Chapter 17 #2
The emperor lifted an age-spotted hand. “Please, be seated. We have much to discuss, and I’m eager to begin.”
Everyone began to move toward the tables.
Except for Amryn. Because after the emperor’s guards had passed, she was caught staring at the cluster of men who trailed after.
Her eyes skipped easily enough over the first two—a reed-like man with ink-stained fingers and a satchel thrown over one shoulder, and an older man who wore the robes of a high cleric—but she couldn’t look away from the other three men.
Because even though they were strangers, she knew instantly who they were.
What they were.
They wore identical crimson uniforms, just like the ones she’d seen in countless nightmares.
The one in front—who appeared to be the oldest of the three dark-haired men—had lifted a hand to scratch his cheek.
The movement drew attention from the many knives belted at his waist to the ring on his finger.
A ring with a crystal dome and a small piece of bone trapped inside.
Ice slammed into her body. The knights had arrived early. And Carver wasn’t with her. Terror clenched her gut.
“Amryn?” Cregon’s concerned voice sounded muffled due to the blood roaring in her ears. Still, she turned to face him as he asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I . . .” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were caught in a vice.
Cregon’s brow furrowed, his features blurring.
No. Her vision was blurring. Her eyes stung with unshed tears.
The knights were here. Any moment now, they would realize she was an empath. They would kill her. Just like they’d tried to kill her before, the night they’d murdered her mother.
In her pocket, the bloodstone hummed. It exuded a warmth that did nothing to calm her scorching panic. She needed to run. Now.
But if she ran, it would draw attention—the exact thing she and Carver had been trying to avoid. The knights would pursue her. Catch her.
She couldn’t run, but she couldn’t stay. Unable to do either, she stood frozen.
She didn’t even have the air to scream.
“Amryn, are you all right?” Cregon frowned. “You look pale.”
Perhaps she could feign an illness. If she was dismissed, it would get her out of the room without causing a stir. But would that only make the knights more suspicious?
That didn’t truly matter. She just needed enough time to find Carver and get out of the palace.
A more insistent thrum came from the bloodstone. She didn’t hear a voice, but she swore it was offering comfort. Silently insisting everything was fine. That she was perfectly safe.
That was an abject lie. Nothing was fine, and she was in mortal danger.
She felt eyes on her. She and Cregon were the only ones unmoving; everyone else was either walking to the tables or already seated.
People were beginning to notice. The knights would notice, too.
It was a miracle they hadn’t already sensed her.
Maybe they weren’t as experienced as Felinus?
Or perhaps there were too many people in the room to sort through at once?
In the end, it didn’t matter. Amryn knew it was only a matter of time before they screamed for her arrest.
Cregon shifted closer. She could see the concern clouding his eyes. “Why don’t we sit? I can get you some water, and—”
“Carver,” she said, breaking through his words with a hoarse whisper. “I need Carver.”
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Cregon said, clearly trying to soothe her. “I ran into him on the way here. He was headed to your suite, to bring you to the meeting.” He cracked a small smile. “He seemed quite anxious to reach you, so I’m sure he’ll hurry.”
“He seemed quite anxious to reach you.”
Those words echoed, landing harder than Cregon could have realized. Had Carver learned of the knights’ early arrival? Had he been racing to reach her? To help her escape?
Too late. No matter how fast he ran, Carver would be too late.
The heavy doors thudded shut. Amryn’s hands trembled.
Cregon offered his arm. “Allow me to help you to your seat.”
Her heart beat furiously against her chest, every instinct screaming at her to run.
She did the only thing she could. She took Cregon’s arm.
He led her to her seat which was—thankfully—far away from the knights. She didn’t dare look at them, not even to see if they were watching her.
Cregon pulled out her assigned chair and she sank into it before her legs could give out. Jayveh sat at the table across from her, right beside the emperor. The princess eyed Amryn with a worried frown.
At the table on her right, Amryn spotted Ivan. He was seated beside Samuel, a muscle ticking in his jaw and his eyes fixed on Amryn.
Cregon took the seat on her left.
The empty one on her right was for Carver.
“Let us begin introductions,” the emperor said.
The cleric Amryn didn’t know introduced himself first, speaking with the same air of superiority all high-ranking clerics seemed to possess. “I am Jeremiah,” he said. “The Highest Cleric and Holy Superior. Head of the church and overseer of the High Temple in Daersen.”
