Chapter 10
Carver
All Carver wanted to do was check on Amryn. Instead, he was stuck in an endless meeting where he was forced to keep retelling his story.
The emperor and Jayveh had left hours ago. Carver was now seated at a table on the edge of the throne room. The emperor’s steward sat nearby, but Hector hadn’t said a word as he wrote in his notebook, documenting everything that was discussed.
Carver’s father sat beside him, a mostly silent but steadying presence. He was the High General of Craethen, but he allowed Morelli and Keats to take the lead in questioning Carver. Probably to avoid showing any hint of bias.
The two generals sat across from Carver as they asked him a thousand questions about his experiences in Esperance. He felt like he was slowly going mad. Or that he was on trial.
Sympathy lined Morelli’s face as he asked his questions. “Is it possible the men who attacked you on the road were lying? Could they have been with the Rising?”
. . . “I know we went over this already, but can you remember any names spoken among the rebels who attacked you on Zawri?”
There was no sympathy from Keats, who was relentless in his questioning. “Tam truly gave no indication that she was a danger to Prince Argent?”
. . . “Is it possible Chancellor Trevill was a member of the Rising?”
. . . “Go over your plan again for the Feast of Remembrance. What precautions did you take to keep Argent safe?”
Carver endured every question with a stoic calm, but he could feel the fractures growing as time wore on.
Then Keats asked, “Do you trust your wife?”
The stark question made Carver’s spine lock. “Yes. I trust her completely.”
Morelli shot Keats an irritated look. “What sort of question is that?”
“An important one,” Keats responded easily, not looking away from Carver’s steady gaze. “You have no doubts whatsoever about Amryn’s loyalty to the empire?”
“None.”
The sound of Hector’s quill scratching across paper was the only sound as Carver stared at Keats, both of their expressions hard.
The skin around the older general’s eyes tightened. “I think I would have doubts about her. She betrayed you and the empire once. What’s stopping her from doing it again?”
Morelli muttered a curse under his breath, but he only leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest.
Carver’s hands fisted beneath the edge of the table, his eyes firmly on Keats.
“Amryn was recruited specifically for this mission in Esperance—she had no prior contact with the rebels. And while there, she didn’t harm anyone.
The moment she realized the lethal danger Argent was in—that I was in—she came forward.
From that moment on, she did everything to protect us and the empire. ”
“A heartfelt defense,” Keats said, clearly unmoved. “But rebels know how to manipulate those around them.”
Morelli tipped his head back, eyes on the ceiling as he said, “You’re digging at nothing, Keats.”
Cregon shifted in his chair beside Carver. “If Carver had concerns about Amryn’s loyalty, he would have shared them.”
“Perhaps,” Keats said. “Although Carver wouldn’t be the first man to be fooled by a pretty face.”
Carver’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll thank you not to pay any attention to the prettiness of my wife’s face.”
Morelli snorted. Cregon’s lips twitched.
Keats’s dark brows knit together. “You’re defensive of her.”
“Of course I am. She’s my wife.”
“She was also a traitor. How well do you truly know her?”
“I know she’s not a traitor,” Carver said, aggravation rising.
“She could be manipulating you.”
“She’s not.”
Keats raised an eyebrow. “How am I to trust that, when she shares your bed?”
Carver stiffened.
“That was uncalled for,” Morelli said at once, his tone darkening.
“It’s not,” Keats snapped back, his eyes never leaving Carver’s face. “You would be asking the same thing, Morelli, if it was anyone but Carver.” He glanced at Cregon, who sat rigidly beside Carver. “You know I’m right, High General. These questions must be asked.”
Cregon frowned, but didn’t say anything.
And in that growing silence, Carver’s skin grew too tight.
What would Keats say if Carver admitted he’d never truly slept with his wife?
He’d probably take it as a sign that Carver distrusted Amryn on some level.
But Keats was the last person Carver would ever share such intimate details with.
Especially when the man was being needlessly aggressive towards his wife.
He kept his voice as level as possible as he said, “Amryn has my complete trust.”
“Placing implicit trust in a former member of the Rising is unwise,” Keats said. “Any informant we gain is strictly monitored, and every word they say is weighed carefully.”
His jaw hardened. “She’s not an informant. She’s my wife. And as I already told you, she was never a true member of the Rising. She didn’t seek them out or make any vows to them.”
