Chapter 16
Carver
Carver trailed the guard who was guiding him to Trevill’s cell. Their boots scuffed against the gritty stone floor, every sound echoing down the narrow halls of the prison. The lantern in the guard’s hand swung as he walked, making the shadows leap over the walls.
Being in the prison made Carver’s skin feel too tight. The imperial dungeon wasn’t anything like where he’d been held captive, but the sensation of being trapped was the same.
The guard drew to a stop before a wooden door and handed Carver the lantern. Keys jangled, the lock grated, and the door creaked as it swung open on old hinges.
Carver stepped inside.
Chancellor Aaron Trevill sat on the rumpled bed along the back wall, squinting blearily against the lantern’s flickering light.
He was in his mid-thirties, and his handsome features and charming demeanor had made him approachable in Esperance.
He looked a little less so at the moment.
His ankles were shackled together with a short length of chain that was anchored to the wall behind him.
His wrists were unbound. His clothing was rumpled, his hair wild, and his beard unkempt.
Even still, he exuded a calm he should not have been feeling.
The cell door shut behind Carver.
“I didn’t expect you,” Trevill said, his voice a little hoarse from disuse.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Carver asked.
“I have a few ideas.” Trevill said, demeanor unruffled as he leaned back against the wall behind him. “An apology would be appreciated.”
Carver snorted. “You’ll be waiting for that apology until we meet on the Scorched Plains.”
Trevill lifted one eyebrow. “I take it you haven’t come to your senses, then.”
“You’re a traitor.”
“I thought it was customary for a confession, or maybe a trial, to determine guilt.”
“You’re not going to get away with what you’ve done. You might as well cooperate fully.”
The disgraced chancellor huffed a breath. “You’re questioning me here, instead of in a holding room. That means you want me to feel the full weight of my imprisonment. A basic intimidation tactic.”
Carver met his stare, refusing to let Trevill know he was right.
The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I can assure you, I will not be intimidated.”
Unfortunately, Carver suspected that was true. Trevill’s confidence was almost enough to make Carver wonder if the man was actually innocent.
Almost.
Knowing fear tactics wouldn’t work, he switched strategies.
He watched Trevill for a suspended moment, letting the silence build until he caught the subtle tightening around the chancellor’s eyes.
Only then did Carver let his eyes wander around the cell.
“You couldn’t have done it from here,” he said, his tone musing.
Trevill folded his arms across his chest. “Is this supposed to be the part where I beg you to tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Not at all. I’m here to settle my own curiosity, not yours.”
Trevill had once held an influential position in the emperor’s court. Knowledge, power . . . that was what he craved. Which meant this approach would irritate him more than any other.
Carver nodded once, as if to himself. “It must have been a message you sent before your arrest.”
A muscle ticked in Trevill’s jaw, but he held his tongue.
Carver took one step back. “I got my answer, Trevill. And you didn’t have to say a word.” He turned on his heel and moved for the door.
He could feel Trevill’s eyes digging into his back. Heard his breath hitch when Carver opened the door.
The guard in the hall was startled by his sudden appearance, but he quickly shuffled back, leaving Carver room to exit. He stepped over the threshold.
“Wait.”
Carver paused. He glanced over his shoulder in silent question.
Trevill’s eyes narrowed. “What message do you think I sent?”
Carver twisted back to face him, one hand resting on the door’s handle. Showing how ready he was to leave would hopefully make Trevill more likely to talk. “You hired the assassin that tried to gut Jayveh last night.”
Trevill flinched.
Carver had used a graphic descriptor on purpose; if Trevill hadn’t cringed—if he’d been braced for it—Carver would be more certain of the man’s guilt in hiring the assassin. But even though Trevill’s reaction had been one of shock and disgust, Carver wasn’t ready to believe him guiltless just yet.
He let his expression harden. “So it was you,” he said, false surety in his voice.
Trevill’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve never hired an assassin in my life.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
Some of Trevill’s calm died as he gritted his teeth. “I didn’t hire anyone to kill Jayveh. Why would I want the future empress dead? She carries the heir to the throne.”
“Her death would be a terrible blow to the emperor. Possibly enough to make him abandon the idea of a Craethen Council entirely, which was your goal all along.”
“You’re throwing unfounded accusations at me.”
Carver shoved the cell door closed, trapping them both in the shadowed space. “You hired an assassin to assume Marriset’s identity and murder members of the Chosen in Esperance. It really isn’t a stretch to imagine you hired another assassin to finish the job here.”
