Chapter 2
Carver
Carver swore as pieces of the ceiling rained down, exploding into jagged shards as they hit the floor.
He flinched, ready to feel the slice of debris tearing against his back or striking his ducked head.
But the pain never came. Tile shattered against stone behind him, but nothing hit his body. Yet.
Amryn jerked in his arms at an especially loud crack, but he didn’t let her go. He pressed her more firmly against the wall, and with one hand he forced her head down so he could cover her completely.
His pulse raced. A bloody quake? As if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been enough, the Divinities decided to throw something else at them? If he truly believed in them, he’d be cursing them right now.
Amryn trembled, and not just from the quake that continued to rock them. But despite her obvious fear, she gripped his waist tightly, fingers locked in his bunched shirt, pulling him closer—as if she was trying to protect him. Or as if he was her only lifeline in the chaos.
He rather liked both thoughts.
As abruptly as the quake had started, it stopped. The world was left feeling too still in the absence of it. Too quiet.
Amryn’s grip on his shirt didn’t loosen, her breaths harsh in the eerie silence. The earth had stopped shaking, but tremors continued to wrack her body.
Slowly—moving one tightly coiled muscle at a time—Carver eased back.
Her light green eyes were wide and terrified as they met his. Fierce protectiveness punched through him. He scanned the length of her body, his palms running methodically down her arms as he searched for any sign of injury. Finding none, the vicelike hold on his chest loosened slightly.
His gaze came back to hers and he lifted one hand to cup her cheek, his thumb swiping across her lightly freckled skin. An instinctual impulse he had no desire to curb had him ducking his head, pressing his lips to her hairline.
Her breath hitched at the soft kiss.
“You’re all right,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. The reassurance was probably more for him than for her.
Her pulse fluttered visibly along the smooth column of her neck, her eyes still wide, her grip on him tightening as she asked, “Are you all right?”
Before he could answer, Ford swore again. “Everyone still alive?”
“Yes,” Felinus said.
Carver didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to release his hold on Amryn.
Right now, she was safe in the shelter of his arms. Right now, he was able to assure himself that nothing—no one—could touch her.
The familiar citrus and mint scent of her soap soothed him in a way that hardly made sense, but he’d long ago stopped trying to make sense of the impact this woman had on him.
She made him feel alive, something he hadn’t truly felt since the horrors he’d experienced in Harvari.
Her proximity was all he needed to calm the darkness that plagued him.
Unfortunately, reality wouldn’t allow him to hold her indefinitely.
His grip on her flexed tighter, a brief rebellion, before he forced himself to release her. But as he shifted to face the room, his hand found hers. Relief—and something much deeper—expanded inside him when her hold was as desperate and strong as his own.
A quick scan of the suite assured him that Felinus and Ford were unnerved, but uninjured.
The cleric’s customary brown robe was sprinkled with powdery dust, and he was eyeing the various cracks and missing tiles from the ceiling, which exposed the rough stone and wooden beams underneath.
Glass from one of the windows littered the floor, along with other broken and displaced items. The quake had certainly left its mark on the room.
Carver’s heart hammered with the realization that it could have been much worse. The entire temple could have collapsed on top of them.
Amryn shifted a little closer, her arm brushing his in silent reassurance. As if she’d felt his fear and wanted to soothe it.
Saints, that was probably exactly what had happened.
The realization gave him pause. Obviously, he’d known Amryn could sense emotions, but to actually see her react to what he was feeling was .
. . strange. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on his wife’s empathic abilities, though.
He took a slow breath, allowing the general he’d trained his entire life to become take over.
He looked to Ford. “Take the guards in the hall and go to the dungeon. Make sure Trevill is secure.” It would be a pity if the chancellor died before facing judgment for his crimes, but it would be even worse if the traitor managed to escape.
Ford nodded and left.
Carver twisted to Felinus. He didn’t entirely trust the cleric; the former knight was an unknown in too many ways, and he knew Amryn’s secret—not a comforting combination.
But Amryn trusted him, and that had to be enough for now.
“Find High Cleric Zacharias,” Carver told Felinus.
“He needs to assess the damage to the temple. I want a report as soon as possible on what he finds, including any sustained injuries or fatalities.”
“Of course,” the cleric agreed at once. “Where will you be?”
