Chapter 48
Carver
Carver was regretting his decision to take Amryn to visit Ysabel before they’d even left the palace, but that regret was a hundred times stronger once they arrived at the Jasmine Inn.
It wasn’t in the best part of the city, though it wasn’t exactly the slums. The sun was on its way down, staining the sky in varying hues of violet, pink, and orange, and painting the streets in ever-deepening shadow.
They had come alone, since Carver didn’t want anyone to know about their meeting with the empath.
Knowing he was Amryn’s only line of defense made him even more alert to the potential dangers around them.
He knew he might be slightly more on edge due to everything Amryn had shared with him before they’d left the palace.
Her shocking conversation with Lisbeth and her encounter with Bram had clearly taken an emotional toll on her, but she’d still insisted on going to see Ysabel.
While Carver would have preferred to keep her tucked safely in their room, here they were, walking into a rather run-down inn.
Because, clearly, he could refuse his wife nothing.
The common room was crowded, full of shouting men and women who were placing bets as they played games of cards, dice, and darts.
The smell of ale was overpowering. Probably because it saturated every worn surface in the room.
He immediately wanted to haul Amryn out of there.
Instead, he followed her as she led the way deeper inside.
Amryn’s hand rested against the satchel slung over her shoulder, keeping Von’s journal close as she searched the room. Her roaming gaze halted. “There,” she said, pointing.
Carver followed her finger to the back corner of the room. He saw the blonde woman who must be Ysabel, but his attention was caught by the large, hardened-looking man seated next to her. Tension instantly climbed Carver’s shoulders.
“That’s Marc,” Amryn said, clearly trying to reassure him. “He’s Ysabel’s friend.”
Bodyguard seemed a more appropriate label, considering the protective way he sat beside the empath.
The middle-aged man had placed himself strategically at a corner table with his back to the wall and his eyes roving for threats.
He’d tucked Ysabel between himself and the side wall, and he was glaring at anyone who dared get too close to their table.
He proved his ability to pick out a threat when his glare landed on Carver.
Amryn laid a hand on his arm. “Be nice,” she murmured.
Ysabel spotted them. A smile crossed her lips and she waved.
Still keeping an eye on Marc, Carver allowed himself to study the empath.
For some reason, he’d pictured an older woman, but Ysabel was probably close to Amryn’s age.
She had a willowy build, and her light-colored hair was in a relaxed bun.
The glowing lamplight in the room enhanced the shine in her emerald eyes.
Amryn moved forward, and Carver shadowed her every step as they approached the corner table.
“Amryn!” Ysabel beamed. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.” His wife slid easily into the chair across from Ysabel, leaving Carver to sit opposite Marc.
The two men eyed each other warily as Carver lowered himself into the vacant chair. Having his back to the room made the spot between his shoulder blades itch, but he had a feeling Marc was more lethal than any other possible threat in the room.
His hooked nose was crooked, as if it had broken several times. He had a smattering of tattoos on his knuckles. They appeared to be letters, but it was a language Carver didn’t recognize. His black eyes were unblinking as he stared at Carver.
Ysabel chuckled. “Do you think they’ll sit like that all night?”
“If we let them, yes,” Amryn said. Her elbow nudged his side.
Reluctantly, Carver dragged his gaze from Marc so he could look at Ysabel. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Amusement sparked in her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Carver.” She gestured to the mountainous man beside her. “This is Marc. He’s mute,” she added.
The man’s expression didn’t alter, his eyes still fixed on Carver.
Carver’s own eyes narrowed slightly. “Does he have any weapons?”
“Would it make you feel more comfortable if he didn’t?” Ysabel asked.
Probably not.
The fortune-telling empath cracked a smile, clearly sensing what he hadn’t bothered to say. She glanced over at Marc and lifted her hands. For the first time, Carver noticed the dark gloves she wore. Her fingers moved in a series of deft motions.
The man grunted.
Ysabel made another sign with her hands.
Marc rolled his eyes, then his large fingers flicked through the air with slightly less grace than Ysabel’s had shown.
When he was done, the empath twisted to face Carver. “He says he is armed, as he knows you are. As for how many weapons he has, he simply says, enough.”
Carver met the man’s stare. “Noted. You can tell him I have the same.”
Marc grunted.
Ysabel’s lips twitched. “While we often use hand signals to speak to each other, Marc can hear perfectly fine.”
Yeah, Carver had gotten that.
