Page 74 of Esperance

Then it was Amryn’s turn.

Her body stopped working. Her cheek scraped against the rough carpet and she blinked at the closed door, her vision hazing. Her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t lift her hand. She couldn’t lift her head, couldn’t utter a word or a cry, even when a slip of paper was pushed beneath the door.

Someone was there.

Someone was on the other side of that door, and they were ignoring the tortured, groaning breaths of the dying women.

That was Amryn’s last coherent thought. All she could do was lie there and experience the pain and terror of this death five times over.

Chapter 20

Carver

Carver picked at the food on his plate,but he wasn’t hungry. Talking with Darrin was making his head ache. The man was dull, shallow, and conceited. He had to comment on everything, and he always had to demonstrate how he knew more than anyone else in the room. He would have felt bad for Marriset, except they seemed well-matched.

What Carver really wanted was to spend more time with Amryn.

When he’d come to Esperance, he knew he’d gain a wife. He hadn’t dreamed of actually developing feelings for her, though. It was a complication he didn’t need, considering everything. He needed to focus. Andnoton the way the light caught in Amryn’s fiery hair, or the way her smiles warmed her sea-green eyes.

Approaching footsteps pounded in the hall outside.

Carver and Ivan were the first to stand, and Argent and the others were only a beat behind them.

A servant ran into the room, his twisted face flushed and his eyes wild as he gasped for breath. “Ladies—poisoned—tea room!”

There was a half-second of total incomprehension, then Carver was running. He darted around the servant, who was doubled over and struggling to say more.

Carver didn’t need to hear any more.

Amryn had been poisoned.

He couldn’t run fast enough.

He bolted down the hall, Ivan at his heels, the others close behind. As Carver ran, his palms itched for a weapon. Not that there was anything a sword could do against poison.

The blood in his veins flashed hot with adrenaline. He tried to find the mental bridge to stand on—to be separate from the emotions churning his insides—but the calming exercise failed. If Amryn died . . .

The tea room was one floor below their dining room, and when Carver reached the stairs he grabbed the bannister and swung down several steps at a time. He landed hard and nearly stumbled, but he managed to leap down the rest of the staircase.

After far too long—even though it had only been mere minutes—he reached the women’s sitting room.

Clerics and servants swarmed the space, along with a physician and his apprentices. High Cleric Zacharias stood near a cluster of guards, and his expression was thunderous as he spoke rapidly with them. The ladies were stretched out on couches and the floor. Carver’s eyes cut over everything until he found Amryn.

She was on the carpeted floor, and her maid—Ahmi—was supporting her head as she coaxed her to drink from a small cup pressed to her lips. Amryn’s hands shook at her sides, and she struggled to swallow. Her eyes were red, with tears slowly leaking from them.

She was alive.Relief nearly took him out at the knees.

Ivan strode around him, marching toward the high cleric. Argent shot past him as well, his focus on finding Jayveh, while the other men searched for their wives. From what Carver could see at a quick glance, every woman was still breathing.

That was a small consolation, considering someone had just tried to kill them.

Carver crossed to Amryn’s side and sank into a crouch on the rug beside her.

He folded one hand around hers without thought. “Are you all right?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she jerked out a nod.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Are you in pain?”

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