Chapter 41
Amryn
“Is everything all right?”
Amryn glanced over at Ford, who was watching her with a slight frown. She attempted a smile, though she had no idea how she fared. “Of course.”
Tiras was long gone, but his powerful influence had taken a while to melt away.
By the time Ivan had emerged from Ysabel’s tent, Ford and Elowen had finally noticed Amryn’s existence again.
They hadn’t seemed aware of the passage of time or their loss of focus.
Ford had even eyed the small space between them and gently admonished Amryn for wandering off.
As if she’d been the one to move, when Ford and Elowen had been the ones to drift away due to her brother’s silent prompting.
Her heart was still beating too fast. The whole encounter with Tiras had been surreal. She only knew for certain it had happened because the fan she’d bought was gone. Tiras had walked away with it still in his hand. She didn’t even know if he’d been aware he was holding it.
Saints, her brother had been here. She’d seen him.
Spoken to him. Her thoughts raced with everything he had said—and not said—and her emotions swirled in a chaotic torrent.
Tiras had sought her out. It was a little terrifying, considering how much he frightened her.
And yet, despite everything, the encounter had relieved an old and festering wound inside her heart.
Her brother was alive, and he was not indifferent to her.
Ford was still frowning at her. They were moving toward the fountain in the center of the square. Elowen and Ivan walked ahead of them. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low so it stayed between them. “I wondered if that fortune teller said something to upset you.”
Amryn knew there was no point in telling Ford that her brother had been here. For one, he didn’t know she had a brother. For another, it would bring up all sorts of questions, and while she trusted Ford greatly, she couldn’t tell him that her brother was an empath.
She needed to tell Carver, though. Tiras knew who he was, and while Amryn had managed to dissuade him from killing Carver or Rix, she knew there were no guarantees when it came to her brother.
Just as she knew she could not forget that Tiras had come with the intention of taking her away.
Aware that Ford was waiting for some reply, Amryn released a breath. “No, I’m—”
Fiery pain lanced through her chest, shattering the shield the bloodstone had helped to create.
She gasped and doubled over. Every emotion in the square slammed into her.
Terror, confusion, uncertainty, happiness, love, contentedness, bitterness, fury.
There was no reason in the chaos. No way to make sense of anything.
“Amryn!” Ford grasped her shoulders, keeping her from falling to the ground. His intense flood of worry made her stomach cramp.
A shriek rent the air, rapidly joined by alarmed shouts and pained cries.
The music stopped. Panic swelled in the crowd, hitting Amryn with the force of a stone wall.
She stumbled, and she would have fallen if not for Ford’s strong grasp as her empathic sense was overwhelmed.
Fear twisted sharply inside her. But was it hers or Ford’s?
Elowen’s or Ivan’s? Or was it the collective fear of the crowd?
A crowd that had been dancing, laughing, living just moments ago?
She didn’t know. But she felt all of it—including the horrific blow of death.
She gagged, fighting not to retch as a life was cut short.
Ford’s grip became almost painful. “Elowen!” he snapped. “Ivan!”
Amryn was vaguely aware of them rushing back to join them, pushing against a crowd that was now shoving and clawing. Ivan had one arm banded around Elowen, protecting her against the panicked surge of those around them.
“What is happening?” Ivan demanded as he reached them.
“I don’t know,” Ford gritted out. Then his eyes flicked up, and he cursed. “Shooters on the roofs.”
Ivan bit out harsh words in his native tongue.
Ford was still holding Amryn, keeping her from falling as her trembling legs struggled to hold her. The waves of emotion were debilitating. An agony only an empath could understand.
Ysabel. Saints, Amryn hoped the woman’s bodyguard could protect her.
Ford’s fingers dug into Amryn’s shoulders. “Were you hit?” he demanded, nearly yelling to be heard over the shouts and cries that rang in the square.
Amryn shook her head, but it was all she could manage.
She was grappling for the bloodstone’s shield to come back into place, but it wasn’t working.
The first blast of pain had shattered it, and the pieces weren’t coming back together because there were more and more fractures.
She felt another death. Another. Another.
If she wasn’t so overwhelmed—if she were more closely attuned to each person who was dying—she’d be falling to her knees, completely sick.
As it was, nausea simply twisted in her gut and her pulse roared in her ears.
“Is she hurt?” Elowen asked, her face pale and her eyes wide.
