“A very militaristic question. The only problem is, you can’t think of the Acolytes as simple soldiers.” Rhone steepled his fingers. “One Acolyte could slaughter ten men at once without issue. The strongest Acolyte could kill considerably more.” He shook his head. “The Acolytes may be few in number, but the horror they represent is incalculable.”
Carver swallowed. “If I did find myself facing one of these empaths, how would I defend myself?”
“You wouldn’t,” Rhone said simply, his eyes grim. “No soldier—no matter how skilled—would stand a chance against them and their unholy attacks. The knights, however, train against their supernatural spells. We’re the only ones who can defeat them. We alone can eradicate the empathic scourge.”
Carver’s heart thudded in his chest. “Are all empaths truly evil?”
Rhone’s head tilted to the side. “What makes you ask that?”
Carver swallowed a curse. He scrambled for an appropriate response. “The empath in Esperance. It healed people. That doesn’t seem like evil to me.”
The knight watched him closely before saying, “Not all empaths are as the Acolytes. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. None can be spared. It’s the only wayto ensure the empathic threat is neutralized forever. If even one lives, it could breed more.”
Rhone’s words hit Carver like a blow, forcing him to confront something he hadn’t yet considered. If he and Amryn had a child . . . would that child be an empath? The ability was passed through family lines. There were exceptions—like Amryn’s uncle, who wasn’t an empath even though his sister had been—but there was a great chance that if Amryn and Carver had a child, that infant would be born an empath.
His gut clenched, nausea rising. His children would be hunted. From the moment of birth, the threat of death would hang over them. No—it was worse than that. Even still in the womb they would be hunted by the knights. They would be hated and feared throughout the empire. Condemned to die, just for existing. It wouldn’t matter if their abilities were slight or powerful, or if they chose to heal rather than hurt. They would be considered monsters. Evil. Unholy abominations.
The realization left him raw and aching. But fury burned, and slowly his hands rolled to fists. No one would ever touch his wife or his child. He would suffer a thousand deaths before allowing anyone to hurt them.
“I know it’s upsetting,” Rhone murmured.
Carver swallowed once. He didn’t know what emotions had just played over his face, but his mask would be perfect from now on. “It is,” he said, responding to Rhone’s words. And, Saints, he wasn’t lying. He just wasn’t agreeing with the knight.
Rhone leaned forward, his long fingers laced. “Think carefully. Did you ever feel something around Tam, but then think the opposite once you were away from her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever feel something like that with anyone else in Esperance?”
“I don’t think so.”
The questions continued, though Carver had nothing to offer. Finally, Rhone ran out of questions. They both stood, the interview concluded. “Thank you for your time and cooperation, Carver. I appreciate it.” Rhone extended a hand, the one with the bone ring.
Carver didn’t let himself hesitate to take it. “Of course.”
Rhone’s grip was strong. “I know things between you and Rivard fell apart in the end, but I want to thank you for befriending my brother all those years ago. My father was never easy on him. I think he suspected Rivard wouldn’t succeed inbecoming a knight, and he often treated him harshly because of it. I wasn’t at home much when Rivard was young, due to my own training, but I know he treasured the time he got to spend with your family. Now that he’s gone . . .” A sad smile bent his lips. “It brings me some measure of peace, knowing my brother found a family with yours, at least for a time.”
Carver had no idea what to say in response, so he merely inclined his head.
Rhone released Carver’s hand. “If you remember anything else, or think of something that might be important, please let me know.”
“I will,” Carver lied. Knowing the interview was over, he headed to the door. He was nearly there when he turned back. “Do you ever get it wrong?” he asked.
Rhone’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re hunting an empath, do you ever get it wrong? Have you ever killed someone who wasn’t an empath?”
“I’m sure we have,” Rhone said. “But I would rather see an innocent sacrificed for a good cause, than let an empath escape to wreak havoc on the world.”
Carver fought to keep his revulsion from showing. He feared he’d already shown too much sympathy, because Rhone’s probing stare hadn’t faltered. He straightened his spine, forcing his voice to remain even as he said, “In battle, sacrifices must be made.”
“Indeed,” Rhone murmured, his eyes still fixed on Carver.
Uneasiness slid through his veins. That—as well as his need to find Amryn and assure himself she remained safe—had him turning for the door.
“Carver?”
He glanced over his shoulder, the space between his shoulder blades tightening.
