Morav’s lips thinned. “I’m perfectly rested.”
The tension between the two women bled through the other emotions in the room, making the animosity between them unmistakably clear. They were both vying for the emperor’s attention, each woman hoping to have the better part of his ear. Politician and cleric. The old and the new. It was a clash of wills that could only end badly.
“There you are.”
Everyone turned at the brisk words, though Amryn knew instantly who’d spoken—Ivan’s clipped accent was unmistakable.
The Sibeten prince wore a slight scowl on his face, and his ice blue eyes were trained on Amryn. “I stopped by your room. I thought you might need an escort if Carver was busy.”
“I came with Jayveh,” Amryn said.
Ivan grunted. “Good. Go nowhere alone.”
Jayveh frowned a little, her emotions too clouded to read.
“Prince Ivan,” High Cleric Lisbeth said. “I’d love to have a quick word with you.” The request was clear, though she’d worded it nicely.
Ivan glanced at Amryn, seeking a sign that she was all right, before he nodded.
Chancellor Morav watched as the two of them walked toward an empty corner of the room, her eyes shadowed.
Jayveh shared a quick look with Amryn before saying, “Chancellor Morav, I was wondering if you’d be willing to sit down with me some time. I’d like to become familiar with everyone on the emperor’s staff, and I knew you’d be in the best position to help me.”
Morav’s narrow shoulders straightened. “Of course, Princess. I’d be more than happy to help. I can even make some introductions now, if you’d like.”
“Amryn.”
She jumped at the sound of her name, spoken in a low rumble. Her gaze snapped to a pair of startlingly familiar blue eyes. They were a perfect match to Carver’s, set into the lined face of his father.
Her heart raced. Saints, she hadn’t sensed Cregon’s approach. But that was another hazard of being in a crowd; too many emotions made it nearly impossible to focus.
An apologetic smile curved Cregon’s mouth. “I’m sorry I startled you. I’m not sure if you remember me, since we only met briefly in Esperance. But I’m Carver’s father, Cregon.” He held out a large hand, which Amryn took purely on reflex.
She wondered if he noticed how stiff her fingers were. If he could somehow feel the hammering of her pulse. Her mouth was dry, but she managed to say, “I know who you are.”
Some of the brightness in Cregon’s eyes dimmed. He released her hand. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.” He cast a quick smile to Jayveh and Morav, who had paused to watch them.
“Not at all,” Jayveh was quick to say. “Chancellor Morav was just about to introduce me to a few chancellors.” She sent Amryn a small smile. “We’ll talk later.”
A thread of desperation tugged as Amryn watched her friend walk away with Morav, leaving her alone with Cregon.
A short silence bloomed. Cregon broke it by saying, “It’s good to see you again, Amryn.”
She couldn’t say the same. But this was Carver’sfather. She needed to at least try to make a good impression. She cleared her throat, offering a tentative smile. “It’s nice to see you.”
His smile warmed. “Elowen told me she visited you briefly yesterday. We’d love to have you and Carver join us for dinner tonight, if you don’t have other plans.”
“Oh, I . . .” Her words faded as footsteps sounded near the open doors. They both twisted to watch as the emperor walked in, surrounded by bodyguards.
Those who’d been seated stood at once, and everyone in the room bowed.
The emperor lifted an age-spotted hand. “Please, be seated. We have much to discuss, and I’m eager to begin.”
Everyone began to move toward the tables. Except for Amryn. Because after the emperor’s guards had passed, she was caught staring at the cluster of men who trailed after. Her eyes skipped easily enough over the first two—a reed-like man with ink-stained fingers and a satchel thrown over one shoulder, and an older man who wore the robes of a high cleric—but she couldn’t look away from the other three men. Because even though they were strangers, she knew instantly who they were.
Whatthey were.
They wore identical crimson uniforms, just like the ones she’d seen in countless nightmares. The one in front—who appeared to be the oldest of the three dark-haired men—had lifted a hand to scratch his cheek. The movement drew attention from the many knives belted at his waist to the ring on his finger. A ring with a crystal dome and a small piece of bone trapped inside.