“No,” Ford said grimly. “She’s in shock.”
Ivan shot Amryn a sharp look.
“We need to get out of this square,” Ford growled.
“We could go to Piera’s,” Elowen said, her voice high and thin.
“That is too far,” Ivan said, his words more clipped than usual. He dragged Elowen away from a man’s flailing arm, saving her from a glancing blow.
Ford swore as he cut a look around them. His eyes locked on a spot to their right. “That alley is the closest.” He looked right at Elowen. “Do not let go of him.”
Carver’s sister was clearly terrified, but she jerked out a nod.
Ivan turned and started shoving through the seething crowd, leading the way. Ford was right behind him, an arm thrown around Amryn so he could help haul her forward. She stumbled, but did her best to move with him.
An elbow knocked into her before Ford could attempt to shield her, but the pain was insignificant when Amryn could feel the agony of the dying. She needed to get control of the emotional storm raging inside her. She couldn’t afford to be incapacitated.
Allowing Ford to steer her, Amryn pinched her eyes closed.
She tried to block out the emotions that were slamming into her.
Tried to calm herself so she could concentrate on re-establishing the emotional shield.
The bloodstone’s power felt oddly distant as emotions continued to assail her, but she slowly began to pull the shield back around her.
There were cracks, and they let in more emotions than she wanted to feel.
But at least she could breathe again. She could think.
And she could focus on what she was feeling.
The gut-wrenching fear of those desperate to survive. Grief. Despair. Loss. Then there were the horrible bursts of satisfaction that must have come from the attackers as they delivered chaos and death. The sick thrill they felt each time a bolt or blade connected with flesh.
Amryn’s head spun from the varied emotions she was feeling all at once. But she’d learned something vitally important.
The attackers weren’t just on the rooftops.
She clutched Ford’s wrist. “Knives,” she bit out. “There are men in the crowd with knives.”
He didn’t ask how she knew. He just drew his dagger and shouted a warning to Ivan.
The Sibeten prince’s only response was to yank out a knife as well.
Amryn was in no state to use a weapon, but she still wished she’d brought the knife Carver had given her.
Carver. Her heart lurched. She prayed he wasn’t here. That he was safe—
A shrill scream sounded ahead of them.
Ivan stopped short, dragging Elowen against his chest. The crowd seethed around them, buffeting them now that they’d stopped.
The change was jarring, since it had been getting easier to navigate the crowd as others had streamed toward the alley as well.
But Amryn knew there was danger waiting for them in the alley.
She could feel it. And as more screams rose, it became clear to everyone else.
People shoved in a mad scramble to get away from the alley.
“Blazing Saints,” Ford cursed, his grip on Amryn bruising. She latched onto his wrist, desperate to keep from being separated as people tore past them.
Ivan spun back to face them, Elowen sheltered by his broad body. “They are cutting off escape routes.”
“Is it the Rising?” Elowen asked, voice shaking with her fear.
“Probably,” Ford gritted out. “Though this is bold, even for them.”
Ivan scanned the rooftops, tracking the fired bolts. “They are shooting into the center of the square. We should stay on the edge. Find a shop and seek shelter—”
“Look out!” Elowen shouted.
The warning came too late.
Someone shoved into Ford and Amryn—hard. Ford lost hold of her, and she fell to her hands and knees on the cracked cobblestones. A boot ground against one of her hands, and Amryn cried out. The attack hadn’t been deliberate, just a man running scared, but her hand radiated pain.
The emotional shield wavered once more. She fought to keep it from failing completely.
Eyes flashing up, she saw Ivan reach for her—only to have a man with a cloth tied around the lower half of his face slash out at Ivan’s hand with a gleaming blade.
Ivan jerked back. He shoved Elowen behind him, one hand on her waist as he fought against the attacker. In seconds, the seething crowd swallowed them from view.
Amryn scrambled to her feet, her trampled hand throbbing hotly. She spun, searching for Ford. The frantic press of the crowd made her stumble back, but through the chaos she spotted Ford. He was on the ground, grappling with a masked man. Their blades flashed in the sunlight.
Amryn’s stomach dropped. She pushed against the people streaming past her, fighting to reach Ford. She didn’t know how she could help, but she couldn’t just—
An elbow hit her side, knocking her into a man. He twisted sharply, and her stomach dropped. A mask was tied around his face. Dark eyes bored into hers.