Chapter 47
Amryn
Amryn had just finished breakfast with Sadia and Jayveh in the royal garden, where they’d had another meeting with Hector about the upcoming ball.
Amryn had welcomed the distraction. It had been two days since she had discovered the second bloodstone, and she’d finally received a message from Ysabel last night.
The empath had agreed to meet with her and Carver at the Jasmine Inn tonight.
She knew Carver wasn’t enthusiastic about the coming meeting, but she was anxiously counting down the hours. Even if a part of her was nervous to discover whatever Ysabel might glean from the journal, the need to know overpowered her fear.
Striving for calm, Amryn was taking her time as she walked back to the palace, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air in the expansive garden.
She should have walked faster.
“Lady Vincetti!” High Cleric Lisbeth called out from behind her.
Amryn’s stomach dropped, but she fought to keep her expression neutral as she turned to face the female cleric.
The middle-aged woman’s hands were clasped loosely before her, her shaved head lifted at an angle that communicated her confidence loudly, though Amryn felt a thread of uncharacteristic hesitance from the woman.
Her robe swept the garden path behind her, the midnight blue contrasting sharply with her otherwise pale skin.
Her smile was too wide to be real, and it certainly didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m glad I caught you. Princess Jayveh said you’d gone this way.
I thought perhaps I could join you on your walk. ”
While Amryn had known a private conversation with the cleric was inevitable—she’d been cornering each of the Chosen since they’d arrived—she still dreaded it.
She took comfort in the presence of the two guards Carver had insisted she take.
She knew they were handpicked by Cregon and completely trusted.
They couldn’t protect her from a conversation with Lisbeth, but at least she wasn’t alone.
Amryn offered a thin smile to the cleric, hoping it was more convincing than Lisbeth’s. “Of course.”
Lisbeth reached her side, and Amryn tried not to shiver at her innate coldness. Today, Amryn also sensed curiosity in her.
As they began walking down the garden path together, Amryn’s guards fell into step behind them, allowing slightly more distance than Amryn was comfortable with.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to find a moment to speak with you, Amryn. May I call you Amryn?”
Feeling like she didn’t have a choice, she merely nodded.
Lisbeth’s smile sharpened. Her eyes traced over Amryn’s face. “Are you still in pain?”
The bruising on her left cheek had faded greatly, though Carver still treated her with extreme gentleness. “Not really,” she told Lisbeth.
The woman hummed. “I’m glad you’re on the mend, though I’m sorry you were ever in danger.
” They rounded a bend in the path, walking past sweet-smelling hedges.
“You and the rest of the Chosen have certainly endured a great deal of peril since going to Esperance,” Lisbeth stated.
“If you’d like to talk about any of that, I’d love to listen. ”
“Thank you,” she repeated.
A spark lit Lisbeth’s eyes. It might have been amusement. “You’re not going to talk to me about any of it, are you?”
Amryn decided to tell the truth. “No.”
“You’re not religious.” It was a statement, but there was a slight edge to it Amryn didn’t understand.
“I’m not,” she confirmed. Hoping to end Lisbeth’s unnerving stare, she said, “Jayveh mentioned that you’ve been able to bring her some peace. Thank you for that.”
“I live to serve. Especially the emperor and his family.”
They wound deeper into the garden, silence falling between them.
The cobblestone path was worn smooth, a slight dip in the center showing where people had walked for generations.
While the empire was relatively new, the kingdom of Craethen had been around for hundreds of years.
The emperor’s ancestors had ruled from this palace, and even though new additions had been made, the heart of the garden was old.
Palms towered over them, huge fronds swaying in the breeze.
Other trees with more leafy boughs shaded the path, and tall hedges that came nearly to Amryn’s shoulders cultivated a feeling of isolation.
There were stone benches here and there, but Amryn didn’t see another soul.
They followed another curve in the path and entered a small courtyard. A rectangular pool sat in the center, with intricate tilework done in bright crimsons, vibrant blues, and glowing yellows. Several lily pads floated atop the glittering water.
As they walked by the long pool, Lisbeth said, “I’ll admit, I’ve been hesitant to seek you out.”
