Fiery pain lanced through her chest, shattering the shield the bloodstone had helped to create. She gasped and doubled over. Every emotion in the square slammed into her. Terror, confusion, uncertainty, happiness, love, contentedness, bitterness, fury. There was no reason in the chaos. No way to make sense of anything.
“Amryn!” Ford grasped her shoulders, keeping her from falling to the ground. His intense flood of worry made her stomach cramp.
A shriek rent the air, rapidly joined by alarmed shouts and pained cries.
The music stopped. Panic swelled in the crowd, hitting Amryn with the force of a stone wall. She stumbled, and she would have fallen if not for Ford’s strong grasp as her empathic sense was overwhelmed. Fear twisted sharply inside her. But was it hers or Ford’s? Elowen’s or Ivan’s? Or was it the collective fear of the crowd? A crowd that had been dancing, laughing,livingjust moments ago? She didn’t know. But she felt all of it—including the horrific blow of death. She gagged, fighting not to retch as a life was cut short.
Ford’s grip became almost painful. “Elowen!” he snapped. “Ivan!”
Amryn was vaguely aware of them rushing back to join them, pushing against a crowd that was now shoving and clawing. Ivan had one arm banded around Elowen, protecting her against the panicked surge of those around them.
“What is happening?” Ivan demanded as he reached them.
“I don’t know,” Ford gritted out. Then his eyes flicked up, and he cursed. “Shooters on the roofs.”
Ivan bit out harsh words in his native tongue.
Ford was still holding Amryn, keeping her from falling as her trembling legs struggled to hold her. The waves of emotion were debilitating. An agony only an empath could understand.
Ysabel.Saints, Amryn hoped the woman’s bodyguard could protect her.
Ford’s fingers dug into Amryn’s shoulders. “Were you hit?” he demanded, nearly yelling to be heard over the shouts and cries that rang in the square.
Amryn shook her head, but it was all she could manage. She was grappling for the bloodstone’s shield to come back into place, but it wasn’t working. The first blast of pain had shattered it, and the pieces weren’t coming back together because there were more and more fractures. She felt another death. Another.Another. If she wasn’t so overwhelmed—if she were more closely attuned to each person who was dying—she’d be falling to her knees, completely sick. As it was, nausea simply twisted in her gut and her pulse roared in her ears.
“Is she hurt?” Elowen asked, her face pale and her eyes wide.
“No,” Ford said grimly. “She’s in shock.”
Ivan shot Amryn a sharp look.
“We need to get out of this square,” Ford growled.
“We could go to Piera’s,” Elowen said, her voice high and thin.
“That is too far,” Ivan said, his words more clipped than usual. He dragged Elowen away from a man’s flailing arm, saving her from a glancing blow.
Ford swore as he cut a look around them. His eyes locked on a spot to their right. “That alley is the closest.” He looked right at Elowen. “Do not let go of him.”
Carver’s sister was clearly terrified, but she jerked out a nod.
Ivan turned and started shoving through the seething crowd, leading the way. Ford was right behind him, an arm thrown around Amryn so he could help haul her forward. She stumbled, but did her best to move with him.
An elbow knocked into her before Ford could attempt to shield her, but the pain was insignificant when Amryn could feel the agony of the dying. She needed to get control of the emotional storm raging inside her. She couldn’t afford to be incapacitated.
Allowing Ford to steer her, Amryn pinched her eyes closed. She tried to block out the emotions that were slamming into her. Tried to calm herself so she could concentrate on re-establishing the emotional shield. The bloodstone’s power felt oddly distant as emotions continued to assail her, but she slowly began to pull the shield back around her. There were cracks, and they let in more emotions than shewanted to feel. But at least she could breathe again. She could think. And she could focus on what she was feeling.
The gut-wrenching fear of those desperate to survive. Grief. Despair. Loss. Then there were the horrible bursts of satisfaction that must have come from the attackers as they delivered chaos and death. The sick thrill they felt each time a bolt or blade connected with flesh.
Amryn’s head spun from the varied emotions she was feeling all at once. But she’d learned something vitally important.
The attackers weren’t just on the rooftops.
She clutched Ford’s wrist. “Knives,” she bit out. “There are men in the crowd with knives.”
He didn’t ask how she knew. He just drew his dagger and shouted a warning to Ivan.
The Sibeten prince’s only response was to yank out a knife as well.
