Chapter 26 #2
“Of course. But perhaps, because of your position as the head of the emperor’s advisors, you might know other chancellors who sympathized with Trevill. Others who might have also argued against the emperor’s plans at Esperance.”
“Debates among the emperor’s advisors are a private matter,” Morav said, taking a long sip of her wine.
“If you wish to satiate your curiosity with the details of our meetings, I recommend that you ask the emperor for an imperial order of full disclosure. That is the only way you’ll learn anything private from me. ”
“Fair enough,” Carver said, allowing her this victory. He didn’t see the point in accusing her of being one that spoke out against Esperance—at least not until he actually interrogated her.
Intelligence gleamed in Morav’s eyes, marking her every bit the politician. “Do you have any other questions?” she asked, lifting a challenging eyebrow. “In this interrogation that is not an interrogation?”
“Yes, actually. Trevill believes he’s been framed. That perhaps someone powerful in the empire wanted him to take the fall for their treason. He mentioned the clerics, as well as some chancellors.”
“By name?”
“Some.” He paused, letting her wonder if he would share more information. Weighing things in his mind, he decided he wanted to see Morav’s reaction to the names Trevill had given—minus her own, of course. “Zacharias, Jeremiah, and Lisbeth were the clerics he named, along with Bartholomew.”
“Bartholomew retired,” Morav said shortly. “The old High Cleric of Craethen and I didn’t always get along, but he was no traitor.”
“And the others?”
Morav’s lip curled. “The church has always had a prominent place in the emperor’s life, especially after the loss of the empress.
The clerics carry great influence. They don’t always agree with the chancellors, but we get along, for the emperor’s sake.
I would hesitate to levy any such accusation at any of them. ”
Because you fear that would put you in a negative light with the emperor, Carver read between her careful words. But it was clear there was no love lost between Morav and the clerics. It was probably why she was suddenly more willing to talk.
“Who did Trevill name among his peers?” the chancellor asked, her tone hard enough to be a demand.
“He said Chancellor Janson has long been a rival.”
Morav scoffed. “Janson is loyal. I have no doubts about him.”
“You seem very confident of that.”
“I’ve known Lorne Janson a long time. He is the least ambitious politician you’ll ever meet.
He’s less interested in making the right connections, and much more focused on completing his assignments.
He’s the least jaded of the emperor’s advisors as well, despite personal hardships.
He truly believes in the good the chancellors can do for the empire, without any of the cynicism that often plagues the rest of us. ”
“Is he here tonight?” he asked.
The woman frowned. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t always make an effort to attend functions that aren’t strictly required.”
“He’s reclusive?” It seemed a strange trait for a politician.
“That’s not what I said.” Morav sighed, and for the first time Carver glimpsed a flicker of compassion in the woman’s eyes.
“Chancellor Janson lost his wife a few years ago. He hasn’t been as involved in social engagements since then.
But I can assure you he’s extremely dedicated to his duties.
His reports are always detailed and on time. ”
That would be easy enough to verify with Hector. “Trevill mentioned that Janson wanted his position in Esperance,” Carver said. “And that he was upset when he didn’t get it. Trevill thought Janson’s jealousy may have been enough to make him sabotage things in Esperance.”
“A ridiculous assertion by a desperate traitor,” Morav said, clearly not swayed in the least. “Janson may have volunteered to take the position in Esperance, but his heart lies in working to end the sonne trade. He doesn’t involve himself in petty politics or insipid rivalries.
” She straightened. “Besides, Janson didn’t vie for the position as much as others. ”
“Anyone in particular?” Morelli asked.
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “In fact, he was visibly angry when the emperor gave the position to Trevill.”
“Who?” Carver asked.
She met his gaze levelly. “Chancellor Kulver.”
Carver soon gave up on finding Chancellor Kulver in the crowd.
Morelli was certain the man was here. After all, Kulver was a known flirt and a man eager for more power—he wouldn’t miss such an event.
But the crowds were thick, and their progress searching the room was slow due to being stopped every few steps.
It seemed everyone wanted a quick word with one of the emperor’s generals.
Most of the nobles here tonight were interested in making inroads with the emperor’s inner circle.
Saints, he hated politics. He’d hunt down Kulver another day. Right now, he wanted to find Amryn. He knew being in crowds was difficult for her, and he worried that she was already pushing herself due to her injury. He also knew she wasn’t comfortable yet around his father. And Carver missed her.
All good reasons to locate his wife as quickly as possible.
He abandoned Morelli to a rather boring conversation with some middle-aged nobles and skirted around anyone who looked like they might want to talk to the emperor’s favored general.
He was done being strictly polite; he settled for a genial smile and a hurried step, trying to look as if he were busy.
