Chapter 9
Amryn
Amryn trailed the servant who led the Chosen down the palace halls, everything around her blurring amid her internal panic.
Fear still gripped her from when Zacharias had leveled his accusation, leaving a sharp tang on her tongue.
Because even though the high cleric had been wrong in thinking the empath was Sadia, Amryn was still in terrible danger.
Knights were coming. They’d be here in three days.
The thought alone made her lungs tighten with a barely silenced scream.
The only thing that kept her from running right now was Carver.
He’d promised that they wouldn’t linger in Zagrev.
She clung to that, even as every step she took moved her farther away from him.
“We cannot allow an empath to roam free. A monster like that does not deserve to live.”
Amryn’s fingernails bit into her palms. She’d felt Jayveh’s horror at the news that an empath had been at Esperance.
Sadia’s fear had been just as cutting. Amryn shouldn’t be surprised by their terror, or even find fault with their reactions.
How could she blame them for fearing the monsters they’d been told to fear?
It still made her chest ache.
They arrived at Samuel and Sadia’s room first, a guard already stationed at their door. Before disappearing inside the suite, Sadia sent Amryn a small, somewhat weary smile that Amryn struggled to return.
Further down the hall, they stopped at Ivan’s room.
The Sibeten prince remained firmly at her side. “I will escort Amryn to her room,” he said to the servant guiding them.
The man blinked. “That won’t be necessary.”
Ivan said nothing, just stared at the man.
Unease filtered through the servant, who darted a look at Amryn. “Lady Vincetti’s suite is located in another wing of the palace. I’m sure you—”
“Why is she being roomed elsewhere?” Ivan demanded, his suspicion as cold as his tone.
The servant’s discomfort magnified, nearly making Amryn squirm. “General Vincetti already has an apartment within the palace,” the man hurried to explain. “The steward thought that he—and Lady Vincetti—would be most comfortable there, so he made no other arrangements.”
It was an entirely reasonable explanation. In fact, Amryn should have assumed Carver had a permanent room at the palace. He’d been visiting this place since his birth, and he was a high-ranking general.
Ivan grunted. “I will accompany her.”
The servant bristled slightly, but Amryn sensed his underlying concern. The darting look he sent her made it clear he was worried about her.
She cleared her throat, speaking for the first time. “Ivan is a friend.” And her self-appointed bodyguard, apparently.
The servant’s jaw tightened, but some of his unease faded. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, please.”
He led them down a maze of corridors until they finally stopped at a door guarded by a uniformed man. Unlike at the other rooms, the servant drew a key from his pocket to unlock the door. “Your apartment, my lady,” he said, pushing open the door.
Amryn had glimpsed the other rooms the Chosen had been appointed.
All had appeared comfortable, but this suite was obviously larger.
The main room was spacious but artfully divided into sections.
Directly before her was a sitting area, with comfortable looking armchairs gathered around a low, dark wood table.
Beyond that was a square dining table with four matching chairs, and a massive stone fireplace she imagined was rarely used in this climate.
At the back of the room were twin glass doors that currently stood open, revealing a balcony that overlooked the city of Zagrev.
Windows with decorative lattices were set on either side of the doors with long, midnight blue drapes pulled back to let the sunlight in.
A large bed dominated the right side of the room, and an open door on her left led to a washroom—the only separate room in the suite.
As Amryn stepped further into the room, she began to focus on the details that made it clear this wasn’t just a guest room.
First, instead of the more standard colors of scarlet, gold, and black that dominated the palace, this one was decorated in dark blues, splashes of white and gray, and subtle accents of gold, all paired with dark wood.
It was a masculine space, but undeniably peaceful.
The décor itself was also more personal.
An oil painting of Carver’s family hung on one wall, Carver’s soft smile easy to identify even though the version of him staring back at her was younger—perhaps fifteen?
Another wall held a large painting of the seashore, with frothy waves rolling over gleaming white sand, clusters of palm trees, and rippling, crystalline blue water stretching out to a distant horizon.
A dark wood bookshelf sat in one corner of the room, stuffed with books that looked just tattered enough to show plenty of use, but were arranged with obvious care.
One shelf held only a stack of loose parchment.
The top paper appeared to be a drawing done by a child.
Amryn imagined it had been a gift from a younger sibling.