Amryn’s mouth ran dry. This man was more than just the leader of the church.
He commanded the Order of Knights. He knew about the tortures that took place in the Dark Tower—the empaths that Felinus had said were broken under the cruel hands of the knights.
All of that was done by Jeremiah’s command.
He was responsible for so much death and pain, Amryn couldn’t even comprehend the level of evil that must live inside him.
She jolted when the oldest knight spoke, his voice tight and deep. “I’m Renault Quinn, Senior Knight of the Order.”
Renault Quinn. Those dark features, the sharp angles on his face . . . this was Rivard’s father.
“Rhone Quinn,” the knight on his right said, his voice smooth but his eyes sharp. “I’m a Knight of the Order.”
“Revell Quinn,” the last knight grunted. “A Knight of the Order.”
Rivard’s older brothers. From the darkness in each of their eyes, she assumed they knew their brother was dead.
Amryn’s stomach churned as the introductions continued. Their voices were like a distant echo as she warred with herself. She never should have taken her seat. She should have dismissed herself to Cregon—let him make excuses for her. She could have rushed to Carver.
She should do it now. She couldn’t just sit here, waiting for the moment the knights discovered her. The moment it was her turn to introduce herself, their eyes would fall on her.
But if she left the table now, they’d also look at her. Her breath hitched. There was no way out. No good decision. She was going to be—
The bloodstone flared hotly, its energy filling her. Embracing her. Surrounding her.
Shielding her.
The realization hit with staggering force.
The bloodstone was shielding her from the knights.
She didn’t know how she knew that; there were no words, but instinct flared.
She sensed the bloodstone’s desire to protect her.
Felt the sheltering cocoon it had woven around her, making it impossible for the knights to discern her empathy.
Amryn knew it down to her bones, even though she didn’t understand how or why.
A gentle nudge came from the bloodstone, a hum and pulse that coaxed her to explore the protective shield with her empathic sense. She sensed the bloodstone wanted her to understand the defensive wall it had powered for her, so she could trust in it.
Lost in concentration, Amryn jolted when Cregon spoke beside her, introducing himself. Then it was her turn.
All eyes were on her. The heaviest belonged to the knights.
Her fingers curled into her palms beneath the table. “I’m Amryn Lukis Vincetti,” she said, her voice sounding too thin to her own ears. “I—”
The door shoved open and Carver stalked into the room. His chest rose and fell too quickly, betraying the fact he’d been running. Amryn was so attuned to him, it didn’t matter that they were in a crowded room—she felt his terror as his eyes sliced over the wide chamber, searching for her.
Their gazes collided, and a shiver tore through her at the intensity of his stare. At the burn of his emotions, which were chaotic and sharp. Relief burst through them all, and he released a stuttered breath.
“Ah, General Vincetti,” the emperor said. “Please join us.”
Carver swallowed, shooting a look toward the knights. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers too close to the dagger sheathed at his belt.
Amryn stiffened.
Carver’s attention snapped back to her, and she gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.
“We were just finishing introductions,” the emperor said, a bit pointedly. The chastisement was gentle enough, but others in the room felt varying shades of confusion and irritation as Carver remained still.
His throat flexed as he swallowed. “I apologize for my tardiness, Your Eminence.” He bowed toward the emperor, then made his way around the tables with measured steps. Amryn swore she could feel the heat of his body as he moved behind her.
He tugged out the vacant chair beside her and sat. His breathing remained slightly rough. Amryn wasn’t sure if it was from his run, or due to the tension pouring off him.
Cregon silently eyed his son, a slight frown in place.
The emperor looked at Amryn. “You may continue, my dear.”
She swallowed hard. Beneath the table, Carver grasped her shaking hand. The rush of comfort was immediate. She clutched his fingers, her hold ironclad.
He didn’t look at her. His gaze was locked on the knights.
Amryn cleared her throat and tried to remember what she’d heard the others say. “I’m Amryn Lukis Vincetti. I was the Chosen from Ferradin. I’m married to Carver.”
Carver’s thumb caressed her taut skin, his focus still aimed across the long table. He didn’t hesitate to speak next. “I’m General Carver Vincetti of Westmont.” The edge in his voice almost made his name sound like a warning.
Considering his reputation, it rather was.