After Ford had disappeared from view, Carver turned, taking a moment to study the towering façade of the temple. The impressive stone carvings, the sprawling wings, and countless glinting windows.
As Amryn had said, so much had happened here, both good and bad. Beautiful, and horrific.
He had been so ready to leave this bloody temple, but after everything he and Amryn had talked about, he couldn’t ignore the tug in his gut as he gave Esperance a final look. He had lost a great deal here. Losses he was still struggling to come to terms with. But he’d also gained something infinitely precious, and he could never regret that.
“Thank you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure exactly who or what he was thanking. He was just grateful that a long road of choices had led him here. To Amryn.
There weren’t many settlements in the jungle, but Carver had chosen a route that would help them avoid any of the scattered villages. He wanted to mitigate the chance of word reaching their enemies that they’d left Esperance prematurely.
Three days had passed without incident, and Carver was exhausted. He wasn’t sleeping much, and during the day he remained painfully alert to any threat.
He was also missing his wife. With her riding in one of the carriages, and him on horseback, they hadn’t seen much of each other. Even during their brief stops for meals, he rarely had the chance to sit beside her. He was kept busy with inquiries from the servants or the guards—who were far more comfortable protecting a temple than wandering the jungle—and generally seeing to the camp’s defenses. Too often, he hadn’t been able to reach their tent before Amryn had fallen asleep.
Tonight, they’d made camp near a jungle stream, just off the winding road they’d been traveling all day. The jungle grew thick and wild around them. Broadleaf ferns, flowering bushes, and moss-covered stumps of trees that had toppled long ago all tangled together across the forest floor. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the camp, and there were a few scattered fires that would hopefully dissuade the jungle’s nighttime predators from approaching. The small tents they had were rudimentary; Zacharias had explained they were kept at the temple for soldiers who came to Esperance seeking a healing refuge, but needed some solitude outside the temple’s walls from time to time.
Carver had managed to sit beside Amryn when they ate a late dinner, but it wasn’t long before he’d been pulled away to verify the guard rotations and check on Trevill—who had apparently decided it was easier not to speak to anyone until he had an audience with the emperor. Then Carver had been cornered by Zacharias, who had complaints about their route, their pace, their campsite, and every other choice Carver had made today.
But he was done handling every emergency that had cropped up. He’d checked in with the night guard to verify there were no issues, and he was finally on his way to the tent he shared with Amryn. The glowing firelight cast strange shadowsacross the silent camp. The hour was late enough that everyone but the guards had retired. Even the servants had settled into their tents. And yet, even at night, the jungle around them was alive.
Insects hummed. Vines swayed in the leafy canopy overhead as chattering monkeys used them to swing between the soaring trees. Night birds cawed and shrieked. Somewhere in the distance, a large cat yowled, the sound carrying the promise of violence. The rich scent of loamy soil held a hint of decay, the smell cool despite the humidity that clung to the air. Sweet undertones of orchids, hibiscus, and other jungle blooms filtered into each breath, mixing effortlessly with the woody scent of resin and tree bark. The sugary aromas of tropical fruits were underscored by the sharper, fermented tang of overripe and rotting fruit.
It smelled like Harvari.
Carver’s breathing thinned. His eyes darted to the shadows of the jungle, which seemed darker due to the glaring light of the snapping campfires. Woodsmoke filled his lungs, but the memory of other scents—most prominently sweat and blood—filled his mind. The scars across his body tightened.
“Sir? Is everything all right?”
Carver cut a look to the soldier moving toward him. The guard’s eyes were trained on the jungle. Tracking Carver’s intense stare, he realized belatedly.
He straightened. “Everything is fine.”
Confusion crossed the guard’s face, but he nodded. “Very good, General. I’ve just come from the princess’s tent. I’m to tell you that your wife is with Princess Jayveh, but she’ll be escorted to your tent by one of the princess’s guards when she’s ready to leave.”
Disappointment cut that Amryn wouldn’t be waiting in their tent, but he couldn’t begrudge her—or Jayveh—the time they spent together. He knew how worried Amryn was for her friend.
Carver thanked the guard and moved for his tent. Maybe he could use this time alone to meditate, to try and calm some of the restlessness inside him. Even as he had the thought, he knew Amryn’s presence would soothe him just as well. Just being near her quieted the demons that haunted him.
He twisted the ring on his hand. The familiar band felt heavier than it should. A weight he couldn’t ignore, much as he wanted to. Yet he couldn’t take it off.
“That ring seems important to you, General. Would you like me to let you keep it?”
His hand fisted, locking the ring in place on his finger. His heart thudded in his chest, his ears ringing at the memory of that voice.
It was the jungle. Being in it, without the protection of Esperance’s walls, was making him think of things better left in the dark recesses of his memory.
He reached the small tent. Even though it had been dark every night he’d entered it, it felt darker without Amryn tucked into her bedroll, her soft scent filling the space.
Carver sat on his bedroll, relying on the faint, ambient glow of the nearest campfire outside. The light bled through the canvas enough for him to see that the tent flap—and the insect netting just inside the tent—were secure. Mosquitos were thick out in the jungle, and unavoidable. That didn’t mean they couldn’t try to keep the annoying pests away.
He tugged off his shirt, inadvertently scratching some of the bites that already irritated his skin. They itched fiercely, but he tried to ignore the need to scratch them, knowing that would only make them worse.
He peeled off his boots and set them nearby, in case he needed to access them quickly. Same with his knives, though he tucked them on his other side, away from Amryn’s bedroll. He didn’t want her accidentally coming into contact with the blades when she came in.
That done, he sat cross-legged as his grandfather had taught him and lengthened his spine, pulling back his shoulders as he breathed in deeply. He let his eyes fall closed, registering the relief at once. Saints, how long had they been burning?
He kept his breaths long, deep, and even, and gradually his pulse began to slow.
He generally preferred the more active meditations his grandfather had taught him. The ones where he could move through practiced poses, letting his body and his mind relax with the fluid motions. But this stiller version of meditation worked as well.
