With a last look at Ford, Amryn moved toward the tent. If she dug in her heels, she knew Carver’s sister would only force her.
As the heavy flap swept closed behind her, the pipe music and laughter of the crowd seemed to fade. The dark fabric blocked out the brightness of the sun without making the interior too dim. A mesh square above them let a little light in, but more importantly it let in some air. The small space was a little overwarm,but at least it wasn’t sweltering. There were no lit candles or burning incense, but the scents of lavender and vanilla were strong. Something about the combination invited relaxation, and Amryn found herself breathing a little easier.
White and gray furs covered the ground, and the center of the space held a short, round table draped with a dark purple cloth that perfectly matched the fortune-teller’s cloak. Two large purple cushions sat across from each other, the low table between them. The young fortune-teller was seated on one, and she gestured Amryn toward the other, the black gloves no longer covering her delicate hands. “Please, sit.”
Amryn lowered herself onto the cushion, clutching the fan in her lap. She couldn’t place where the fortune teller was from, as her accent seemed to hold hints of many different lands. If she had to guess, she would wager the woman hailed from somewhere in the northern part of the empire, though not Sibet or Ferradin. Wendahl or Daersen, maybe?
“My name is Ysabel,” the woman said. “What is yours?”
“Amryn.”
She nodded once, then laid her hand palm up on the small round table. “Place your hand in mine, so I may see your palm.” The woman was calm, her emotions soft. That made it a little easier for Amryn to comply.
The moment their skin brushed, Ysabel stilled. Her eyelids fluttered, then those emerald eyes rolled back into her head.
Amryn’s first thought was that it was an elaborate act. But the rapid flood of overpowering, incoherent emotions the woman felt could not have been faked. In fact, it made Amryn’s skin crawl.
As suddenly as the fit had begun, it stopped. Ysabel’s eyes opened and landed squarely on Amryn. A strange mix of shock and joy speared through her. “You carry a dangerous secret, Amryn.”
She instinctively pulled back, but Ysabel caught her hand, holding tight.
“You’re not in danger here,” the fortune-teller said quickly. “Your secret, after all, is mine as well.”
Amryn’s heart thudded. Sincerity, compassion, and kinship poured from Ysabel. There was nothing cloaked or shadowed. Nothing malicious or underhanded. No hint of trickery.
“You know there’s nothing to fear,” Ysabel whispered. “Not from me.” The corner of her red-painted lips rose, her eyes shining. “I know you can feel the truth of that.”
This time when Amryn tugged at her hand, Ysabel released her.
She gripped her fan with both hands, strangling it in her lap as she tried to keep her fear from showing. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I don’t know what—”
“Oh, don’t bother with denials.” Ysabel laughed softly, the sound chasing away some of the mysticism that had been in her voice. “Saints, it’s a relief to meet you. It’s such a rare thing, to cross paths with a fellow empath.” There was a pause, then Ysabel grinned. “You’re uneasy with how open I am.”
She was clearly reading Amryn’s emotions—just as Amryn was able to read hers in return. She wasn’t sure if there was a reason to keep pretending, but the need for secrecy was too deeply ingrained in her. “Empaths aren’t exactly a safe topic of discussion,” she said carefully, not admitting anything.
“You’re right, of course. But if we can’t trust each other, whocanwe trust?” Ysabel leaned forward, bracing her crossed arms against the table. “You’re confused. And not just about my openness, I think. Perhaps you’re wondering about my chosen profession?”
Amrynwascurious. Most empaths avoided drawing attention to themselves at all costs. They certainly wouldn’t put themselves near anything that whispered of the supernatural—like fortune-telling. “It seems an odd choice, if you are an empath,” she finally said.
“Perhaps on the surface,” Ysabel agreed. “But I’ve learned to hide in plain sight. The clerics may turn up their noses at a fortune-teller, but there’s nothingexactlywrong with what I profess to do, so they can’t arrest me. Fortune telling and palm reading is just a bit of harmless fun for everyone, after all.” She shrugged. “It keeps me fed. Besides, what empath would be insane enough to pretend to be a mystical fortune-teller? Truly, it’s the perfect disguise.”
“It’s still a risk.”
“Isn’t everything? I take precautions, of course. I never linger in any place for too long, since roaming the empire seems to be safer than staying in one place. Sometimes I travel with a fair, but I usually just make my own way with Marc.”
Amryn thought of the stoic-looking guard standing just outside. “Does he know you’re . . .?”
“Yes.” The answer was short, not inviting further questions. It was obvious Ysabel was as protective of her bodyguard as he was of her. Amryn sensed a familial love between the two, though it was clear they weren’t related. They certainly looked nothing alike.
She was curious about their story, but she honored Ysabel’s clear wish for privacy. She fiddled a little with the fan as she asked, “Do you actually see the future?” She was thinking about Von’s journal and the haunting words that had sounded almost prophetic.
“Not a bit of it,” Ysabel said easily. “But I can touch a person—or an object—and see glimpses of their past. More than that, I can discern their emotions then and now, and the emotions of those I see in my visions. With a gift like that . . .” She indicated the space around them. “Creating this particular business just made sense. It’s amazing what you can predict for someone when you know their past, which generally makes for very satisfied customers.”
Amryn had known some empaths could glean information from touching an object, but she had no idea that could extend to a person. “That’s an incredible gift.”
“It is. But not one I always appreciate.” Ysabel nodded to the gloves she’d discarded. “I wear those whenever possible so I can avoid unwanted visions.”
Amryn had never considered the inconvenience of a tactile gift like Ysabel’s before. Amryn’s own took a great deal of intention and concentration; she could not heal accidentally. The idea of having her strength drained by a simple touch, or seeing things she did not wish to see, made compassion rise for the empath in front of her.
