Ivan’s eyebrows drew together. “They meant every word,il mishka.”
Her chest tightened. Especially when she realized his predominant emotion was guilt. “Cora’s death wasn’t your fault, Ivan.”
He didn’t say anything to that, and she hated that he might forever hold himself responsible for not protecting Cora.
“Amryn?”
She twisted and found Elowen eyeing her with curiosity. “I was wondering where . . .” Her words faded as Ivan turned, and the two came face to face.
Amryn felt the shift in the air. Surprise shot through Carver’s sister, along with a stirring of interest, and sudden anticipation. Her eyes widened as she took in the Sibeten prince, from his formal Wolf uniform to his straight blond hair. His ice blue eyes were lighter than her own, and his skin was paler as well.
Ivan had frozen. His hard jaw was locked, and Amryn had never seen him look so . . . stunned. His eyes trailed over Elowen’s face, taking in her dark hair, the soft roundness of her cheeks, the parting of her pink lips. There was no missing his flare of awareness. Appreciation.Awe.
Elowen appeared to be equally entranced by him. Neither seemed capable of looking away. The silence grew as the moment stretched on, not that Elowen or Ivan seemed aware of anything but each other.
Amryn pressed her lips together, hoping to smother her smile. “Elowen, this is Prince Ivan Baranov of Sibet. Ivan, this is Lady Elowen Vincetti of Westmont.”
Ivan didn’t react to her surname. In fact, Amryn wasn’t certain he’d heard her at all, until he took a step forward. “Lady Elowen,” he murmured. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand, and Elowen didn’t hesitate to take it. Their palms fit easily together, despite his being large enough to swallow her entire hand.
She smiled as he bowed his head and brushed a kiss against her knuckles. “The pleasure is entirely mine,” she returned, slightly breathless.
Ivan didn’t relinquish her hand right away, not that Elowen seemed to mind. When he finally did release his hold, Amryn didn’t miss the way his fingers rolled into a fist at his side.
Fingering the stem of her wineglass, Amryn took a slow step back. “I’m just going to . . .”
Ivan’s attention snapped to her. “I can—"
“No,” Amryn cut in, still smiling. “Stay. I’m just going to get a little fresh air before dinner.” She gestured to the nearest open glass door that led onto a terrace, a silent reassurance she wasn’t going far.
Ivan was torn, but Amryn didn’t give him a chance to debate with himself. She gave them both a last smile before stepping away, leaving Ivan and Elowen alone.
The instant Amryn stepped outside, she relished the soft breeze against her overheated skin. The overcrowded room had grown hot, even with all the open windows and doors spilling light across the large balcony. The terrace stretched the length of the grand room and extended out from the palace to give a view of the gardens below. Stone pillars supported an overhang, and the balcony was edged with a waist-high stone railing. Amryn stepped closer to it, wanting a little more distance from the crowded room.
She still marveled at how easily the bloodstone could mute the emotions of so many. It was freeing, being able to breathe and think without being overrun by relentless waves of emotion. She knew she wasn’t supposed to use the bloodstone, but this seemed a minor thing, especially since she had to use it anyway to shield herself from Rhone. And if it could help her survive large gatherings like this, it would be worth it.
She wasn’t sure Carver would agree.
Don’t tell him.
She paused, uncertain if the thought was her own, or the bloodstone’s low whisper. Either way, she knew it was wrong. The very instinct she had to keep her use of the bloodstone secret was what made her certain she needed to tell Carver about it.
But he’s holding things back from you.
The thought made her uneasy. Mostly because it was true.
She had opened up to him, sharing things from her past that she’d never before exposed, yet he hadn’t done the same. Maybe it wasn’t fair to be hurt by that, but she was. All too well she remembered the nightmare he’d had on their journey to Zagrev. The painful finality she’d felt emanating from him, telling her withoutwords that he would never speak about the things that haunted him. She’d hoped in time that would change, but . . . what if it never did? What if Carver had no desire to let her in? What if he always held a part of himself away from her? The prospect made her chest ache. Because right now, that felt more likely. He was hiding his emotions from her, after all. Closing himself off. Shutting her out. Leaving her feeling vulnerable and alone.
It hurt more than she wanted to admit.
Reaching the balcony’s railing, she placed her free hand on the smooth stone, trying to ignore the pang in her arm. The medicine the physician had given her was strong, but hadn’t completely dissolved the pain. Trying to ignore it, she stared up at the pale moon. It was stark and full against the dark, cloudless night. Silver stars glittered across the wide expanse of the sky, and a warm breeze brushed against her cheeks, carrying a hint of jasmine and hyssop and several other exotic scents she couldn’t identify. The imperial gardens stretched out before her, the moonlight highlighting the many paths, mazes, ponds, and orchards that were no doubt tended by an army of servants. Such beauty at the heart of a brutal empire. Somehow, it fit her mood.
With the bloodstone muting her abilities, she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone on the balcony until a low voice, dripping with sarcasm, said, “Hiding from your husband already? That can’t be a good sign.”
Amryn’s heart thumped hard as she turned.
Standing in the shadows beside the balcony’s open glass doors, a man watched her. A glass tumbler, nearly empty of its amber liquid, dangled in a negligent hold. His shoulders were low and relaxed. His hair was dark and a little wild, hanging long enough that it brushed his shoulders. His beard wasn’t overly long, but it was thick, and while he wasn’t wearing a military uniform, his jacket was the now-familiar imperial black. The dark eyepatch and missing hand gave away his identity easily enough, but his single eye—a shade of blue that was all too familiar—made him unmistakable.
Berron Vincetti stared at her, his expression unreadable. While Amryn hadn’t anticipated running into Carver’s brother alone, it made sense that she would meet the reclusive Vincetti on this terrace, away from the crowd. Uneasiness spread through her as he continued to watch her with unwavering attention.
