Chapter 23 Amryn
Amryn
“Is it possible your uncle is more involved with the Rising than he led you to believe?” Jayveh asked Amryn. They were out of the prison, but the chill of that holding room had yet to leave them.
“No,” Amryn said firmly. But if she was wrong .
. . Saints, she prayed she wasn’t wrong.
Her stomach twisted. “I think Jamir was just desperate.” She’d felt that from him, along with fear.
With those strong emotions clouding things, it was nearly impossible to determine if he’d been lying.
But Rix had never lied to her. “My uncle was sympathetic to the Rising. So was Torin. But their first contact with the rebels was that letter. They never joined the Rising.” They’d only asked her to do so. And Bram, apparently.
Jayveh sighed. “You’re probably right. Carver was adamant that his brother isn’t a rebel.”
And yet, Amryn knew that Carver fully intended to question Berron. Just as her uncle and Torin would be questioned when they arrived in the capital. Her stomach twisted again, more violently than before. Because while she didn’t believe her uncle was a rebel, his longtime bodyguard was.
“Carver Vincetti is a dead man.”
There had been no compromise in Bram’s voice. Nothing but violent anticipation. Even though there was no indication he planned to act immediately on his vow, the threat was still horrifying.
She needed to tell Carver about it. But the moment Jamir’s interrogation had ended, General Morelli had intercepted them, telling Carver that some prison guards were waiting to be questioned.
That was when Amryn had learned Trevill had been murdered.
Her anxiety had spiked, and she knew Carver could read it in her eyes.
She’d felt his internal conflict, but duty had won out.
He’d given her a brief kiss, guilt cutting into him as he’d drawn back to follow Morelli.
He’d sent Ford with her and Jayveh, even though the princess was surrounded by bodyguards.
While there hadn’t been another attempt on her life since their first night in the palace, the emperor was taking no chances.
“It seems wrong,” Jayveh said softly, pulling Amryn from her thoughts. “Having a feast tonight, when Argent is still missing.”
Amryn’s heart squeezed with the pressure of her friend’s grief. She reached out, taking Jayveh’s hand. She had no real words of comfort, but her touch did something to soothe the most jagged edges of Jayveh’s devastation and loneliness.
Amryn was dreading the emperor’s dinner tonight. Enduring the many and varied emotions of a crowd made her nervous enough, but the thought of running into Rhone Quinn—the knight who had remained at the palace—made her pulse race. Even if she had an effective way to avoid detection.
The bloodstone around her neck hummed contentedly. Saints, that still unsettled her. Whenever it seemed to react to her thoughts or the words spoken around her, she had to wonder just how aware the amulet was.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
They entered one of the main thoroughfares of the palace.
It was an inner courtyard, open to the elements and surrounded by soaring stone columns.
A large pool reflected the brilliant cerulean sky above, with bright tiles laid out in intricate patterns across the floor.
Scattered pots overflowed with flowers of pink, orange, and scarlet, and larger pots held towering palm trees and other emerald-hued fronds.
Stone benches with colorful cushions littered the entire area.
It was a vivid oasis in the middle of a bustling palace, the foreign feature yet another thing that made Amryn feel far from home.
Servants, guards, and nobles all crossed the sprawling courtyard, walking its winding paths or purposely striding under the shaded, open-air halls along the perimeter. A few looked at Jayveh and Amryn with open curiosity, but no one approached.
The emotions were a wild tangle inside Amryn’s chest, chaotic and almost painfully contrasting. Some people were furious. Others were locked in personal agonies. Boredom, anxiety, joy, sorrow—Amryn’s skin itched at the overwhelming waves of disparate feelings that washed over her.
Jayveh made a sound low in her throat. “He’s rather . . . intense.”
Amryn glanced up, confused—until she laid eyes on Ivan. He was all but stalking across the inner courtyard, his ice blue eyes trained on her. His footsteps were sure and steady. He wasn’t deviating from his straight course toward them, which forced the crowd to part for him.
Amryn felt a tug of unease from Jayveh. “He’s become quite fixated on you, hasn’t he?” the princess murmured.
Amryn suspected Ford had managed to hear the words when he felt a sudden stab of annoyance, edged with protectiveness. Intuition whispered it wasn’t for her, as much as for Carver.
She sighed. She directed her words at Jayveh, but they were for Ford as well. “We’re friends, that’s all. He’s still grateful to me for helping him on Zawri.”
