Carver’s throat flexed as he swallowed. A wave of gratitude rolled through him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough.
Sensing he needed her presence more than her words, she shifted closer, their arms grazing as she rested her hands near his on the stone railing.
The night air was warm, a novelty she still wasn’t used to even after living in the jungle for months. The foreign scents of jasmine, citrus, and hyssop were further evidence that she was far from home. She followed Carver’s stare to the city that sprawled far below, taking in the glowing lights of gently lit windows. Long roads branched out in organized rows, with mansions and various buildings stretching out in the distance. It seemed wrong that this city she’d always feared was peaceful, but that’s exactly how Zagrev looked in the softness of night.
Standing beside Carver, she let her mind wander to the dinner they’d shared with Cregon and Elowen earlier that night.
She had been quiet as they’d made their way down the hall to the large Vincetti suite where Cregon and Elowen were staying. Carver’s sister had greeted them warmly, the only sign of distress coming as she apologized for Berron’s absence.
He had not accepted his invitation.
The dinner had gone quite smoothly, Amryn thought. Elowen had done a masterful job keeping the conversation flowing. She’d asked questions about theirtime in Esperance, reminisced with Carver over stories from their childhood, and she’d told Amryn about some of her favorite shops in Zagrev.
Cregon had watched Amryn closely throughout the evening. Uneasiness had squirmed inside her, even though she could feel that he was monitoring her out of concern. He was probably still wondering why she’d faltered so much at the council meeting. Thankfully, he didn’t ask.
When they’d all risen to say their goodnights, Carver had embraced his sister with a long, fierce hug. The love between the two siblings made Amryn’s heart warm, even if she felt a slight twinge of envy. Tiras had never felt such open, all-consuming love for her. His affection had been detached. A curious fascination, almost. He’d cared for her in his own way—at least, he had before he’d shut off his emotions—but that care had often come with an edge of possessiveness.
Amryn tilted her head back, gazing up at the sea of stars overhead. She had always been enchanted by the night sky. Tonight, she found herself remembering early childhood memories of looking at the stars with Tiras and their parents. She remembered how Tiras had often stood apart from them. How her mother had always wandered over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Amryn had been so young, she’d often grown tired before Tiras was ready to go back inside. Her father would scoop her up into his arms and hold her, telling her softly about constellations she’d long forgotten.
Her chest constricted. She hadn’t thought of those quiet nights in years, but she remembered how safe she’d felt. She’d often fallen asleep cradled in her father’s arms. Even now, she could remember the warm brush of his kiss against her temple. The scratch of his short beard against her skin. The low whisper of his voice as he said,“I love you, little one. More than all the stars in the sky.”
An ache pierced her heart. In those quiet moments, had her father known that one day he would betray his family to the knights? Had every whispered word of love been a lie? If so, how had she never felt the deception? Other than the growing strain between her parents and the hushed fights she’d overheard in those final weeks, there had been no warning. And that frightened her more than the betrayal itself. Because when her father had smiled at her, held her, and whispered his love, it hadfeltreal. Until everything she’d known—everything she’d believed in—had been ripped away in one violent night.
“What is that?”
Carver’s soft question was loud in the silence, startling Amryn from her thoughts. She frowned in confusion. “What?”
He tipped his head toward her hand. “I saw it in Esperance, but after everything that happened, I forgot to ask you about it.”
Amryn glanced down, blinking when she realized she was running her thumb over the tarnished coin she always kept with her, even in the pocket of her nightdress. “It’s a prayer coin,” she explained. “It’s a relic from an old Ferradin religion.” She glanced down at the worn surface of the coin. Her chest felt a little tight as she added more softly, “It belonged to my mother.”
Understanding filled his gaze. “May I?” he asked.
Amryn hesitated, then held out the coin.
Carver took it with reverence and studied it closely. She knew exactly what he’d see; the crown wreathed in flame on one side, and the sword plunged into cracking ground on the other. Both sides were worn. Tracing the familiar grooves of the heavy coin brought her comfort, though she was usually more careful to keep it out of sight, since anything that came from another religion wasn’t tolerated by the church. The fact that she’d been holding it in front of Carver was a testament to how comfortable she felt with him.
He squinted at the lettering, lines appearing on his brow.
“The dialect is an ancient form of Ferradi,” she told him.
He glanced up at her. “What does it say?”
“Fyyrwydd,” she said, not needing to look at it. “That meansfortune. The other side saysRywyyrdygar.Protection.”
Carver looked at her, his attention slipping briefly to her lips. “That language is beautiful. Almost musical.” He turned the coin in his hand. “Why those words? Fortune and protection?”
“Families who believed in the old gods used to pick deities to favor, in hopes of being favored by those gods in return,” Amryn explained. “My mother’s family had a tradition of loyalty to Maervaywyn, goddess of fortune, and Calyendyyr, god of protection. This coin was commissioned by my grandfather and gifted to my mother when she was young.”
Carver’s thumb brushed over the etchings on the coin. “How many gods and goddesses were worshipped in Ferradin?”
“My mother always said the gods and goddesses were without number, because not all wanted to be known by mortals. There were maybe a dozen major gods, and dozens more of the minor ones.”
“And—” Carver halted. “Maer-ri-vin . . . win and Cal-end-rear . . .”
A giggle burst out of her at his horrid pronunciation.
He offered a sheepish grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I butchered that, didn’t I?”
