Amryn’s terrified eyes cut to him. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. He moved to the open door, shouting down the hall for his father, Ford, and more guards. He remained in the doorway, unwilling to put any more distance between himself and his wife.
Behind him, Berron murmured, “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“No, I’m all right,” Amryn said, a tremor in her voice. “I just . . . The blood . . . Seeing someone killed . . .”
Carver gritted his teeth. Because she was lying. Shehadbeen hurt, even if no blade had touched her.
But they could have. Assassins had made it into their room. He hadn’t heard them. Hadn’t sensed them creeping closer. He’d been utterly vulnerable, and he’d left Amryn vulnerable, too. If she hadn’t woken, hadn’t alerted him . . .
A door banged open down the hall, and Carver glanced up to see his father tearing toward him in rumpled sleep clothes. A knife was in his hand, his hair mussed but his eyes alert. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
“Assassins,” Carver bit out.
Ford—who had just emerged from his room looking sleep-rumpled but deadly—cursed. “Is the immediate threat over?” he asked.
Carver nodded, aware of pounding footsteps coming from the stairwell. Guards, responding to his call.
“Is Amryn all right?” Cregon asked.
“Yes.”
Behind him, Berron snorted.
A muscle in Carver’s jaw ticked. He kept his attention on his father and Ford. “One of the guards on duty tonight let them in. I’m not sure where the other one is.”
Fury darkened their faces. Cregon peered into the room, revealing no surprise at seeing Berron kneeling beside Amryn.
Ford noted the dead bodies. “You didn’t keep any of them alive?”
“No.” Carver didn’t bother to explain himself. If he said it was out of necessity, Berron would argue the point, which would only lead to more questions. Let Ford think what he would.
Concern filled his friend’s eyes, but luckily the reinforcements arrived before he could say anything.
One of the responding guards was not only able to identify the dead palace guardsmen, but also reported his assigned partner for the night had become violently ill after eating dinner. The guard had promised to find his partner’s replacement for the night, which of course, he hadn’t. Carver had no doubt that an investigation would prove the guard had tainted his partner’s dinner. He hadn’t wanted any witnesses.
For all his trouble, the traitor would never get to spend the heavy purse of coins they’d found in his pocket.
More soldiers arrived to help carry out the bodies, and servants came to change the bedding and clean up the blood. Berron had moved Amryn out onto the balcony before they’d begun the gruesome task. Elowen entered the room soon after, a robe thrown over her nightdress. After she made sure Carver was all right, she’d gone out to the balcony to join them.
Carver shifted to keep them in sight through the open doors, even as he answered questions from the captain of the guard who had been summoned. When he finished his report, Cregon—who hadn’t left Carver’s side—said, “Guards should be sent to each of the Chosen. We don’t know the reason for this attack, but I think we can assume none of the Chosen are safe now.”
His stomach cramped. They’d assumed, since Jayveh alone had been targeted since coming to the capital, that someone had just wanted her dead. But if this attack had been ordered by the same person,allof the Chosen were now targets. The ambush on the road might have been the actual first strike.
Ford’s jaw worked. “I can check on Jayveh.”
“Thank you, Ford,” Cregon murmured.
Ford nodded, then eyed Carver. Saints only knew what he saw there, but he placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did well,” he said quietly. “She’s safe.”
His friend knew him too well. And yet, his words didn’t even touch the violent storm inside him.
Ford’s grip flexed once, and then he was gone.
Cregon watched him too closely. “Why don’t you go wash up?”
Carver knew the blood on his skin was drying, because it was tacky in some places and brittle in others. He still hadn’t looked at his hands. Hadn’t loosened his hold on the knife he was strangling.
