Amryn couldn’t help but wonder if Lisbeth’s suspicion had been right. If Ferrin had actually wanted to return to the only home he’d ever known, in Daersen. Aileen may not have known that was his intent until they’d already left the castle, and when she’d found out . . . That may have been the last fight they ever had.
She bit her lip. “Do you know when my mother told him she was an empath?”
Rix tensed, even as he shook his head. “I’m not sure. But he knew before Tiras was born, because he threatened me.”
“What? Why?”
A muscle rippled as Rix locked his jaw. “He said if I ever told anyone Aileen was an empath, he would kill me.”
Appalled, Amryn could only stare at her uncle. “Why would he ever think you’d betray her? She was your sister.” Rix had been protecting her secret for Aileen’s entire life.
Rix appeared a little sickened as he shook his head. “I have no idea what he was thinking. I don’t know how she ever even trusted him with the truth.”
There was so much they didn’t know. And with Aileen dead, they would never truly learn what had happened.
Unless Amryn asked her father one day.
The thought of coming face to face with him again made her shiver.
For now, she tried to put it all out of her mind. It was easier to do when she was distracted—like she was now, as she visited Ford.
She was curled up in one of the cushioned chairs in his room, watching with amazement as he painted.
Ford, as it turned out, was a talented artist. It was one of the many things she’d learned about him during their visits. His oil paintings varied from portraits to landscapes. Many, she’d noted, were jungle scenes.
Today, he was working on a painting of Esperance. It showed the stunning, carved stone façade of the temple with the jungle encroaching on every side. The play of light and shadow was intriguing, capturing the mood of Esperance perfectly as it depicted both darkness and beauty. The detail on the stonework of thetemple displayed not only Ford’s skill with paint, but the impressive precision of his memory. She could understand why he was so valued as a spy and a scout. The man missed nothing.
“It’s beautiful, Ford.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Do you want it?”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course. I don’t have enough space to keep everything I paint, anyway.”
“You’re extremely talented.”
Self-consciousness rose. “I don’t know about that. But it keeps me sane.”
Amryn frowned, feeling a thread of melancholy weaving through him. She recalled the shadows Ysabel had sensed in Ford. What she’dseenwhen she’d used her gift while pretending to be a fortune teller.
He clearly caught her frown, because he faced her fully as he explained, “I always enjoyed painting, but after I returned from Harvari, it felt like I needed to paint just to keep breathing. Sometimes I couldn’t fall asleep at night, or I’d wake from a nightmare and paint the rest of the night away.” He looked at his paint-speckled hands, flexing his fingers. His voice was soft as he said, “It feels good to create after I spent years destroying.”
Amryn’s heart ached for him. “I’m glad you found something that helps.”
He eyed her. “Carver struggled with sleeping, too, when we got back. And he had intense nightmares.”
“He still does,” she admitted softly. She wouldn’t share any details, as that should be Carver’s choice, but she felt comfortable confirming that much.
Protectiveness rippled in Ford, along with concern. She thought it was for Carver, until he said, “He hasn’t hurt you, has he? Accidentally?”
“No.”
Relief trickled in. “Good.” More softly, he added, “You’re good for him, Amryn. You have no idea what it was like before. Whathewas like.”
“Thank you for rescuing him from that horrific place.”
“I’d do it a thousand times over,” Ford said. “Just as Carver would for me.” He held her gaze and said, “Just like we’ll do for Argent.”
