that means we’ve located three of the five bloodstones.”
He rubbed at his creased forehead. “It’s not a responsibility I wanted us to shoulder, but we can’t ignore them now. We must destroy them.”
The bloodstone in her pocket flared hotly, but she ignored it as she said, “Elevikus wrote that only a bloodstone can destroy another bloodstone, but that’s not very specific. And he also said it would tear the world apart.” That seemed important to remember.
Felinus’s eyebrows drew together. “It’s problematic, to be sure. But there must be a way to do it safely. Perhaps you can command the bloodstone you carry to destroy the others?”
Amryn clearly remembered that booming, all-consuming voice, and she fought a shudder. “I don’t think that will work. The bloodstones . . . they’re alive, Felinus. They’ll fight to stay alive. More than that, I don’t think one bloodstone would help destroy another.”
Grooves dug deeply around his narrowed eyes. “Explain.”
She sighed. “The bloodstones are sentient. In Esperance, it nearly overtook me. I demanded its power, and it demanded me in return. Not just my strength, but me. My thoughts weren’t even fully my own by the end.
I can access its power, and I can use it, but it uses me, too.
” She shook her head, then reminded Felinus of how her bloodstone had reacted to the Dagger of Hafsin; the way the dagger had screamed, and her bloodstone had silenced it—soothed it.
“It was the most violent quake yet,” she said, “and there hasn’t been another since.
” That kind of power . . . How could she be expected to command it?
How could she ever dream of defeating it?
Besides— “Even if we could use my bloodstone to destroy the others, that would still leave one bloodstone in existence.”
Worry swam inside Felinus. But there was resolve, too.
“Even before hearing Von’s prophecy tonight, everything that’s been happening has felt fated.
That the emperor called the Chosen to Esperance when he did.
That you were among them, and that you married Carver Vincetti, of all people.
That you found the bloodstone where it had been hidden on a remote mountain in the jungle, for who knows how long.
” He shook his head. “Not only that, but you’ve found more than one bloodstone.
The Dagger of Hafsin, and whatever bloodstone lies within Esperance.
Three bloodstones out of five, Amryn. That cannot be mere coincidence.
The empath you saw, who heard Von’s prophecy when she touched his journal—she told you she sensed you in those pages, and you yourself believe you may be The Flame, and Carver The Sword.
Somehow, you have an important part to play in this. And that reassures me.”
Amryn choked on a weak laugh. “How? It only fills me with dread.”
Sympathy overtook his expression. “I understand. But Amryn, if you’re a part of this, then you’re meant to figure it out. Of this I have no doubt.”
“I have doubts.”
His expression gentled. “You shouldn’t. Not if fate is guiding you. You’ll end up exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
“Carver doesn’t believe in a set future.”
“Do you?”
She thought of the prophecy. The allusion to The Flame being responsible for some sort of choice. The bleak ending the words seemed to outline, no matter what was chosen.
“You said we always have a choice,” she said softly.
Felinus’s eyes gentled. “I believe we do.”
“Then how can you believe in fate, if you also think we have free will?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose it’s because I believe fate knows us well enough to place us where we need to be, knowing the choice we’ll make before we even make it.
Things work out as they should, in the end.
Even if things aren’t perfect in this life, I believe there is more life beyond this one.
” He cracked a thin smile. “Forgive me. I’ve settled well into my role as a philosophical cleric, I suppose. ”
She gave him a smile, though it felt thin. “We need more information,” she finally said.
“We do,” he agreed with a nod. “Do you think your empathic friend could use her gift again? Perhaps she could touch the bloodstone and give us vital insights.”
“I trust her. And I think, after witnessing that prophecy, she’d be very willing to help us.” Ysabel had been visibly shaken. Not that Amryn blamed her—Von’s prophecy was disturbing.
“Good.” Felinus rubbed at his temple, his eyes falling closed briefly.
She felt the growing ache in his head, because it was echoed in her own.
Just as she felt his fatigue, marked with a fleeting dizziness.
“I’ll search the library here at the palace,” he said, determination threading through his voice.
“There must be something, somewhere, that can give us more guidance on how to destroy the bloodstones. We’ll find it, Amryn.
I promise.” He lifted the sheet of paper still in his hand.
“If you are a part of this prophecy, know that you don’t have to face it alone. I’ll help in any way I can.”
A soft knock sounded on the door. “Lady Vincetti? It’s me, High Cleric Lisbeth.”
Unease rippled through Amryn, along with confusion. She had no idea why Lisbeth would come to visit her, let alone so late at night.
Felinus had stiffened in the chair across from her. She felt a muted pulse of worry from him as he asked, “Do you know who that is?”
She nodded, even as Lisbeth called again, “Amryn? Please open the door.”
There was no point trying to pretend she was asleep—not when Lisbeth could clearly see light spilling beneath the door. The guards might have even shared that she had a guest. Though it was a little strange they hadn’t been the ones to announce the high cleric.
Another knock had Amryn calling out, “Just a moment.”
Felinus quickly folded the sheet of paper that held Von’s prophecy and tucked it into his pocket. Amryn lifted Von’s journal and the book of lore Felinus had rested atop it, her eyes scanning the best place to hide them. She couldn’t risk the female cleric seeing them and growing curious.
“My bag,” Felinus whispered, snatching it from the floor. He held it open as she thrust the books inside, before dropping it to rest casually near his feet. At least, Amryn hoped it looked casual.
She hurried across the room, rechecking the bloodstone in her pocket as she went.
The hum seemed fainter than usual, and a wave of dizziness hit her as she reached the door.
She planted a hand on the wall, casting a look over her shoulder at Felinus.
The man’s skin appeared a little sallow. “Are you all right?” she called softly.
The cleric swallowed once, sweat beading on his brow. “Perhaps I drank a little too much wine.”
Another knock on the door, this one impatient. “Amryn?” High Cleric Lisbeth’s voice was more curt than before.
Amryn hurried to unlock the door and pull it open.
Lisbeth stood there with a somber expression, her sharp eyes assessing as she took in Amryn. “My dear, you look pale. Are you feeling unwell?”
Amryn’s throat was too dry to answer. Because the high cleric wasn’t alone. Rhone Quinn flanked her, his features dark and serious, and on her other side was Renault Quinn—Rhone’s father. The older knight appeared travel-worn, like Felinus, but his eyes were alert.
Her stomach dropped. Because other than those three imposing figures, there was no one else in the corridor.
Not even her guards.
“Lady Vincetti,” Renault said, his voice cold and flat. “You’ve been a very difficult empath to find.”