The details took a couple hours to debate, but a plan took shape.
The Chosen would be led on a tour of the palace—including the treasury, where they’d confirmed the Dagger of Hafsin was stored—in a couple of weeks. The timing was crucial, as they wanted the Rising to have enough time to plot their heist, but not enough time to second-guess stealing the dagger. The treasury would be a perfect place to lay their trap. It was remote, so innocents wouldn’t be caught in any fight that might ensue, and the Rising would not be able to access the space beforehand. They would be totally reliant on Amryn, Ivan, and Samuel.
Which led to the part of the plan Carver did not like.
Keats was insistent that Amryn and the others volunteer to help steal the dagger. “It will lower Bram’s defenses,” he argued when Carver had protested. “If the Chosen are confident enough to participate in the theft, Bram will fully trust their information and believe them when they say the theft is possible. Besides, if the Chosen are involved, that keeps us in control of the situation. We’ll know if the Rising deviates in any way from their plans, because they would inform Amryn, Samuel, or Ivan.”
Carver fought it, but in the end he was overruled. Morelli, sensing Carver’s tension, offered him a place with him and Keats in the treasury so he could be at Amryn’s side the instant the trap was sprung.
As if Carver would have agreed to be anywhere else.
Eventually the meeting concluded, and Carver and Amryn were finally alone as they walked back to their suite. Neither of their moods had seemed to improve over the course of the long meeting, though the slump in Amryn’s shoulders could have been from sheer exhaustion.
Weariness pulled at his own body. He prayed he’d actually be able to sleep tonight. He’d had another nightmare last night. Argent had been tortured in front of him again. This time, he hadn’t been blaming Carver. He’d been begging him to save him from Raza’s blades.
Carver honestly didn’t know which was worse.
It was late afternoon, and while no one was directly around them, Carver chose his words carefully as he asked, “Are you all right?”
Amryn glanced over at him. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
Because you look like you’ve got the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, sweetheart.
“I’m just worried about you,” Carver said. “I know today couldn’t have been easy.”
A small furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “I’m fine.” When he said nothing, just waited, she released a slow exhale. “None of this is easy, but it’s necessary. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll play my part.”
He frowned. “I know you will. You’re insane if you think I won’t worry about you, though.”
She bit her lower lip, her footsteps soft against the floor.
Saints, she could be so hard for him to read. It was all the more frustrating to know she could read him so perfectly. That she always knew exactly what he was feeling, while he was left in the dark about her thoughts.
“How was your meeting with Berron?” she asked.
He couldn’t hold back his snort. “Terrible.”
Compassion sparked in her eyes. “I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”
No.Truthfully, he didn’t want to remember it had happened at all.
Amryn glanced down, picking at something he couldn’t see on her skirt. “It’s all right,” she said into the silence. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
It was her tone more than her words that gave him pause. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just . . . I don’t know what happened with Berron today. He hates me.” His throat dried up, but he forced himself to continue. “I used to think it was because I introduced him to Rivard. That Berron blamed me forsonneever entering his life. But now I’m not so sure.” His hatred today had felt more personal. Resentment for everything Carver was. Jealousy, even. The bitterness in Berron’s words still stung, hours later.
He exhaled slowly as they reached the base of the stairs that would take them up to their room. “I guess I just—”
“Lady Amryn, General Vincetti.”
Immediate irritation burned at the sound of that voice.
Carver looked to the top of the staircase, where Chancellor Kulver of all people was grinning down at them. Considering the corridor essentially belonged to the Vincettis—and Ford, at the moment—there was no reason for Kulver to be wandering up there. Unless he was looking for someone.
The way Kulver’s eyes lingered on Amryn made Carver’s annoyance flare. He straightened his spine as he climbed the steps. He didn’t want Kulver to think he had the high ground in any way. “What do you want, Chancellor?”
Amryn shot him a look as she walked beside him, probably because his tone was nowhere near polite.
Kulver’s smile merely widened as he watched their final approach. “I was coming to find Lady Amryn. I’ve heard you’ve been in a lot of meetings, General. I hated the thought of your wife sitting alone in her room, bored.” His attention shifted to Amryn as she reached the top of the stairs. “I wanted to extend an invitation for you to join me for dinner. I’m sure we could keep ourselves entertained, if your husband is busy.”
