“You did,” she agreed. But he’d tried. Something about that warmed her heart. Still, she teased, “Maervaywyn and Calyendyyr would be appalled.”
“That makes my question all the more relevant—are they major or minor gods?”
“Minor.”
“Phew.” He made a show of wiping his brow, as if disaster had been narrowly averted.
She smiled. “My mother always said only kings and powerful houses would dare favor the major gods.”
“Why?”
“Worshipping the gods invited them into your life. That could be a good thing, since they might grant untold blessings. But it could also go wrong if you offended them. So, while worshipping a more powerful god might grant you greater blessings, it also meant a greater capacity for destruction in your life.”
“A gamble,” he remarked. He palmed the small piece of metal. “Why a coin?”
“My mother said the gods liked it when mortals carried tokens of them. A coin was a popular choice because it was small, which made it easy to keep your favored gods close. Also, the gods could be greedy, so having a coin in hand when you prayed to them could help gain their attention.”
The corner of Carver’s mouth lifted, revealing the dimple in his cheek. “Bribing your gods to listen to your prayers, huh?”
“If it worked . . .” She shrugged.
He grinned. “Fair enough. I admire the practicality, actually.” He handed the coin back, and she slid it into her pocket. “Do you believe in the old gods?” he asked.
She shook her head. “As a child, I enjoyed the stories of them, but . . .” It was difficult to believe in the old gods when her mother’s dying pleas had gone unanswered. Aileen Lukis had prayed to the god of protection and the goddess of fortune every day of her life, and both had abandoned her when she’d needed them most. “I keep it close because it reminds me of my mother,” she explained. “It’s a piece of her I can always carry.”
“I’m glad you have it, then,” he said, his voice a low murmur.
“What about your ring?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you without it.”
Carver glanced down at the silver band that encircled his forefinger. Emotions swirled inside him, too blurred for her to accurately read. The overall mood was heavy, though.
He tugged the ring free and passed it to her to examine. The metal was warm from resting against his skin. As Amryn twisted the ring in her hand, studying it in the moonlight, she glimpsed an unfamiliar word inscribed on the inner band.
“Invictus,” Carver said before she could ask. “It meansunconquered. It’s part of the Vincetti family creed.” His emotions rippled once more, too quick for her to name. “My father gave me this ring when I became a general.”
“Invictus,” she whispered. The word felt strange on her tongue. Sharp, hard, and unforgiving, much like how Carver had first appeared to her. But she couldn’t help but think of all he’d endured, and how he was still standing beside her—kind, loyal, and good. Unconquered. “It suits you,” she said.
He might have flinched, but it happened so fast it could have simply been a play of the shadows. He took the ring back, replacing it on his finger as he said, “It’s a reminder of home and my family’s legacy.”
“What’s the Vincetti creed?” she asked.
“Pro familia stamus. Cum honore vivimus. Invictus manemus.”
Amryn stared at him. “Please tell me I don’t have to memorize that.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “You can’t be a Vincetti if you don’t know the creed, sweetheart.”
She shook her head, though she was relieved to feel his spark of humor; it cut through the cloud that had been hanging over him. “You pronouncedinvictusdifferently just then,” she noted.
“I used the archaic pronunciation—in-veek-toos.” He shrugged. “The creed sounds more impressive that way.”
“Are youtryingto impress me?”
“Always.”
A smile flirted with her lips. She propped one hip against the railing as she asked, “I’m a little afraid to ask what all those severe-sounding words mean.”
Carver’s eyes glimmered, but his voice was even as he translated, “‘For family we stand. With honor we live. Unconquered we remain.’”