“Outright lies,” Trevill said, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Carver ignored that. “Is Jayveh your only target, or do you hope to kill all the remaining Chosen?”
“I haven’t targeted anyone!” he burst out. “Certainly not a woman with child.”
“Don’t expect me to believe you suddenly care about the sanctity of life. You didn’t care that the real Marriset was killed before she even stepped foot in Esperance. You didn’t care about Cora, either, or Darrin. You personally poisoned all the women!”
The chancellor’s jaw worked. “I wasn’t responsible for any of that.”
Amryn had sensed differently. “The evidence is undeniable.”
“Evidence?” Trevill scoffed. “All you have is speculation, and even that is based off the dying words of a murderous madwoman.”
“We have the letter you wrote to her. The one she kept in case you ever turned on her. You tried to disguise the handwriting, but it’s yours.”
“Someone is trying to frame me,” Trevill snapped. “Perhaps they even impersonated me, and that’s why Marriset’s imposter was so sure I was the one to hire her. Perhaps the same person is now plotting to kill Jayveh.”
“Who would try to frame you?” Carver asked, letting skepticism color his words.
“Any number of people. The emperor’s court is filled with scheming liars.”
“Like you?”
His spine stiffened. “I’m loyal to the emperor.”
“And yet you strongly disagreed with him when he proposed the creation of the Craethen Council.”
“I’m not the only one who had doubts about the council,” Trevill ground out. “Even Chancellor Morav was initially against the idea.”
Carver frowned at that. Chancellor Morav was the emperor’s senior advisor. While Carver had always seen her as old and stern, he knew the emperor relied heavily on her advice.
Trevill must have seen his hesitation, because he latched onto it. “I’m sure the politics behind Esperance weren’t your focus, but you can ask the emperor himself. Hardly any of the chancellors thought the Craethen Council was a good idea.”
“Because you all worried about the loss of your own influence and power?”
Trevill’s eyes darkened. “If you’re looking for those who are reluctant to share power, you should look toward the church.
The high clerics have long had the emperor’s ear, and I’m not the first chancellor to see it.
The emperor will often be swayed by a simple word from Highest Cleric Jeremiah or High Cleric Bartholomew. ”
“Bartholomew is no longer the High Cleric of Craethen,” Carver said.
Trevill blinked. “He’s not?”
“No. He retired and returned to the High Temple.”
The corners of Trevill’s lips turned down. “He was old, yes, but not frail. I find the timing of this rather suspicious.”
Carver rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”
Trevill’s expression sharpened. “You asked me to provide suspects, and I am. I would look closely at High Cleric Bartholomew’s replacement.”
It wouldn’t hurt to learn more about High Cleric Lisbeth. The woman had come across as confident and a little cool—especially toward Zacharias, which Carver had probably enjoyed too much. Still, her replacement of High Cleric Bartholomew at a time of such turbulence in the empire was worth noting.
“Who else do you think might be framing you?” Carver asked.
“Other than the clerics?” Trevill clipped back. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have any enemies?”
He laughed once, the sound hard. “I’m a politician. Of course I have enemies.”
“Any who would go to such lengths to frame you?”
Trevill glanced away, his thoughts obviously racing. His eyes narrowed. “Chancellor Janson and I have had a rivalry from time to time.”
Chancellor Janson—the man who had summoned Berron to Zagrev and was currently investigating the sonne trade.
“Why would Janson want to destroy the Craethen Council?” Carver asked.
Trevill threw out his hands. “I don’t know! Perhaps because of what that lying imposter claimed about my motivations. Maybe Janson worries about having less of a voice in the emperor’s court.”
“Or perhaps you’re giving me Janson’s name because you hate him and want to drag him down with you.”
Trevill’s eyes narrowed, but before he could snap out a reply, Carver asked, “Anyone else?”
Annoyance crossed Trevill’s face, but after a short, considering silence he said, “Chancellor Kulver was upset about my appointment to Esperance. He wanted the assignment for himself. He’s young, ambitious, and new to the emperor’s staff.
He’s been desperate to make a name for himself. He may have wanted to see me fail.”
Carver was unfamiliar with the name, but he intended to learn all he could of Chancellor Kulver.
When Trevill didn’t name anyone else, Carver asked, “Do you think either of those men might have hired the assassin that tried to kill Jayveh?”