A shiver rippled through Jayveh. “I still can’t believe he thought you were one of those monsters.”
Amryn’s heart lurched. She set down her cup, the smallclinkbarely registering as her pulse raced.
“The whole thing confuses me,” Sadia said, lines appearing on her forehead. “I didn’t really question Samuel’s healing at Esperance. I called it a miracle, and that was that. But we’ve talked about it since, and it just doesn’t make any sense. Why would an empath heal anyone?”
“I don’t know.” A furrow grew between Jayveh’s brows. “But it makes me worry that there’s something else going on that we don’t understand yet. Some larger plot we’re not aware of. And if an empath is involved . . .” She shook her head. “I fear we’re in more danger than we realize.”
Thankfully, Hector and Morav arrived then, ending the conversation before Amryn was expected to contribute to it. The emperor’s steward looked a little more harried than usual as he took his seat, but he didn’t hesitate to pull out ink and paper from his satchel, and then they resumed their planning.
Even though Amryn was there as they discussed food, music, and how to decorate the garden space—a setting the emperor had insisted upon—she felt removed from the others at the table.
She couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react if they knewshewas the empath they feared.
Amryn thanked Ivan for walking her back to her room. He studied her carefully but didn’t ask her to explain why she’d been subdued since leaving the garden. Perhaps he’d overheard their conversation about empaths, and he knew exactly why there were shadows in her eyes.
“I am here if you ever need me,il mishka,” was all he said.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He dipped his chin and then he was gone.
As Amryn reached into her pocket for her key, one of the guards at her door said, “It’s unlocked, my lady.”
She frowned. She didn’t understand the look the guards exchanged, but she felt an unexpected pulse of . . .anticipation? She instinctively reached out with her empathic sense, using the bloodstone’s help to discern things more clearly. She didn’t sense any menace or danger from the guards, but she did sense someone in the room.
Her frown only deepened as she stepped into the suite—and nearly ran into Ford, who was on his way out.
He grasped her arms, steadying them both. “Saints,” he swore, though his tone was good-natured. “Don’t tell Carver I wasn’t fast enough.”
Amryn’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”
Ford grinned. “He wanted it to be a surprise. Frankly, I think he wanted you to think he’d done it all himself, but he only ordered everything. And had the idea. And wrote a note that’s bound to be sickeningly sentimental, but let’s all remember that he hadmeset it up.”
Her confusion only grew. “What are you talking about?”
He gave her arms a gentle squeeze before releasing her and taking a step back. “I sincerely don’t know how you lug such an unwieldy thing around. I nearly dropped it three times. But don’t tell Carver that.” He sent her a wink, then stepped around her and closed the door behind him.
Utterly lost, Amryn turned to face the room—and froze.
Propped against one of the cushioned chairs was a cello. The polished wood gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight that poured in from the glass balcony doors. A beautifully ornate music stand stood beside it.
Shock gripped her, but she managed to drift forward, her skirt whispering against the floor as she crossed the room. Her fingertips ghosted over the strings, the long, smooth neck . . . and then she looked into the open case that had been laid out on the floor. A bow rested inside, along with a stack of sheet music and an envelope with her name on it, written in a neat, masculine script.
Her heart pounded as she knelt before the case and lifted the envelope.
A single sheet of paper was folded inside.
Amryn,
I’m sorry it took me so long to give this to you. I know how much music means to you, and how difficult it’s been for you to live without it. I hope this cello measures up to the one you had to leave in Ferradin.
—Carver
The paper trembled in her grip. Her free hand covered her mouth, her throat too tight and her eyes suddenly stinging. She tucked the letter back into the envelope and pressed it into the case, knowing she would always keep it there. She leafed through the stack of music, noting many of the songs were written by composersfrom Ferradin. She knew several of the pieces, but there were new ones to learn as well. She also found a small bar of rosin, which smelled faintly of pine, and a soft, deep purple cleaning cloth. There were even spare strings.
Carver had thought of everything.
Her heart felt too full. Like her chest was ready to burst with the pressure of her joy, her gratitude.Love.
