Carver
Carverwasregrettinghisdecision to take Amryn to visit Ysabel before they’d even left the palace, but that regret was a hundred times stronger once they arrived at the Jasmine Inn. It wasn’t in the best part of the city, though it wasn’t exactly the slums. The sun was on its way down, staining the sky in varying hues of violet, pink, and orange, and painting the streets in ever-deepening shadow.
They had come alone, since Carver didn’t want anyone to know about their meeting with the empath. Knowing he was Amryn’s only line of defense made him even more alert to the potential dangers around them. He knew he might be slightly more on edge due to everything Amryn had shared with him before they’d left the palace. Her shocking conversation with Lisbeth and her encounter with Bram had clearly taken an emotional toll on her, but she’d still insisted on going to see Ysabel. While Carver would have preferred to keep her tucked safely in their room, here they were, walking into a rather run-down inn. Because, clearly, he could refuse his wife nothing.
The common room was crowded, full of shouting men and women who were placing bets as they played games of cards, dice, and darts. The smell of ale was overpowering. Probably because it saturated every worn surface in the room. He immediately wanted to haul Amryn out of there. Instead, he followed her as she led the way deeper inside.
Amryn’s hand rested against the satchel slung over her shoulder, keeping Von’s journal close as she searched the room. Her roaming gaze halted. “There,” she said, pointing.
Carver followed her finger to the back corner of the room. He saw the blonde woman who must be Ysabel, but his attention was caught by the large, hardened-looking man seated next to her. Tension instantly climbed Carver’s shoulders.
“That’s Marc,” Amryn said, clearly trying to reassure him. “He’s Ysabel’s friend.”
Bodyguardseemed a more appropriate label, considering the protective way he sat beside the empath. The middle-aged man had placed himself strategically at a corner table with his back to the wall and his eyes roving for threats. He’d tucked Ysabel between himself and the side wall, and he was glaring at anyone who dared get too close to their table.
He proved his ability to pick out a threat when his glare landed on Carver.
Amryn laid a hand on his arm. “Be nice,” she murmured.
Ysabel spotted them. A smile crossed her lips and she waved. Still keeping an eye on Marc, Carver allowed himself to study the empath. For some reason, he’d pictured an older woman, but Ysabel was probably close to Amryn’s age. She had a willowy build, and her light-colored hair was in a relaxed bun. The glowing lamplight in the room enhanced the shine in her emerald eyes.
Amryn moved forward, and Carver shadowed her every step as they approached the corner table.
“Amryn!” Ysabel beamed. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.” His wife slid easily into the chair across from Ysabel, leaving Carver to sit opposite Marc.
The two men eyed each other warily as Carver lowered himself into the vacant chair. Having his back to the room made the spot between his shoulder blades itch, but he had a feeling Marc was more lethal than any other possible threat in the room.
His hooked nose was crooked, as if it had broken several times. He had a smattering of tattoos on his knuckles. They appeared to be letters, but it was a language Carver didn’t recognize. His black eyes were unblinking as he stared at Carver.
Ysabel chuckled. “Do you think they’ll sit like that all night?”
“If we let them, yes,” Amryn said. Her elbow nudged his side.
Reluctantly, Carver dragged his gaze from Marc so he could look at Ysabel. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Amusement sparked in her eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Carver.” She gestured to the mountainous man beside her. “This is Marc. He’s mute,” she added.
The man’s expression didn’t alter, his eyes still fixed on Carver.
Carver’s own eyes narrowed slightly. “Does he have any weapons?”
“Would it make you feel more comfortable if he didn’t?” Ysabel asked.
Probably not.
The fortune-telling empath cracked a smile, clearly sensing what he hadn’t bothered to say. She glanced over at Marc and lifted her hands. For the first time, Carver noticed the dark gloves she wore. Her fingers moved in a series of deft motions.
The man grunted.
Ysabel made another sign with her hands.
Marc rolled his eyes, then his large fingers flicked through the air with slightly less grace than Ysabel’s had shown.
When he was done, the empath twisted to face Carver. “He says heisarmed, as he knows you are. As for how many weapons he has, he simply says,enough.”
Carver met the man’s stare. “Noted. You can tell him I have the same.”