He was looking for a flash of red hair, but he spied his father first. It made sense, since Cregon stood taller than most in the crowd.
But Carver’s stomach dropped as he got closer and realized Amryn wasn’t with his father.
When he neared, Cregon broke off mid-conversation to assure him, “Amryn is with Ivan. She wasn’t very comfortable with me, and she insisted on speaking with the prince. I sent Elowen to find her.”
Carver was only marginally relieved.
“It’s quite wonderful to see you so besotted,” a melodic voice said.
Carver turned his attention to the young woman his father had been speaking to. It had been years since he’d seen her, but he recognized her instantly.
Even as a child, Carina Rossi had been pretty, but she’d fully grown into her beauty now.
Her long dark hair fell down her back, her bronze skin glowing against the scarlet fabric of her dress.
Her voice was a little deeper than Carver remembered it, though her easy smile was the same.
The years that had passed were marked in her eyes, however, even if they were the same shade of dark coffee.
Carver gave Carina a short embrace, as befitted childhood friends. “It’s good to see you, Carina.”
“You as well. I was so worried about you in Harvari. Especially when we learned you’d been captured.”
Carver forced himself to smile, too aware of his father’s assessing gaze. “As you can see, I’m none the worse for wear.” Lies. But in this case, lies were so much easier than the truth.
Perhaps it was because Carina knew him so well, but she didn’t seem convinced. Still, she returned his smile. “And now you’re not only married, but happily so, Elowen tells me. Congratulations, Carver.”
“Thank you. I didn’t realize you were in Zagrev.” Last he’d heard, Carina had left Westmont to study at the empire’s largest university in Wendahl. He tried not to think about why she’d left.
“I’m visiting my father,” Carina said. Lord Rossi was an ambassador who lived at the palace. “It’s almost his birthday, and you know how he is about—”
“What are you doing here?” The words were a dark hiss.
They all turned, and Carver was suddenly face to face with his brother.
Berron had grown thin. Too thin. He’d lost muscle and weight due to the sonne—both the use of it, and then the absence of it.
His face was unshaven, his clothing loose and rumpled.
He wore a black patch over the hollow of his missing eye, the ties cutting through his dark, unwashed hair.
It had grown shaggy after years of neglect.
Carver doubted Berron had let anyone close enough to cut it in the last three years.
The stump of his right hand was hidden in the long sleeve of his shirt.
The drug lords who had stolen his eye had taken his hand as well, a warning that no one was untouchable.
Berron looked strangely untouchable now. Insubstantial. A mere shadow of himself. Yet he was fuming, his single bloodshot eye fixed on Carina.
She’d paled. “Berron,” she whispered. Shock filled her expression, her eyes wide as she studied him.
Carver swore Berron flinched under her perusal, but it was overtaken so immediately by a scowl, he couldn’t be sure. “What are you doing here?” he demanded again, making it clear his words had always been for Carina.
She sucked in a breath.
“Berron,” Cregon warned.
But Carina didn’t need Cregon to defend her.
She took a step forward, her eyes narrowed on the seething man before her.
“I could ask you the same thing, Berron Vincetti. But since I remember quite clearly how you told me you never wanted to speak to me again, you really don’t have the right to demand anything of me.
” She looked to Carver. “Congratulations again, Carver. You deserve every happiness.” She eyed Cregon next.
“Thank you, Cregon. I’ll let you know when I might be available to join you and Elowen for dinner while I’m still in Zagrev. ”
Berron’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his left hand rolling into a fist as Carina moved to sweep past him, her long red skirt brushing the floor.
She paused beside him, standing so close their hands almost touched. Lowering her voice, her head angled toward him, she said quietly, “You deserve happiness too, Berron. Even if you’re too much of a fool to claim it.” She swept away, her head held high.
Berron watched her go, a muscle in his cheek jumping.
“Berron . . .” Cregon’s voice was softer now. Consoling.
Berron’s lip curled. He didn’t even glance at Carver as he stalked away in the opposite direction Carina had gone.
Cregon groaned low in his throat. “Saints, I don’t know what to do for him.”
What to do for him. Not what to do with him. Carver knew the difference was only one of the things that made Cregon a remarkable father.
“He didn’t even look at you,” Cregon murmured, deep lines furrowing his brow.
Carver tried not to let his father see how much that had cut him. He cleared his throat. “Which way did Ivan and Amryn go?”
For a moment, it looked like Cregon might force Carver to talk about Berron. In the end, he released a breath and gestured toward the far side of the room. “That way.”
Carver nodded his thanks and strode off, grateful that his father understood. His relationship with Berron was not something that could be easily mended.
Time might heal some wounds, but others it soured.