Carver’s eyes settled on Amryn. “We’ll be with Jayveh.”
“Thank all the Saints you’re safe!” Jayveh threw her arms around Amryn, tugging her away from Carver.
His empty fingers curled, as if that could keep the warmth of his wife’s touch lingering against his skin.
He selfishly wanted to keep Amryn close, but he reined in the impulse to pull her back.
Jayveh and Amryn had become close friends during their time at Esperance.
He wouldn’t stand in the way of what either woman needed right now.
Jayveh’s rich ebony skin was the complete opposite of Amryn’s porcelain features. The princess was tall, with intelligent dark eyes that seemed to catch everything. Once, Carver had thought the Xerran princess was a traitor. Now, he knew Argent had been right to trust her.
The mere thought of his best friend cut like a knife. All he could see in his mind was Argent’s full smile. Something he’d never truly see again. His stomach clenched.
“I was so worried.” Tears glittered in Jayveh’s eyes as she embraced Amryn. “The guards wouldn’t let me leave to check on you.”
Carver glanced at the uniformed men stationed inside the room.
They were Argent’s guards, the only soldiers who had been allowed to stay in Esperance when the entire compound was sealed.
They were no mere temple guards; these were highly trained royal bodyguards.
Each man Carver saw wore a solemn yet determined expression.
They would give their lives to protect Argent’s wife—and the heir she carried.
None of the men knew it for certain yet, but that unborn child was all that remained of Prince Argent Vayne.
“I’m fine,” Amryn said, trying to reassure Jayveh.
Doubt stirred in the princess’s eyes, even as she drew back. “You look pale. Are you still feeling sick from Tam’s poison? It seemed to take more of a toll on you than the rest of us.”
The reason for Amryn’s fatigue might have been because she alone had suffered the poison naturally, with only the antidote Carver had forced upon her. Amryn had healed the rest of them with the bloodstone.
Something Jayveh could never know.
Of course, using the bloodstone to enhance her empathic magic might have been the cause of Amryn’s lingering exhaustion. The thought made Carver tense. He was still adjusting to the reality that his wife was an empath. And that a dangerous, supernatural relic had bonded with her in some way.
“I’m nearly back to myself again,” Amryn said, giving Jayveh a tired smile. Carver wondered if he was the only one who spied the strain in it.
“General Vincetti?”
Carver met the eyes of the bodyguard who had stepped forward. “Yes?”
The man’s eyebrows drew together. “Prince Ivan Baranov is here.”
Carver turned to the open door, his gaze clashing with Ivan’s.
The man might have been a prince, but he was also one of the elite Sibeten fighters known as Wolves.
With a tall, thickly muscled build and piercing ice-blue eyes, he was an intimidating warrior.
He had saved Amryn’s life, but Carver didn’t appreciate the intense fascination the man had for his wife.
Ivan had danced with her, given her the Wolf Salute, and—Carver had recently learned—may have guessed Amryn’s secret because she’d healed him on Zawri.
The less time the man spent with Amryn, the better.
But Amryn spotted Ivan before Carver could tell the guards to dismiss him. “Ivan! You’re all right?”
“Yenn,” he said, using his native tongue as he gave the affirmative. “Is all well here?” His eyes slid to Jayveh, but returned almost at once to Amryn. And remained there. Firmly.
Carver’s jaw tightened. “We’re fine.”
That frosted stare landed back on Carver. “Good.”
Jayveh suddenly straightened. “We need to make sure Samuel and Sadia are all right.”
“Carver and I can check on them,” Ivan offered.
The last thing Carver wanted to do was leave Amryn.
Everything in him rebelled at the thought, and it wasn’t just because of the quake.
Everything felt so raw right now. Tam’s betrayal, the disastrous Feast of Remembrance, losing Argent, nearly losing Amryn—to Tam’s poison, to that cursed amulet, and then to an assassin who’d called herself Marriset.
Then there was Amryn’s secret. If the wrong person discovered she was an empath, she could be killed. It made his gut twist.
She was his to protect. He had failed too many people in his life—he refused to fail her. And he couldn’t keep her safe if he wasn’t with her.
“Would you mind?” Jayveh asked Carver. A palm pressed to her abdomen, which was still mostly flat despite the new life growing within. “I’ll feel better knowing they’re safe after the quake.”