That horrific amulet was still glowing, red light peeking between her fingers—and his, since he’d grabbed her hand.
His stomach dropped. He snatched the bloodstone from her grasp, the chain tensing against her neck, making her body rock forward.
The glow died, and Amryn blinked. As if cutting off her physical connection with the bloodstone had somehow broken its hold on her. Her pale face wasstreaked with tears. Her hair was a tangled mess, falling from its braid. The slash of a red curl against the pale skin of her cheek looked just as violent as the blood smearing her neck and the base of her throat. That red hair had been the beacon he’d run toward in the crowd, all while praying he wouldn’t be too late. Saints, if he hadn’t heard Ford shouting her name . . .
“Carver . . .” Amryn swayed.
He caught her, dragging her against his chest.
They were both breathing too hard. She was slumped against him, but he easily held her weight. There was no weakness in his body. Not even a twinge of pain, though he’d been stabbed. Twice. Only the memory of the pain remained, whispering that he should be dead.The sensation was jarring. Wrong.
He shoved that aside so he could assess Amryn. The side of her neck was still bleeding, and the bruising around her eye and cheekbone was swelling. She had some scrapes on her palms, and the back of one hand was already darkening with a nasty bruise. There were probably other bruises he couldn’t see, but he couldn’t find any other wounds. She was clearly drained of energy, though. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her breaths feathering too weakly against his neck.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Just tired.”
Using the bloodstone had taken something from her, just like it had in Esperance. At least this time she hadn’t fallen unconscious.
“Are you both all right?” Ford demanded.
Carver jolted. Awareness rushed back in, and he tensed. A quick scan of the rooftops showed no sign of any shooters. Or Rhone. And the fighting in the square seemed to be dying out. Carver had found three city guardsmen while he’d searched for Amryn, but it was the arrival of the reinforcements that had truly managed to break up the attack. Carver had glimpsed masked men darting away the second the city guard was spotted. A few had clung to the violence, like the man who had nearly killed Amryn. And the man whowouldhave killed him, if not for Amryn.
“Carve?” Ford pressed, urgency riding his tone.
Carver swallowed once. “Yes. We’re all right.”
“Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw that man’s knife come out of your back. And you’ve got blood all—”
“It’s not mine,” he interrupted. It was a lie, but how else could he explain it? Any close inspection would show tears in his clothes, perfectly aligned with the bloodstains, but his skin would carry no marks.
Ford had moved closer, and Carver knew the moment he spotted the blood streaking Amryn’s neck. His friend cursed. “Amryn—”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice too hoarse. “Just a little dizzy.”
Ford crouched beside them, a wince crossing his face. He inspected the cut on her neck, and even though Carver knew it was shallow, that crimson stain on her pale skin made his chest constrict. The look Ford shared with him proved just how close Amryn had come to death.
Carver held her a little tighter. “Elowen and Ivan?”
“I don’t know,” Ford said grimly. “I lost sight of them.”
Worry swelled, but a glance around revealed no sign of Carver’s sister or the Sibeten Wolf.
The energy in the square had shifted. Sobs and shouted orders had replaced the raining crossbow bolts. Carver heard yelling. Wounded cries. But it seemed most of the Rising had fled.Cowards.
Amryn gasped. “You’re bleeding!”
Carver twisted to see her looking at Ford. His lungs tightened when he saw his friend clutching his bleeding side. “How bad?” he demanded.
“Nothing serious,” Ford said, lips bracketed in pain. “Just a minor stabbing.”
Amryn gasped. “You werestabbed?”
“A little bit, yeah.” Ford exhaled a thready breath. “I think I’m going to—” He crumpled.
Carver cursed, unable to catch him in time even though Amryn scrambled off his lap. When he reached Ford’s side, he helped ease Ford onto his back and pushed his hand aside so he could view the wound. Blood drenched his side.
Carver gritted his teeth. “You idiot. Why didn’t you say something?”
Ford’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I thought you’d been stabbed, too. And if you were still on your feet, I didn’t want to be the weakling who lost consciousness.”
