Chapter 21 Amryn
Amryn
Amryn bit her lip as she thumbed through Von’s journal. She was sitting out on the balcony. The wrought-iron chair wasn’t exactly comfortable, but having fresh air made the trade worth it.
She stifled a yawn. Tiredness dragged at her, since she’d only managed to get a little sleep last night, but she had no regrets.
She and Carver had talked for hours, sharing stories from their childhoods and anything else that came to their minds.
It had been simple. Effortless. And it had been exactly what they’d both needed.
Her last memory of the night had been Carver tugging her to their bed. Dawn had only been a couple hours away, and she’d barely been able to keep her eyes open. He had helped her settle beneath the sheets, and she swore he’d kissed her temple before he’d retreated.
She was smiling when she woke.
Carver was already gone. He’d left a note, telling her he’d gone to spar with Morelli.
While Amryn had the protection of the bloodstone, she’d chosen to remain in their apartment after a delicious breakfast she’d insisted Ahmi share with her.
Once her maid had left, Amryn turned to Von’s journal.
She hadn’t had a chance to write down the pattern she’d noticed in his repeated words.
The Flame. The Sword. The Dragon. The Storm.
She’d found parchment, ink, and a quill on the bookshelf among Carver’s things before making her way out onto the balcony.
The fresh air teased her curls and brushed gently across her skin, the floral scents of jasmine and hyssop drifting up from the palace gardens.
It was all too easy to imagine Carver standing at the stone railing, as he had last night.
Or to picture him going through his meditative stances, as he had their first morning here.
Shirtless both times. Her cheeks warmed, but her grin was unstoppable.
This balcony might just be her favorite place in Zagrev.
Forcing herself to focus, she pushed aside thoughts of Carver and concentrated on the journal in her hands. Some lines stood out, even though they weren’t the ones she searched for.
The empire must fall. Only then can the world survive.
As much as the world hates me, it cannot match the hatred I feel for myself.
Forgive me.
Amryn frowned. The desperation in Von’s words bled through the ink, even years after writing them. Forgive me. She wondered who he’d sought forgiveness from. Her first thought was the man he’d wronged so violently—Emperor Lorcan Vayne.
As soon as she thought his name, she saw it on the page before her.
Lorcan cannot win. Neither can Oren.
Murdon Savin had circled both names and labeled them ‘the emperor’ and ‘Von’s ally?’
Amryn had never heard another empath’s name linked to Von’s, but now she thought of the Acolytes.
Rhone had told Carver they were a group of powerful empaths allied with Von.
And yet, it seemed unlikely that this Oren had been on Von’s side, because he’d stated that Oren could not be allowed to win.
Saints, would any of this ever make sense?
Finally, she came across one of the lines she’d been looking for.
The Flame, shaped by betrayal that ends in violent death.
Unease whispered across the back of her neck, but she tried to ignore the actual words as she jotted them on the loose sheet of paper.
She soon lost herself in her work, only distantly aware of the life bustling in the palace around her.
A set of guards, patrolling below. A harried servant, rushing down the corridor on some errand.
A ripple of softness that Amryn thought might be Elowen, somewhere in her apartment further down the hall.
A couple of noblewomen wandered the grounds below the balcony, each wrestling with feelings of resentment toward the other, though their pleasantly spoken words expertly disguised their mutual dislike.
The increasing weariness and impatience of the guard at her door, who was eager for his replacement to arrive.
Each time she felt a new burst of emotion from somewhere around her, she tried to ignore it.
She couldn’t help but notice that she was able to separate the emotions of strangers more easily than ever before.
She wondered if it was a possible side effect of carrying the bloodstone.
Even now, she was wearing it around her neck, the gemstone hidden under her collar.
She wasn’t actively accessing its power, other than to use the protective shield, but maybe it was helping her in other ways.
Which was actually a bit chilling, since she wasn’t actively seeking its help.
Not wanting to dwell on that, she focused solely on the task at hand. Soon, a full page of her own handwriting stared back at her. She’d found every line in the journal that had started with the Flame, the Sword, the Dragon, and the Storm.
Twelve lines stared back at her, grouped into four sections.
