Chapter 11
Amryn
The sun had set hours ago, and Carver still hadn’t arrived at their room.
Amryn sat in one of the apartment’s cushioned chairs, her thick hair still damp from her bath.
Her long curling locks took an age to dry, but at least she was blessedly clean.
The scent of her favorite citrus and mint soap clung to her skin, a familiar and soothing balm.
Her hair tumbled down her back, unbound and wild even though Ahmi had carefully applied the tincture that helped tame her curls, at least a little.
The humidity in this region was not as intense as it had been in Esperance, but it still wreaked havoc on her hair.
She wore a soft, simple gown of pale lavender that brushed the floor. The sleeves were gossamer, falling all the way to her wrists. It was light, airy, and beautiful. She loved it, even if it was borrowed.
The clothing she’d brought from Esperance was covered in dust from the road, so Ahmi had sent for some items. Apparently, visiting nobles often left clothing behind in the palace laundry, so there were plenty of options.
Ahmi had shown off her selections with a pleased smile.
Amryn didn’t have the heart to tell her that she wouldn’t need so many dresses, because they wouldn’t be staying in the capital.
Amryn was exhausted, but she was unable to settle without Carver.
She’d dismissed Ahmi over an hour ago. The food the servants had carried in after her bath was spread on the small table, mostly untouched on silver trays.
It was an assortment of cut meats, aged cheeses, dates, nuts, and slices of crusty bread along with small pots of jam and soft butter.
There was also a bowl of neatly diced exotic fruits, a pot of pungent coffee, and a tureen of soup that smelled strongly of garlic and onions.
She’d tried to eat a little of the assorted fare, if only for something to do, but her stomach had cramped almost instantly.
She was too anxious to eat. So, after carefully exploring the room, she’d turned to Saul Von’s journal for a distraction.
Curled in a cushioned chair, she flipped through the old leather book.
It was stained and creased, and some pages had been torn out—by the author’s hand, or the knight who’d stolen the journal, Amryn didn’t know.
While she’d read through most of Von’s words, she hadn’t made much sense of them.
The entries were so disjointed, they were nearly unintelligible.
There were codes of numbers, unfinished sentences, and nonsensical sketches.
Some of the drawings were identifiable; eyes without faces, an open door with no wall around it, and—the most detailed she’d found yet—a mythical dragon with a sword plunged in its heart.
But some of the sketches made no sense. A line here, or a circle there.
Maps without starting points or landmarks, perhaps?
Murdon Savin’s notations were just as chaotic; the knight had clearly read the journal many times, but Amryn saw no evidence that he’d learned anything truly useful.
At least, not that he’d written down in the margins.
As Amryn scanned the page before her, she saw Savin had circled Von’s words: hidden from all, and he’d drawn a line to the question: Hafsin or Xerra? Both?
Overall, the journal seemed to contain the ramblings of a madman—and the frantic notes of a man obsessed with making sense of those ramblings. And yet, Amryn couldn’t let go of the feeling that something in this book might be useful.
Choosing to concentrate only on Von’s words for now, Amryn disregarded Savin’s notations. She kept turning pages until she came to a more cohesive entry in the journal.
A terrible price. Too terrible. Unbearable. So terrible, what we did.
Should we not make the most of it? Damned as we are . . . We must make our damnation count.
Not we. I.
I must make it count.
The haunting words made the small hairs at the back of Amryn’s neck rise. She flipped a few more pages before her eyes caught on another phrase:
The Dragon must wake; terror will reign for all but the monster.
Unease filtered through her. The words were ominous enough on their own, but she couldn’t help but hear the echo of the bloodstone’s final word to her that fateful night in Esperance: AWAKE.
Was The Dragon some sort of coded name for a bloodstone?
She flipped through a few more pages, trying to find more scrawled text amid Von’s drawings and scattered thoughts. She found a few lines here and there, interspersed among a dozen pages.
Truth. What is truth?
I am not alone.
‘Beware the rising tide.’ I have heard it whispered in my darkest dreams.
The Bloodstones must be brought together. They will be brought together.
The Flame will choose, and burn out.
When no one fights, everyone falls.
They must fight, and so must I.
A line must be drawn.
The line must end. It is the only way.
Broken men will be drawn to defend The Flame, the hope for us all. For without The Flame, there is no spark.
