Page 27 of Esperance

Carver knew Argent was right—he could feel everyone watching him—but his muscles jerked with the effort to draw back his sword. Taking that first step back was even harder, but he managed.

Rivard pushed to his feet, the heel of one hand scrubbing over his chest. “It’s been years. Will you never let this go?”

Carver’s skin heated. “You destroyed my family.”

“And I said I was sorry,” Rivard snapped. “What else do you want?”

Carver just turned and walked away.

“He lied to you, Carver.”

Carver paused, a deep roar building in his ears.

Rivard knew he had Carver’s attention, even if he hadn’t turned around. His words seemed to come easier now. “Everything you think you know? It’s not the full truth. Berron lied to you. And you never questioned—”

Carver twisted and smashed his fist into Rivard’s face. Pain burst over his knuckles, but watching Rivard’s head snap back, his eyes wide with shock, was every bit as rewarding as he’d thought it would be.

But as Rivard clutched his blood-spurting nose and staggered back, Carver saw their audience had grown by one member.

High Cleric Zacharias didnotlook pleased.

Chapter 9

Amryn

Amryn carefully poured steaming teainto the white porcelain cup, taking her time with every motion. When she finished, she would be expected to join the circle of conversation on the other side of the sitting room.

The female cleric told them this tearoom had been designated for the ladies to use at any time during their stay, and that they’d be passing the afternoon here. The space was large, with wide windows set in the back wall that revealed the dark emerald jungle and the distant, craggy mountains. The room was decorated predominantly in cobalt and gold, set against the by-now-familiar light stone walls. A large tapestry on one wall depicted the Tree of the Living Eternity, which the Divinities watched over. It was undoubtedly a priceless masterpiece, but even the cleric hadn’t spared it a second glance before ducking out.

Amryn hoped the high cleric’s schedule would eventually ease into something less regimented; she didn’t know if she could stand a full year without a free moment to breathe.

From across the room, Marriset’s laugh rang out as she talked with Sadia. Jayveh had chatted pleasantly with Amryn as they’d walked back to the temple, but as soon as they’d entered the sitting room, she’d moved to Cora’s side. The young woman had been exceptionally quiet this morning. She was probably still in shock and mourning her brother’s death.

Tam stood near Amryn, also preparing her cup of tea. The tittering laughter behind them only served as a harsh background to the deep sadness and low anger that vibrated from Tam.

Amryn recalled the way she’d rubbed her wrist at breakfast, and Rivard’s heavy-handedness after the attack yesterday. Clearing her throat, she asked quietly, “Your name is Tam, isn’t it?”

The woman peeked over at her, her hair dark as night and her eyes looking a little lost. “Yes. And you are . . .?”

“Amryn.”

“Ah. That’s right.” Tam’s dusky cheeks pinkened slightly. “Forgive me, I’m not very good at remembering names.”

“Well, we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“You saved my life yesterday,” Tam said. “Somehow, that makes it feel like an introduction isn’t really necessary.”

“Don’t forget, you helped save me, too.” Amryn lifted a small spoon and stirred in some sugar, the light tinkling of the metal hitting glass sounding strangely loud. “How are you settling in?”

Tam didn’t look up as she stirred her own cup, but her misery swelled. “Fine. And you?”

“Fine.”

They stood beside each other in silence, the hum of conversation behind them.

“My mother is very ill,” Tam said suddenly, her voice low.

Amryn shot her a glance, her fingers tightening on the spoon as she felt the sharp stab of the woman’s grief. “I’m so sorry.”

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