The Flame, shaped by betrayal that ends in violent death.
The Flame must choose to heal or destroy; to sacrifice or betray.
The Flame will choose, and burn out.
The Sword, stained by the blood of enemies and innocents.
The Sword must break; break and be mended, so it can shatter anew.
The Sword will defend, and be defeated.
The Dragon, silenced by all and none.
The Dragon must wake; terror will reign for all but the monster.
The Dragon will rise, and fall.
The Storm has come.
The Storm must rage.
The Storm cannot be escaped or survived.
Amryn frowned. The words were ominous, but something didn’t feel right. As if something was missing, and that was lessening the impact of Von’s word. Or maybe the order was wrong?
On a whim, Amryn turned back to the journal to see if she was right . . . and quickly realized she was. More often than not, Von repeated those words in the same order. The Flame. The Sword. The Dragon. The Storm. The pattern was distinct. What if—
A footstep scuffed behind her.
Alarm flared. Amryn jumped to her feet, whirling to face the threat, her heart in her throat as she gripped Von’s journal like a shield.
The palace guard thrust out both hands. “It’s me! I’m sorry, Lady Amryn, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
With her pulse hammering and her stomach clenching, it was all Amryn could do to not scream.
But then she actually looked at the guard.
Truly saw him. More than that, she finally noticed the familiar brush of his emotions.
Realized he’d called her Lady Amryn. Registered the lilt of his accent.
It was one she hadn’t heard in far too long.
Shock slammed into her, and her eyes widened. “Bram?”
Her uncle’s bodyguard cracked a smile. “Hello, Lady Amryn.”
She could only stare. Seeing Bram here, in this place so far from home, was unreal.
It made her doubt her vision. But when she blinked, he still remained.
Burly as ever, and still heavily muscled though he was in his late forties now, his brown hair touched with gray at the temples.
His familiar face was so unexpected, it almost felt like he was a stranger.
“I knocked, but you must not have heard,” he said, deeply apologetic. “I knew you were alone, so I thought I’d take a chance. You didn’t hear me call your name.” He glanced curiously at the journal she held clutched in her hands.
Amryn closed the book, trapping the loose sheet of paper between the worn pages. She set it on the chair she’d vacated, hoping that would make the journal appear innocent. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”
“You always were studious,” Bram said, fondness rising to shine in his warm eyes. “Your books or your music, it didn’t matter which. You’d always be fully absorbed.”
Amryn tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I . . . What are you doing here, Bram?” Carver had told her the emperor had summoned Rix and Torin to the capital, but it was too soon for them to have arrived.
That’s when she realized Bram was wearing the black and gold uniform of a palace guard. Her pulse quickened. Oh, Saints . . .
Bram’s lips curved into a slow smile. As if he could read her thoughts, he confirmed, “I joined the Rising. Just like you.”
Shock and denial darted through Amryn. But even though her heart pounded, she attempted to keep her expression smooth. To reveal nothing of her sudden anxiety.
Bram was a rebel. Not only did that put him in terrible danger, it put her in a terrible situation.
And it certainly wouldn’t help Rix’s case when it was discovered his trusted bodyguard was a rebel.
She’d assured everyone that her uncle wasn’t part of the Rising; that he’d only been sympathetic to their cause. Would the emperor believe her now?
“I’ve been trying to get close to you since you arrived,” Bram said, heedless of her inner panic. “I finally managed to get on your room’s guard rotation.”
“You’re working here,” she stated. “For the Rising.”
He nodded. “Your uncle and King Torin . . . they couldn’t bear to leave you completely unprotected on the far side of the empire,” Bram said, breaking into her thoughts.
“They asked me to join the Rising. It was too late to be hired as a guard at Esperance, but I was able to secure a job as a palace guard here. Positioned in Zagrev, I could reach you more quickly than Rix could, if something happened at the temple. And we knew that if things failed in Esperance, this is where you and the other Chosen would be brought.”
Amryn couldn’t stop staring. She’d last seen Bram in Esperance, the day she’d married Carver. Had he already been part of the Rising then? Why hadn’t Rix told her?