Her voice whispered in his mind. He kept replaying the words because he needed to believe they were true. That somehow, the bloodstonewasshielding her from the knights. That as long as she carried it, they wouldn’t be able to tell she was an empath.
Blazing Saints, why was she carrying the bloodstone at all?
“It’s been a long time,” Rhone said as he settled in the cushioned chair across from Carver.
They were in one of the palace’s many small sitting rooms. Carver knew Amryn and Renault were just on the other side of the wall, but the barrier of stone made his pulse race. Would he even hear her if she screamed?
“How are you?” Rhone asked.
Carver swallowed, his palms itching to hold a weapon. “I’m fine.”
Rhone nodded once. His hands were resting on the chair’s arms, the bone ring staring at Carver.
He tried not to stare back.
“I know things between you and Rivard became . . . difficult in recent years,” Rhone said, his tone careful. “But he told me before he left for Esperance that he hoped you two would have the opportunity to reconcile. Did that happen?”
“No.” The single word was hard, but Carver didn’t feel any need to elaborate.
Rhone’s lips pursed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know many things weighed on my brother’s soul, but the loss of your friendship was one of his greatest regrets.”
Befriending Rivard was one ofhisgreatest regrets. Carver had brought Rivard into his home, and his family had welcomed him. In return, Rivard had introduced Berron tosonne,which had ultimately ruined him and fractured their family.
“Did his wife truly kill him?” Rhone asked softly.
“Yes.” He met the knight’s gaze. “Tam Ja’Kell is a dangerous woman.”
A muscle in Rhone’s cheek jumped. “I suspect she might be our empath.”
Surprise caught him; not just because of Rhone’s theory, but his openness in sharing it. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“She fooled all of you,” Rhone said. “My brother included. Empaths have the ability to do that. To make you believe things that aren’t true. To manipulate your thoughts and cloud your instincts. They can control your very emotions.” Carver watched as Rhone slowly spun the bone ring, twisting the etched gold band around his finger. “Is there anything you believe might support my suspicion? Anything you observed that could indicate Tam had supernatural abilities?”
Carver hesitated. He had no problems with Rhone suspecting Tam, but keeping his answers vague seemed the best tactic. He didn’t want Rhone coming back to him with additional questions. He would do nothing to draw the attention of the knights toward himself—and by extension, Amryn. “I’m not sure,” he hedged. “I don’t know much about empaths.”
Rhone sighed. “Sometimes I think the church does the empire a disservice by not talking more openly about empaths and the evils they commit. Empaths have become almost mythical, but I assure you, they’re frighteningly real.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. When he met Carver’s gaze, Carver had to fight not to flinch at the directness of his stare.
“We’ve both fought wars,” Rhone said, “but imagine for a moment that your enemy could convince you he’s not an enemy at all. That he could persuade you to see your own men as the enemy.Thatis the battle the knights wage every day.The older generation know this even better than I do, because—thank the Divinities—we’re winning this war. But despite how many empaths we’ve killed, there are still more than anyone wants to believe.” His brow furrowed. “These creatures, Carver . . . they aren’t human. Empaths may look like us, but they arenothinglike us. They don’t feel as we do. They can’t be reasoned with, because they can turn your own thoughts against you. They can’t be trusted, because everything you feel around them could be a lie. Their supernatural abilities are unnatural—unholy.”
Carver wanted to deny everything Rhone was saying, but then he thought of Tiras. He remembered the low-burning fear in Amryn’s eyes as she’d spoken of her brother and other powerful empaths like him. “Are they all dangerous?” Carver asked.
“Yes, though some are more powerful than others.” Rhone stared at him. “I know what you’re thinking, because I once wondered the same thing. It seems ludicrous that a frail old woman or a young child could pose any real threat, empathic abilities or not. But I will never forget the first time I saw a six-year-old girl manipulate a grown man. The utter remoteness on the child’s face as she told him to slit his own throat. The complete lack of emotion on the man’s face as he did it." Rhone’s eyebrows pulled together. “We couldn’t reach him in time. But it was in that moment I understood why sometimes there can’t be a formal trial or execution. Sometimes, evil is so strong that it can’t be tolerated or controlled, not even temporarily. With evil like that . . .” He shook his head. “There can be no mercy for any of them.”
Carver’s stomach roiled. Everything about Rhone’s story made him sick. That a young girl had been killed. That a child could wield such terrifying power. But not all empaths were violent. He knew that firsthand.
Rhone watched him, waiting for some kind of comment. Carver cleared his throat. “I’ve always been told that empaths feel the emotions of others. If that’s true, how can they stand to hurt people?”
“An excellent question.” Rhone leaned back in his chair, his eyes sharp as ever, though his words sounded more practiced, as if he were reciting a lecture. “There are gradients of power among empaths. The lesser ones cannot inflict pain without feeling it—but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous. Many possess other unholy powers. And there are, of course, powerful empaths that can completely close off their emotions. They are the true monsters. They feel nothing. They can deliver harm without feeling the reflected pain. They can torture, maim, or kill without guilt or remorse. They have no conscience. No morality. And if that wasn’tenough, some of these monsters have banded together to fight against the knights. They are known as the Acolytes.”
A chill tracked down Carver’s spine. “Acolytes?” Saints, just the name was eerie. He frowned. “If they’re such a threat, why haven’t I heard of them? I’m one of the emperor’s generals. I should know about any threat to the empire.”
“The Acolytes are not yours to fight,” Rhone said simply. “They are a matter for the Order—not the Craethen military.” His look became pointed. “You wouldn’t know how to fight these enemies, Carver.”
He hated to admit Rhone was probably right. Just the thought of facing an empath like the knight had described made Carver’s skin crawl. “Who are the Acolytes exactly?” he asked. “What’s their goal?”
“You know of Saul Von.” It wasn’t really a question, but at Carver’s nod, Rhone continued. “When Von died, his followers named themselves his acolytes. They swore to annihilate the knights—humanity’s last defense against the empathic scourge. Their goal is to destroy the church, and the empire, and set themselves as rulers over the entire human race.”
If Rhone was telling the truth, the Acolytes were not only a threat, but a terrifying one. “How many are there?” Carver asked.
