Chapter 10 #2
Morelli rounded the table and threw his arms around Carver, squeezing so hard Carver’s ribs creaked.
“Glad you’re back, Carver,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face as he drew back.
He slapped a hand on his shoulder. “And don’t let Keats bother you.
The man is intense, but he’s good at his job. ”
Carver grunted. “I suppose you were assigned as his partner to keep him from taking things too seriously?”
Morelli winked. “I do have a certain reputation.”
“Unfortunately,” Cregon muttered.
Morelli grinned at his best friend. “You grumble, but be honest—you wish you had ten of me.” When Cregon muttered a curse, Morelli chuckled and clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you join me at one of Zagrev’s many fine taverns tonight? You could use a little loosening up.”
“Another time,” Cregon said. “I’d like to speak with my son.”
“Fair enough.” Morelli bid them both goodnight, leaving Cregon and Carver alone in the throne room. Only half of the large iron candelabras spaced throughout the vast space were lit, making the shadows stretch long and hang deep at the edges of the room.
Cregon’s assessing gaze swept over Carver, his voice low as he asked, “Do you feel like talking about everything?”
“You heard my report.” More than once, thanks to Keats and his repetitive questions.
His father shook his head. “I may know what happened in Esperance, but I don’t know the most important thing.” At his questioning look, Cregon’s face softened. “How are you?”
Carver let out a long exhale as he leaned against the edge of the table. “Truthfully? I’m not sure.”
Cregon’s brow furrowed, but his eyes were clear. “Talk me through it.”
It was a favorite line of his father’s. Carver had missed hearing it. He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m worried about Amryn.”
“That’s understandable.” A hint of a smile lifted Cregon’s lips. “And quite obvious, by the way. Tell me why you’re worried about her.”
“She’s nervous about being in the capital,” Carver admitted. “And after how Keats just acted, I can’t blame her.”
“He was only doing his job.”
Carver lifted one eyebrow, his gaze pointed.
“All right, he did it a bit aggressively,” his father admitted. “But if Amryn has truly disavowed the Rising, she has nothing to fear.”
Carver’s fingers dug into his folded arms. “I want to take her home. Westmont would be safer for her. From the Rising,” he added quickly.
“Probably true,” Cregon said. “But you won’t be leaving any time soon. You’re both needed here, until this mess can be sorted.”
Carver wanted to argue, but his father wasn’t wrong. Everything was a mess right now. He couldn’t ask the emperor to let him and Amryn leave until they’d sat through the emperor’s meeting tomorrow morning, and Amryn had been questioned by Keats and Morelli.
Lost in his own thoughts, he nearly missed the shadow that had risen in his father’s eyes.
Dread curled inside him. “What is it?”
Cregon’s jaw worked. “I didn’t want to have this be one of the first things we talked about, but I don’t want you to hear it from someone else. Trouble has been stirring along the border.”
He didn’t need to clarify which one. Carver swallowed. “Tell me.”
Cregon sighed. “It’s small skirmishes, mostly. Harvarian militants who don’t want to admit the war is over.” He held Carver’s stare, a muscle in his cheek jumping. “They’re leaving bodies near our watch towers. Soldiers we thought were killed during the war.”
Nausea churned in his gut, but Carver refused to blink. Or look away from his father’s worried gaze. “How many?”
“A lot,” Cregon said grimly. “Too many. They’re all fresh kills. They’ve been kept as prisoners all this time, only to be led to the slaughter. The enemy is clearly trying to incite us.”
There was a roaring in his ears, but Carver tried to ignore it. “They were tortured before they were killed.” It wasn’t really a question.
Sorrow and sympathy warred across Cregon’s expression as he said, “Yes.”
Dark memories threatened. They’d been closer to the surface ever since the vivid nightmare Amryn had woken him from, but now—knowing the horror those men had endured before their senseless deaths—Carver felt like he was drowning in them. Raza’s voice was in his mind. The screams. The pain.
He curled his hands to fists, tight enough that his fingernails cut into his palms. Trying to force the memories out. But nothing could erase the past. His experiences in Harvari were forever a part of him, no matter how much he longed to forget.
His father was watching him too closely.
“Do we know which militant group is responsible?” Carver asked.
“No. We’re trying to track them, but Harvari’s ministers aren’t making it easy.
They’re refusing to let a military force cross the border, so we’re relying on spies alone—and we’ve increased the patrols near every watch tower.
” He hesitated, then said more softly, “We haven’t been able to identify all the bodies.
They were . . . not all recognizable. But several we’ve recovered have belonged to men from your army. ”
The words were like a knife being plunged into his chest. Most of the men in his army that had been captured had been taken with him. Which meant they had been prisoners far longer than he’d been kept by Raza. Saints, he thought they’d gotten everyone out the night he’d left that accursed camp.
His father’s hand landed on his shoulder. His grip was firm. “I’m sorry, Carve.”
Too many emotions clogged Carver’s throat, but he managed to ask, “Their bodies were returned to their families?”
“Yes.” Cregon tightened his hold. “I’m working to negotiate the return of all remaining prisoners. I have the emperor’s full support, though the Harvarian ministers are mostly pleading ignorance. But I’ll bring them home, son. Every single one, no matter how long it takes.”