Amryn glanced at the other woman. “Why?”
The high cleric looked over her shoulder, and Amryn followed her gaze. The guards were not out of view, but they were far enough back that they wouldn’t be able to hear softly spoken words.
When Lisbeth turned back to Amryn, her eyes traced over her face, her gaze searching. A well of yearning opened inside her. “I thought perhaps if I looked hard enough, I might see him,” she murmured. “But you look nothing like your father.”
It was the last thing Amryn had expected the high cleric to say. A chill filled her veins, freezing her in place. Lisbeth also stopped walking, her brow furrowing as she studied Amryn.
Amryn stared right back, forcing her expression to remain neutral even though her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. “You knew my father?”
She felt an unmistakable stab of grief as Lisbeth said, “Yes. I knew him.”
Amryn’s throat was dry, her lungs too tight for words. From the corner of her eye she saw the guards had paused as well, maintaining a respectful distance. But her focus was on the woman standing before her.
Lisbeth’s mouth was a firm line, at odds with the sorrow rising within her. “Before I completed the rites to become a cleric, my name was Lisbeth Lukis.”
Amryn stopped breathing. “You’re . . . my aunt?”
“No,” Lisbeth said, a new curtness entering her voice. “We are not related by blood. Even so, your father was as dear to me as a brother.” She resumed walking, and Amryn was left to follow, tugged forward by a combination of curiosity and shock.
They were nearly to the end of the long pool when Lisbeth released a low exhale.
“Your father and I were both abandoned as infants on the same church steps, mere months apart.” She peeked over at Amryn.
“When an infant or nameless child is abandoned to the church’s care, the clerics who serve as caretakers give the child a name from a saint, and—because the Divinities don’t want any soul to flounder—the church also assigns a surname.
A different one is used each year. Based on the child’s surname, one can determine what year the babe was left to the church. ”
“I didn’t know that.” Saints, Amryn hadn’t even known her father had been abandoned as a child, let alone raised by the church.
“Ferrin and I grew up together at the Holy Orphanage of Daersen,” Lisbeth said. “And we both made the choice to become initiates when we turned twelve.”
“My father was a cleric?” The mere idea was as shocking as it was absurd. How did a cleric come to marry an empath?
“Your father never became a cleric.” Lisbeth’s tone hardened along with her emotions as she continued.
“He never completed the rites. Before he could take his final oaths, he met your mother.” The disdain she felt for Amryn’s mother was unmistakable.
While the hatred was old, it still burned inside her.
Amryn’s mouth was dry, but she managed to ask, “How did they meet?”
Lisbeth lifted one eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
She shook her head. She’d been too young to wonder about such a thing when her mother was alive, and after her death, she’d never thought to ask Rix.
Frankly, she’d lost all interest in her father after he’d betrayed them to the knights.
But she was suddenly desperate to learn more about her parents.
She needed to understand how her father—a man who had once been abandoned—could abandon his wife and children.
How a man who wanted to be a cleric could turn his back on everything he’d believed and marry an empath, and yet choose to betray her so completely.
“Please,” Amryn said, her voice a little hoarse. “If there’s anything you can tell me about them, I want to know.”
Lisbeth’s forehead creased. “I’m not sure I’m the most appropriate person to share this story. I was never fond of your mother.” An understatement, if her emotions were any indication.
At this point, Amryn didn’t care. “I’d like to know their story. You knew them in a way I never did.”
Lisbeth still seemed a little uncertain, but she dipped her chin. “Very well.”
They exited the courtyard and started down another path lined with hedges, though this one had wooden beams and lattices that formed a tunnel over them, flowering vines clinging to every surface.
Lisbeth took a moment to gather her thoughts.
Amryn could feel the blur of her emotions as memory drew her back.
“Ferrin and I were serving the church in Ferradin,” she began.
“We were nineteen years old, only a year away from making our final oaths. Our mission was to strengthen the faith of newly converted souls, since Ferradin had recently been brought into the empire. From the first moment Ferrin saw your mother . . .” She shook her shaved head, sadness and regret filling her.
“I knew a part of his soul was already lost to her. One instant. That’s all it took. ”