Ysabel turned her attention to Amryn. “I was relieved to get your message. I was worried you and your friends might not have escaped Market Square.” Her eyes tracked over Amryn’s faded bruises and the scabbed cut on her neck. She winced. “Though perhaps not wholly unscathed.”
“We all made it out,” Amryn said. “Ford was stabbed, though.”
Concern filled Ysabel’s face as she leaned forward. “Is he all right?”
“He’s healing well,” Amryn assured her.
Ysabel’s shoulders lowered slightly. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“How did you make it out?” Amryn asked.
“Marc,” Ysabel said simply. “When the pain hit . . .” Her words drifted, but the noise in the room was enough to drown out their conversation. Still, she chose her words with care. “Marc had to carry me out of there, but we were lucky.”
Marc’s hands moved rapidly.
Ysabel translated. “He thinks it’s time we leave Zagrev.”
Amryn’s forehead creased. “Where would you go?”
Ysabel shrugged. “Anywhere. We rarely have a fixed destination in mind.”
Amryn shared a quick look with Carver before saying, “After the emperor’s ball, we’re going to Westmont.”
The corner of Ysabel’s mouth lifted. “I do like the coast.”
Marc looked about as thrilled as Carver did with this turn in conversation.
While Carver didn’t have anything personally against Ysabel, knowing the empath had the ability to expose his wife’s secret—even if it was extremely unlikely—made him uneasy.
He assumed Marc felt the same about him and Amryn.
A burst of yelling across the room made them all look over. It seemed the victor in a card game was being accused of cheating.
When Carver’s attention shifted back, he caught the strain on Ysabel’s face.
Marc’s fingers flew.
Ysabel sighed. “Marc doesn’t like it when I’m in a crowd like this. It can be difficult, as you well know.”
Amryn merely nodded.
Carver had gotten so used to Amryn using the bloodstone to minimize the overwhelming emotions, he hadn’t even thought about the discomfort Ysabel was enduring.
When they left Zagrev and Amryn didn’t need the amulet anymore, he would need to be more aware so he could ensure she was as comfortable as possible.
“I suppose we should get to it, then,” Ysabel continued. “Marc wants to know why you reached out to me.” The skin around her eyes tightened. “Truthfully, I’m curious myself.”
Amryn touched the satchel on her lap. She’d slipped it off her shoulder when they’d sat. “I was hoping you’d be willing to use your gift to read something for me.”
“Of course,” Ysabel agreed at once. “We’ll need to go somewhere more private, though. Would you like to come up to my room?”
“Only if we can all fit,” Carver said.
Ysabel didn’t seem the least bit annoyed by his firm tone. “Of course. But I assure you, Carver, you can trust me.”
“Trust doesn’t come easily for me.”
“Yes, I sense that about you.” Ysabel’s head tipped to the side as she studied him. “But once your trust is earned, I think your loyalty is absolute.” Her gaze grew hooded. “For better or worse, perhaps.”
Marc’s hands flashed. Ysabel’s lips twitched. “Marc wishes to warn you, Carver, that if you do anything to endanger me, he will not hesitate to kill you.”
Marc grunted and made an emphatic hand gesture.
Ysabel rolled her eyes and added, “Violently.”
Carver met Marc’s sharp gaze. “And if you do anything to endanger Amryn—likewise.”
“Men,” Ysabel huffed. “If you two are done threatening each other . . .” She pushed to her feet and gestured toward the staircase across the room. “Shall we?”
Moments later they were standing in a cramped room. The rented room was barely large enough to hold the four of them, the narrow bed, and a single chair. But at least it was private.
Carver and Marc took up positions near the neatly made bed where Amryn and Ysabel sat.
Amryn drew Saul Von’s journal from her satchel and set it on the quilt between them. “I want you to tell me everything you can about this. Specifically, about the man who wrote it.”
Ysabel studied the leatherbound book without touching it. “Do you know who wrote it?”
There was a slight hesitation before Amryn said, “Yes.”
“Ah. But you won’t tell me because you want to test me.
” The corner of Ysabel’s mouth lifted. “Very well. I like a challenge.” She tugged off one of her gloves, and Carver noted that she was careful not to touch anything with her bare skin.
She straightened her shoulders, inhaled a slow breath, then set her palm on the journal’s worn cover.
She stiffened, her eyes falling closed.
Beside Carver, Marc’s thick arms crossed over his chest, a muscle in his jaw ticking.