Carver nodded. It was the only thing he could do.
Needing to escape the intensity of his father’s stare, he asked, “How is everyone at home?”
Cregon didn’t resist the change in subject. He squeezed Carver’s shoulder, then let his hand fall. “The family is well, but you’ve been missed. Every week or so I’ve had to talk your mother out of storming Esperance so she could check on you.”
Despite everything, Carver’s lips twitched. He could picture his mother doing just that. “I’m glad you managed to hold her back.”
“She’ll be anxious for you to return home.” Cregon shifted his weight. “I borrowed your man, Hugo, and sent him with a message to Westmont as soon as I knew you were coming to the capital. I’ve asked your mother to send Jayveh’s brothers to Zagrev with him. And several other guards, of course.”
His father had chosen wisely. Hugo wouldn’t fail to protect the two young Xerran princes; the man was honorable, highly skilled, and trustworthy. He’d get Jayveh’s brothers safely back to her. “How are they?” Carver asked.
His father grunted. “They were used to living under their uncle’s domineering fist. It took them a while to trust they’d be treated very differently in our home.
They’re good boys. They’ve grown a lot in the time they’ve been with us.
” He cracked a smile. “In more ways than one. Your mother didn’t really give them a choice in the matter, since she kept giving them food and smothering them with affection. ”
That sounded like Alora Vincetti. She believed anything could be solved with good food and unconditional love. The only time Carver had seen her falter in that belief was with Berron.
His gut clenched, and he shifted his weight. “How is Berron?”
His father sighed, his shoulders falling. “Your brother is . . . coping. He didn’t want to come to the capital.”
No, Carver imagined leaving the sanctuary of his room had been the last thing Berron wanted. He’d hidden there almost exclusively for years, now.
“Elowen is here as well,” Cregon said.
Carver’s heart warmed at the thought of seeing his sister, though he had to ask, “Is it safe for her here?”
Cregon gave him a wry look. “Things were quite calm until you arrived.”
That was probably fair.
His father sobered. “Do you truly believe Argent is dead?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t explain how he knew it, but his father didn’t demand reasons. He merely glanced away, as if he needed a moment to control his emotions.
Carver understood. He took a moment to look away, too. Only his eyes fell on the imperial throne on the other side of the room, now cast in shadow. A throne Argent would never sit on.
“You can’t blame Jayveh or the emperor for wanting proof,” Cregon said softly. “To keep believing, until it’s proven he’s truly gone.”
“I don’t blame them. I just don’t want them to suffer false hope.”
“Is hope ever really false?” Cregon moved to one of the chairs pulled back from the table, but he didn’t sit.
He merely held on to the tall wooden back, his eyes on Carver.
“When we received word you were missing in Harvari . . .” He swallowed hard.
“I’ve never prayed so hard in my life that you were alive. ”
Carver’s throat heated, even as his stomach cramped. He might have been alive, but he’d been living in hell.
His father knew that. Sorrow, pain, and guilt all rose in his eyes.
“It’s still early days,” he finally whispered.
“Argent is strong. He may have managed to escape his captors. But if he is a prisoner of the Rising, we’ll likely receive word about a ransom.
” His eyes—so much like Carver’s own—found his.
“There’s something important you’ve failed to tell me. ”
The words made Carver’s pulse skip. “I didn’t leave anything out of my report.”
Cregon’s eyes softened. “Do you truly care for her?”
“Yes.” There was no doubt on that score.
His father smiled. “I’m glad. Your mother will be, as well. You know she didn’t like the idea of you marrying a stranger, but she’s been praying Amryn would somehow be your perfect match. She’s even been planning a marriage celebration for you two, once we’re all back in Westmont.”
“She has?”
“I told her to wait until we heard how you and Amryn felt about the marriage, but she was rather insistent.”
“Mother? Insistent? Never.”
Cregon chuckled. Then—choosing his words carefully—he asked, “Does Amryn care for you, too?”
Carver’s response wasn’t immediate, as he was choosing his words with care.
“She made the choice to save me, even when every instinct told her I was her enemy. Even when she was still allied with the Rising, she offered me kindness.” When he glanced up, his father was smiling softly. For some reason, Carver tensed. “What?”
A slow smile curved his lips. “When did she sneak past your guard and steal your heart?”
He didn’t know exactly when it had happened; when she’d cut through his barriers and made him fall. It had happened slowly. One late night conversation at a time until—suddenly—it happened all at once and he was lost.
His father’s eyes softened. He clearly didn’t need Carver to confirm what he could obviously see. “I look forward to getting to know her,” his father murmured.
Gratitude bled through Carver, though he shouldn’t have doubted his father would welcome Amryn into the family with open arms.
Cregon released his hold on the chair. “It’s late, and you’re exhausted.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me, it is.” He reached out, slinging one arm around Carver’s shoulders as he propelled them both toward the door.
“You’re not getting off that easily,” he warned as they walked.
“Some vague lines about how you’re not sure how she stole your heart won’t cut it.
Your mother will demand details. And no one will pester you as much as Elowen. ”
Carver groaned.
Cregon’s deep laugh echoed in the darkened room.