Because of Aileen.
Lisbeth didn’t say the words, but Amryn felt them. The air between them was nearly strangled by the high cleric’s barely restrained rage and pained resentment of a woman long dead.
Suddenly, Amryn understood the depth of the high cleric’s emotions. And even though Amryn didn’t want to have sympathy for a high cleric . . . she did. Because she had experienced this pain herself. “He left you,” she whispered. “You considered him your brother, and he chose her instead of you.”
Lisbeth blinked slowly. Amryn could see the moment the high cleric realized she may have revealed too much. Her jaw tightened. Her jealousy thinned but didn’t disappear. “It is in the past. It matters little, now.” Her words were dismissive, yet her emotions remained barbed. Defensive. “Ferrin invited me to their wedding, but I refused to go. I would have no part in his sins. How could I condone his choice, when he was ruining his life and refusing to listen to me? We were family, and he rejected me just as easily as he rejected his faith.”
Lisbeth’s pain from that rejection still lingered, a sting that time had not been able to dull. She’d been left behind by the one person she’d always counted on. The one person she’d trusted. Her family.
Saints, Amryn knew how that felt.
Apparently, Ferrin Lukis excelled at abandonment.
Considering what he’d done to his family, Amryn knew she shouldn’t even be interested in learning more about him. She certainly didn’t want to feel a shred of sympathy. And yet . . .
Amryn knew, at least a little, of what it might have felt like for her father during that time in his life. She’d left behind everything she’d ever known to go toEsperance, just as he’d left behind everything he’d ever known when he’d severed ties with the church. Amryn had even fallen in love as he had, with someone who could have been considered an enemy. And Amryn had abandoned her mission with the Rising, just as Ferrin had abandoned his faith.
She didn’t appreciate the comparisons. Because in the end, they didn’t matter. Her father had made his choices.
Amryn had had to live with them.
“Did you ever see him again?” she asked Lisbeth.
A surge of old pain rose. It was faded, yet still carried a sting. Her voice was almost remote as she said, “He wrote letters, in the beginning. I read them, though I never responded. He told me about the birth of his son, Tiras, and, later, the birth of his daughter.” She glanced at Amryn. Her spine straightened. “Ferrin professed to be happy, but I’m not certain it was the truth. You must understand, he had no real skills. An orphan raised by the church is educated in basics and given a foundation of faith. But at age twelve, they’re given the choice—become an initiate, or leave the temple to become an apprentice and learn a trade. Ferrin had made his choice. He was trained in prayer and the holy word. Without them, he had no means to provide for his family. If Aileen hadn’t been such a close friend to King Torin, they probably would have starved on the streets within their first year of marriage.” Her head tilted as she looked at Amryn. “You were young when your parents and brother were killed by those thieves.”
It was the story Rix had created. The story even Torin believed. That thieves had targeted the Lukis family, and they’d killed everyone but Amryn, who’d hidden under a bed at the inn they were staying at.
In those first years afterward, Amryn had wondered if her father would come forward to disprove the story, but he never had. He probably knew Rix would kill him if he ever surfaced.
“There is a detail about Ferrin’s death that haunts me,” Lisbeth said. “Something that makes me certain he had regrets about choosing your mother.”
The man certainly had regrets, or else he wouldn’t have betrayed his family to the knights. Amryn didn’t say that, of course. All she could ask was, “What makes you think that?”
Lisbeth’s stare was intent. “Your family was killed in a small city along the imperial highway. A city located between Ferradin’s capital and Daersen. It’s the path Ferrin would have taken if he’d wanted to return home—tothe church.”
Amryn’s thoughts spun. So much about that time in her life was hazy. She’d been so young. But in the weeks leading up to that horrific night, her parents had spent a lot of time behind closed doors. Amryn couldn’t remember ever hearing the words they spoke—even when they’d shouted—but she remembered the emotions that had torn through her as they fought. Twisting anger. Sharp blades of frustration. Desperation. Fear. She remembered that whenever Rix visited, her mother always softened, but Ferrin only hardened. And then, one morning, they’d told Amryn and Tiras that they were leaving the castle for a while. That’s all. Nothing more.
Rix had come to see them off. Amryn remembered watching her mother and Rix embrace. They’d both cried as they said their farewells, not knowing it would be their final goodbye. The sorrow they’d felt at parting had slammed into Amryn, and she’d cried, too. Ferrin had lifted her into his arms, but he hadn’t cried. He hadn’t even felt sadness. She couldn’t fully recall his emotions in that moment, but she was confident of that much.
They had traveled for endless days, maybe even weeks. All Amryn remembered feeling during that time was confusion. She didn’t understand why they’d left their home. Her room, her toys, her favorite dresses. They’d left Uncle Rix and Torin. They’d slept in tents or roadside inns. Her parents still argued, just in whispers now.
Hadthey been on their way to Daersen? It seemed ludicrous. Even if her father had already decided to betray them, surely Aileen would never have agreed to go to such a dangerous place for empaths.
Maybe that’s what they’d been arguing about. Had her mother fought Ferrin at every turn? Finally refused to go any farther? Is that what had pushed him over the edge?
Amryn had always thought his betrayal was about greed. That he’d wanted the coin the knights gave to informants. But regret was a powerful motivator as well. So was guilt. Combined, they might have been enough to make Ferrin turn on his family. A family he very well might have resented, especially if he’d been raised by religious zealots.
If he’d dreamed of becoming one himself.
Amryn would always remember that horrible relief she’d felt from her father the last time she’d seen him. He’d been so relieved as he’d walked out that door.
As he’d left them behind.
Lisbeth’s story had given her some answers, but mostly Amryn just had more questions. Ferrin had defied everything he’d known to make sure his unborn childwasn’t abandoned and raised by the church. What had changed in the years that followed?
“I apologize,” Lisbeth said, her voice surprisingly soft. Her emotions had been reined in, for the most part, the shield of coldness once again in place. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with such things. No child needs to know the sins of their parents. Especially in such detail. Forgive me.”
“No, I wanted to know.” She watched as a hummingbird flitted above a flowering bush. The vibrant beauty of the garden was a jarring backdrop to the emotions roiling inside her.