“Perhaps not, but they sought her out. That means something.”
“They sought out her king, and he and her uncle asked her to assist the Rising in Esperance.”
Keats shook his head. “Semantics. The Rising saw an opportunity in utilizing her, and she agreed to help them. A traitor is a traitor.”
“She never had any direct contact with the rebels prior to arriving—”
“But we know she met with Samuel, and eventually Tam,” Keats interrupted.
“And those were just the meetings you were informed of.” He lifted a hand.
“Before you try to argue and say Amryn was working for the empire in the end, I’d like to remind you that you can’t account for every moment of your wife’s time in Esperance.
She could have been meeting with Tam long before she came to you and the prince.
Amryn could have approached you because Tam told her to do so. To influence you.”
Carver gritted his teeth. “Amryn betrayed the rebels to protect Argent.”
Keats huffed. “We see how well that turned out.”
Carver stopped breathing. His voice dropped low. “Say that again.”
Keats only stared, his eyes hard.
Morelli cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should—”
“You underestimated Tam,” Keats said, speaking directly to Carver. “What makes you think you’re not underestimating your wife?”
“You’re attacking her for no reason,” Carver bit out.
“I have plenty of reasons,” Keats argued. “My job is to protect the empire.”
“I fail to see how continually questioning my wife’s loyalty helps anything.”
“I’m trying to get to the truth of things.” Keats leaned forward. “We’ve sworn the same oaths, Carver. The only difference right now is that I refuse to fail, while you already have.”
Cregon gripped Carver’s shoulder, keeping him in his seat when all he wanted to do was slam his fist into Keats’s face. “We’ve been here for hours,” his father said, his voice filled with authority. “I think it’s time we called it a day.”
Morelli grunted. “A good idea. I, for one, need a strong drink.” He stretched to his feet, groaning as joints popped.
Keats and Carver remained seated, locked in a staring match. “I know this is difficult,” the older general finally said, his words softer, though his tone remained blunt. “You faced more disasters in Esperance than any of us expected, and you lost Argent.”
Carver’s stomach plunged.
“You lost Argent.”
The words were accusatory. They were also truer—and more painful—than Keats realized. Because Argent was truly lost. He wasn’t a captive of the rebels. He wasn’t going to be found. And his death was Carver’s fault.
“I’m trying to get him back,” Keats continued. “Everyone knows the prince is your best friend. I thought you would be more willing to help me do whatever it takes to find him.”
“That’s enough,” Cregon said, warning sharpening his voice. “Carver’s loyalty to Argent—and this empire—will not be questioned.”
A muscle in Keats’s cheek jumped, but he nodded. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to cast any shadow of doubt upon you personally, Carver. Everyone here knows your history, especially in Harvari.”
Carver’s jaw tensed. He was painfully aware of his father, who had gone still in the chair beside him.
Morelli was watching him with an intensity that made his skin itch.
Even Hector was staring. They all knew he’d been captured.
Tortured. But few knew exactly what had happened to him.
His father only knew because he’d read Carver’s official report.
It had been written as dispassionately as he could make it: The enemy tortured other prisoners in front of me until they died. I told them nothing.
In the emperor’s eyes, those lines had cemented his place as a war hero. But Carver knew there was nothing heroic about it. The blood of those innocent men stained his soul.
Feeling his father’s eyes on him, Carver fought to keep his expression neutral, his focus trained firmly on Keats. “I accept your apology.” It was the only thing he could think to say.
Keats inclined his head, then said, “I would like to set up a time for Amryn’s interview.”
Carver forced his stiff jaw to move. “Would tomorrow afternoon work?”
“Perfectly.”
“I’ll be there.”
A shadow crossed Keats’s face. “There’s no need for you to attend.”
Carver bared his teeth and repeated, “I’ll be there.”
Cregon released a long sigh. “Perhaps this can be discussed tomorrow as well.”
Judging by the glare on Keats’s face, Carver didn’t think the general wanted any sort of discussion about this. But Cregon was the High General, and Keats decided to defer. For now, at least. But Carver would not allow Amryn to be subjected to Keats’s ruthless questions. Certainly not alone.
Keats was the first to leave, and Hector was close behind him, his bag slung over one shoulder. He cast Carver a look tinged with pity, which wasn’t something Carver appreciated.