The Sword will defend, and be defeated.
Someone. Someone must rise. Who?
Perhaps it will be the monster. Or maybe the fire? Only one can live. Or will both die? All I know is that they are linked.
The Dragon will rise, and fall.
The time is coming. Perhaps it is already here.
The Storm has come.
There is no peace, then.
Remember: the power of five, wielded by one, leads to an unstoppable end.
Nightmare or truth?
Truth . . . What is truth?
Von’s thoughts circled and spiraled. But as Amryn slowly flipped through the last few pages she’d read, certain lines of text stood out.
Flame. Sword. Dragon. Storm.
Those words kept appearing. Always capitalized and often underlined with a fierce swipe of a quill that dug deeply into the paper, sometimes even tearing it.
Seeing those repeated words, whispering them under her breath . . . Amryn hadn’t thought about it before, but perhaps she was reading the journal incorrectly. Rather than trying to read it from beginning to end, maybe she needed to read it by following one thread at a time. One thought.
The Flame. The Sword. The Dragon. The Storm.
She needed paper. A place to make notes, so she didn’t mark the journal itself.
Before she could rise to search for a quill and paper, she felt him. The ripple of Carver’s emotions brushed against her empathic sense a moment before she heard the low murmur of voices outside the door.
Amryn sensed his weariness, but still he spoke briefly with the guard outside before he opened the door. His blue eyes found hers, and the bolt of relief he felt when he saw her made the tension in her own chest loosen.
She rose as Carver stepped into the room. The glow of the lone lamp clearly showed the fatigue pulling at his shoulders, as he closed the door and twisted the lock into place.
Amryn’s heart beat a little faster. The room felt smaller with him in it.
Carver studied her, and she didn’t miss his flare of appreciation as his eyes traced over her lavender gown. The lounging dress wasn’t much more than an elevated nightgown, and she was suddenly very aware of how thin it was.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Hello,” he said, his voice low, warm, and deep.
Her own voice was soft as she said, “Hello.”
His eyes dropped to the journal she held. “Learn anything interesting?”
“Not really. I have a new idea of how to try reading it, though.”
“Good.” He nodded, his dark hair falling over his brow. He glanced at the table, laden with food. Concern bloomed as he clearly noted the unused plates. “You haven’t eaten?”
Her fingers tightened on the book. “I haven’t had much of an appetite.”
There were too many flickering emotions to accurately read, but Carver’s expression softened. “It’s been a long day.”
The hesitancy she felt coming from him was echoed in her own chest. For the first time in weeks, they were truly alone. There was so much to talk about, and yet she had no idea where to begin.
“Your sister came to visit.” It wasn’t the most important thing to say, but it was what popped out.
The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. “I should have realized she’d immediately corner you.”
“She was very kind.”
“She is,” he agreed at once. Amryn could feel his brotherly affection as he asked, “Did she stay long?”
“No.”
He nodded once. “My father wanted to stop by, but I asked him to give us the night to rest. He’s anxious to see you again.”
Nerves fluttered in her belly. “He is?”
Carver must have caught something in her tone, because he gentled his voice as he assured her, “You don’t need to be nervous. He just wants to get to know you.”
“Oh.” Uncertain how she felt about that, Amryn said, “I didn’t expect them to be here.”
“Neither did I.” Carver frowned. “Apparently, they arrived a few weeks ago. Along with Berron.”
“Elowen told me.” She hesitated, then asked. “Did you have a chance to see Berron?”
“No.”
The relationship between the two brothers was not an easy one, so Amryn didn’t press for more. “Were you with the emperor this whole time?” she asked.
Carver shook his head. “I spent the last few hours with my father and the two generals who are overseeing the fight against the Rising—Morelli and Keats.” There was a flash of displeasure as he said the last name.
He explained who they were and briefly told her what they’d discussed.
“It took a while to go over everything,” he said.
“Then my father wanted a brief word. But I’m sorry I left you alone for so long. ”
“It’s all right.”
A short silence fell. Carver rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me clean up, and then we can eat.”
“The water for your bath will be cold by now.” She set the journal on the chair and started for the door. “I’ll ask the guard to—”
“No, it’s fine,” Carver broke in. “I’d rather not wait. I can handle a cold bath.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair, his small smile tight with fatigue.