Her heart squeezed. “That’s actually very lovely.”
“It’sfierce,” he corrected with mock sternness. “We’re a family of warriors.”
She chuckled. “Apologies.”
“I’ll forgive you—if you learn the creed.” When she shook her head, he argued that Westmont’s historic language was nowhere near as complicated as Ferradin’s.
She immediately disagreed.
He insisted.
Before she knew it, Amryn was trying—and failing—to make her tongue form words from his old language.
Their soft laughter mingled in the night air as the moon drifted silently overhead.
Chapter 20
Carver
Carverducked,narrowlyavoidingthe blade that spun in Morelli’s hand.
Sweat rolled down his back as he pivoted, booted heel scraping against the lightly sanded surface of the training ring. The late morning sun beat down on them, the slight breeze doing nothing to cool the flush on his face. Still, he tossed Morelli a grin. “You’re getting better.”
The older man grunted, breathing hard as he rolled the practice sword in his grip. “I nearly took your head off. Admit it—marriage has made you soft, just like it did to your father.”
Carver snorted. “My father hasn’t gone soft.”
“Have you seen the weight he’s put on? It’s all those fine meals your mother cooks.”
Carver raised his practice sword and pointed it at Morelli’s belly, which noticeably overlapped his belt. “You’ve spent the same number of years eating my mother’s cooking.”
Morelli once had an estate in Westmont, but he’d sold it years ago because he never used it. Whenever he left the capital and came home for a visit, he always stayed at the Vincetti manor—which meant Carver’s mother had been feeding Morelli for decades.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Remind me why I agreed to spar with you at the crack of dawn?”
Carver’s lips twitched. “You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?”
“No,” Morelli growled. “Because you dragged me out here to watch the bloody sunrise.”
“You told me you wanted to spar.”
“I meant at a reasonable time, like the late afternoon.” He muttered a curse. “Your father’s always chipper in the mornings, too. It’s unnatural.”
“If you didn’t stay out so late, maybe the mornings wouldn’t be so hard for you.”
Morelli scoffed. “I like my life, thank you.”
“The seedy taverns, endless women, and reckless gambling?” he asked skeptically.
“That’s the one.” Morelli jabbed a finger at him. “Judge all you’d like, but my habits keep me young and in touch with the city.”
Carver leaned forward, peering carefully at Morelli’s hair. “I think you have more gray hairs than my father—”
Morelli lunged.
Carver parried the blow before launching his own attack.
Saints, it felt good to spar. The familiar motions engaged muscles that needed to be stretched, and it eased some of the restlessness that hummed beneath his skin. Spending time with Amryn last night had helped, but the moment he’d seen her pocket the bloodstone that morning, his tension had returned. He hated that the bloodstone had become a necessary evil.