The remaining space on every shelf was cluttered with discarded daggers, loose coins, a jar of sand, and some scattered seashells.
Their travel-worn packs already sagged on a chest at the end of the bed.
Amryn felt a similar droop in her own shoulders.
Every inch of her was coated in dust from the road and she longed for a bath.
And even though the sun had yet to set, she wanted to curl up on that bed.
She honestly wasn’t sure what she wanted more in that moment—to sleep, or to be clean.
“Your maid will join you shortly,” the servant said from behind her, making her turn. While the man hadn’t entered the room, Ivan stood just over the threshold, eyeing every corner of the space with a critical gaze.
“Thank you,” Amryn said.
“Of course.” The servant held out the key on his palm. “This is for your use, my lady.”
As she took it, Ivan asked, “Who else has a key to the room?”
The servant’s mouth thinned, but he answered with a polite enough tone. “General Vincetti will have one, of course. And it is protocol for any guard stationed outside a door to have a key, just in case a need arises. The steward also keeps masters of all the keys in the palace.”
Amryn slipped the key into her pocket. “Thank you for all your help,” she told him.
He bowed his head and, after assuring himself that they needed nothing further, he excused himself.
Once he was gone, Ivan moved deeper into the room. “Do you mind if I search the suite?”
The corner of her mouth twitched, because he was already striding toward the washroom. “If I said no, would you still search it?”
“Yenn,” he said, not even glancing at her as he disappeared into the bathing chamber.
A smile tugged into place. She didn’t mind Ivan’s protectiveness. Not when she felt so unsettled and vulnerable. Though she had to admit, just being in Carver’s room soothed some of her frayed nerves. He hadn’t occupied the room in months, but his sandalwood scent still permeated the space.
When Ivan finished his search of the room—and the attached balcony—he returned to stand before her. “Everything appears secure.”
“Thank you.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I know you said you owed me a debt for helping you on Zawri, but you saved me from Marriset. Doesn’t that mean your debt is repaid?”
“Neeyev. I avenged Cora by killing the imposter. That does not mean our debt is settled, il mishka.”
He’d called her that before, though she had no idea what it meant. Curiosity rose, but she was more inclined to ask, “How long will it take to settle this debt?”
Ivan lifted one shoulder. “Until it is repaid.”
Her brow furrowed. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“I must save your life in return.”
“And until then, you’ll just . . . protect me?”
“Yenn.” He eyed her. “Considering the danger that seems intent on following you, I do not think it will be a very long-held debt.”
Despite the tension that had gripped her since arriving at the palace, a laugh broke free. “I know it’s not really funny, but . . . it kind of is.”
Ivan arched one eyebrow, the imperious expression somewhat ruined when his lips twitched. “I am not without a sense of humor, Amryn.”
“You’re a regular Ford.”
He pulled a face.
She chuckled. “He’s not that bad.”
“He attempted to kill me the first time we met,” Ivan deadpanned.
“He did not.” When Ivan gave her a dubious look, she amended, “He might have attacked you if I hadn’t stepped in, but that’s only because he didn’t know you were a friend.”
Ivan merely grunted. “Do you wish me to remain until Carver comes?” he asked.
A part of her wanted to say yes. But she could feel the drag of his exhaustion. Besides, she knew she was safe—for now, at least. “Go rest,” she told him. “I’m fine, and Ahmi will be here soon.”
Indecision crept through him, but finally Ivan gave in. “Do you remember the way to my room?” At her nod, he said, “Come there if you ever feel unsafe. Or send for me. I will come at any time, il mishka.”
“Thank you, Ivan.”
He bowed his head and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.
In the silence left behind, Amryn became aware of a gentle hum—almost a purr. It lifted every fine hair on her body. Her eyes moved to Carver’s pack.
Somewhere inside it, the bloodstone was tucked away, letting out a subtle, gentle vibration. It hadn’t flared since the ambush on the road, but it was always there. It could have been soothing, if she wasn’t so unnerved by it.
A knock at the door made Amryn jump. Trepidation spiked, but she tried to shove that down as she made her way to the door. She could sense the guard was still on the other side, but he’d been joined by a new, unfamiliar presence.
Hesitantly, she pulled the door open—and was instantly met with a pair of bright blue eyes.