Jayveh shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. Something about him seems—”
“Jayveh!” Sadia called out. “Amryn!”
They both looked to their left, where Sadia and Samuel had just emerged from one of the many corridors that led to this central hub in the palace.
Sadia’s arm was still in a sling, but her smile was undimmed.
Samuel followed his wife closely as she led the way toward them, caution living inside him.
Amryn wasn’t sure he fully believed the emperor’s unexpected pardon yet. Something like that would take time.
After a quick exchange of greetings, Jayveh said, “Sadia, I actually wanted to ask you something. You too, Amryn, since you’re staying a while longer.
” She sent them both a tentative look. “You know the emperor asked me to assist Hector and Chancellor Morav in planning the ball, but I was hoping you’d both agree to help me. ”
“Of course,” Sadia said at once.
Amryn merely nodded. She didn’t think she’d have many opinions about the ball’s details, but she’d do anything to support her friend.
Relief rippled through Jayveh. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to attend those meetings alone, and—”
“Get down!” Ivan roared.
Panicked cries broke out. One of Jayveh’s guards shoved the princess to the ground, just as a sharp pain seared into Amryn’s arm. Ford slammed into her, tackling her from behind. The tiled floor flew at her face, and she reared back on instinct.
The back of her head slammed into Ford’s chin.
He grunted as they both landed on the floor.
Her cheek hit the stone hard, and agony burst across her face.
Ford’s weight crushed her, making it difficult to breathe.
Screams shredded the air, ringing off the stone walls that framed the courtyard.
Chaos reigned as footsteps pounded and bodies hit the floor.
Terror and alarm snarled inside Amryn, choking her.
“Don’t move,” Ford snapped.
She couldn’t even if she wanted to. He was pinning her completely. “Can’t—breathe,” she gasped.
He resettled his weight, but remained on top of her.
Amryn peered around his rigid arm. Jayveh’s guards surrounded her, making it impossible to see if her friend was all right. Samuel had Sadia pinned as well.
Ivan crashed to his knees beside them, one hand braced on the floor near Amryn’s head. “The shooter was on the roof behind you,” he said to Ford. He spoke quickly, his heavy accent clipping each word. “He was aiming at Jayveh. He looked to be wearing a palace guard uniform.”
Ford’s fury was only thinly veiled as he growled, “If you saw him, go after him!”
“I do not know the palace layout as you probably do,” Ivan snapped. “I will stay with her.”
Ford’s internal debate didn’t last long, but the intensity of his emotions were brutal enough to make Amryn wince. He cursed. “Guard her with your life,” he bit out. Then he was gone, tearing after the attacker and shouting for the rallying guards to follow him.
Ivan grasped Amryn’s shoulders and rolled her onto her back. Hunched over her, his eyes burned.
Her arm was burning, too. She glanced down at it, and her stomach rolled when she saw a smear of bright crimson on the upper sleeve of her dress.
Ivan’s hand curled over the wound, and Amryn stiffened at his pressured hold. “It is a graze,” he said curtly. “You will be fine.”
It didn’t feel fine, but she knew Ivan’s assessment was right. It was only a flesh wound. She tried to sit up, but Ivan used his free hand to pin her good shoulder against the floor.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Amryn gritted her teeth. “I need to see if Jayveh’s all right.”
“She is fine. Her guards tackled her, leaving you vulnerable.” Ivan remained crouched over her.
He was shielding her, she realized. Just as Ford had done with his body, too.
“They should have covered you as well,” he added, his tone dark.
“Instead, you became the target when they pushed her down. You took the bolt meant for her.”
Amryn shivered. If Ivan hadn’t spotted the shooter, the dart that had only wounded her might have been a fatal hit for Jayveh.
The bloodstone pulsed. I could have helped you, it seemed to say. If you embraced using me, I could have helped you identify the threat.
Amryn closed her eyes, breathing hard through her nose. Was she imagining those words? Or was the bloodstone’s voice in her head once more, just more subtly than before?
Ivan misunderstood the tension in her expression. He attempted to make his hard voice soothing as he said, “You will be all right, il mishka.”
She still didn’t know what those words meant, but they were familiar, and that made them comforting in this moment.
“Jayveh?” Sadia called out, her voice tremulous with her fear. “Amryn?”
“I’m all right,” Jayveh rasped.
“So am I,” Amryn said. “Are you, Sadia?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see a second shooter?” Samuel asked Ivan—proving that the prince of Wendahl had been listening closely.