Chapter 52 #2
“Janson is a good man. There are far too few of them in this world, but I swear he’s one of them.
” Berron glanced away, his eye tracking over a nearby painting of a winding river.
“He wants to destroy the sonne trade. That’s the only thing he’s concerned about.
Court politics? They’re irrelevant to him.
I doubt he wanted the position in Esperance, even if he felt compelled for some reason to volunteer.
” His gaze shifted back to Carver. “There’s just no way Janson is the one trying to kill the Chosen. ”
Carver was quite certain his brother was right.
From everything Carver had heard, Janson was the least politically minded politician in Zagrev.
He had no overt ambitions, and he seemed to be well-liked among his peers—a novelty in politics.
Amryn had shared her impressions of the man, since she’d met him briefly the night of the emperor’s feast. She’d felt his dedication to eliminate the sonne trade, and she’d speculated the reason behind it was personal.
Something stirred in the back of Carver’s mind. “Why is Janson so obsessed with the sonne trade?”
Berron’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “He has his reasons.”
Carver uncrossed his arms. “It was his wife, wasn’t it? Her death was somehow related to sonne.”
Berron’s words were slow to come. “His wife became addicted to it. She hid it for a while, but Janson eventually found out. He confronted her. Told her that he’d get her help.
That they’d get through her addiction together.
He thought he’d removed all traces of the drug from their house, but she had just enough to kill herself with.
Which she did, the second he left her alone to summon a physician.
Janson believes she took too much because she was afraid it would be her last time.
” Berron swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Janson is seeking vengeance for his wife while trying to protect everyone else in the empire. That’s all. He’s not the man you’re looking for.”
“I still need to speak with him.”
Berron shook his head, muttering a curse under his breath.
“If he has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear,” Carver reasoned. He turned and resumed walking.
His brother trailed behind him. “You’re wasting his time—and yours.”
“So be it.”
“Don’t you have any better leads?”
“Not really, Berron,” he snapped, walking faster. “That’s why I’m here. Unless you have any idea who might have killed Trevill. Or why someone in the emperor’s inner circle would hate the Chosen enough to try killing us. Or who else in this palace might have a tattoo of a hand on their—”
“A tattoo of a hand?”
The edge in Berron’s voice made Carver twist to face him. “Yes. Why?”
Berron’s expression tightened. He looked lost in memory, his single eye seeing past the present moment. He abruptly stalked around Carver, and now it was his turn to chase his brother down the corridor.
“Berron—”
His brother turned left down a long hallway of offices. Most doors were closed, but Berron strode confidently through an open doorway about halfway down the hall.
Chancellor Janson seemed as startled as Carver was by Berron’s abrupt entrance. The chancellor half stood from behind his desk. “Berron, what’s—?”
Berron pulled a loose sheet of parchment closer, then snatched up Janson’s quill. He dipped it in ink and leaned over the desk, lying his stump arm atop the page to hold it in place.
Carver looked over his shoulder as his brother painstakingly drew a symbol on the sheet of paper. A somewhat clumsy, but definitely familiar, symbol. The hand that had been tattooed on Trevill’s ribs—and Kulver’s—looked the same; palm open, fingers lifted, thumb sticking out.
His brother had just drawn the symbol of the Brotherhood.
Berron dropped the quill, and Carver stared at him. “How do you know that symbol?”
“Because I saw it all the time when I was with the sonne dealers,” Berron said, his jaw working. “It was drawn on correspondence they received and sent. I saw letters coming and going sometimes when I was with them.”
Janson planted his hands on the desk, his brow furrowed as he studied the drawing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this symbol?”
Shame flashed in Berron’s eyes. “So many of my memories are drenched in a haze. You know that. It’s why we meet so many times. To see if something you ask sparks a new memory.”
Janson’s expression softened. “Of course. My apologies, Berron.”
Berron glanced at Carver, unease crossing his face as he clearly remembered Carver was playing witness to this. His shoulders stiffened. “You mentioned the tattoo, and I saw the image in my mind.”
“What tattoo?” Janson asked. “Did the dealers have this tattoo?”
“No,” Berron said. “At least, not that I remember ever seeing.”
“Trevill’s tattoo was on his ribs,” Carver said, his heart beating faster. “If the sonne dealers had the same marks, maybe you just never saw theirs.”
“Maybe,” Berron allowed.
“I don’t understand,” Janson said, the lines in his forehead deepening as he frowned. “Chancellor Trevill had a symbol associated with sonne dealers tattooed on his body?”
“It’s not a symbol of the sonne trade,” Carver said, staring at Berron’s drawing.
This was proof the Brotherhood was involved in the drug trade.
Hector had said they grew their wealth through illegal means, but sonne?
That wasn’t what Carver had expected. It was a staggering revelation.
And an infuriating one. Carver knew firsthand the destruction sonne could wreak on a person.
On a family. He looked at Janson. “You’ve never seen this symbol? ”
“No,” the older man said. He looked a bit disturbed by that fact. “I’ve been researching these dealers for years, but I’ve never seen this marking.”
“You said it wasn’t their symbol,” Berron said, his gaze fixed on Carver.
He sighed. “No. It’s not.” He eyed the two men.
Knew they deserved at least a partial answer—especially if he was going to enlist their help in finding the link between the Brotherhood and the sonne trade.
“It belongs to an elite group high in the emperor’s court.
That’s why Trevill had it. Because of Berron, we now have confirmation this group is working with the sonne dealers in some capacity. ”
Janson’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve long suspected the sonne trade is supported by wealthy, influential people in the empire.”
“You have?”
The chancellor nodded, eagerness entering his gaze. “This symbol might be the link that finally offers me proof. What can you tell me about this group? Do you know who any of the members are?”
Carver hesitated. “I don’t have all the information.
But I’ll secure a meeting between you and the person who can answer your questions.
Maybe together, you can figure out who in the emperor’s court might be guilty of profiting off the sonne trade.
” It was probably too much to hope that one of Janson’s suspects would be the Brotherhood’s leader, but if Hector and Janson could work together, they might be able to find more suspects—and proof—of the Brotherhood’s crimes.
Berron frowned. “If Janson and I have learned anything, it’s that the sonne dealers are more powerful than anyone in the empire wants to contemplate.”
“Berron is right,” the chancellor said grimly. “Sonne has made these ruthless criminals unspeakably wealthy. Their network is more vast and complex than you can imagine.” He tapped the symbol of the drawn hand. “And this confirms they have allies in powerful places.”
It also meant the Brotherhood had a dangerous network of criminals they could potentially weaponize.
Or hire as assassins.
Carver’s questions for Janson had just shifted focus. He met the man’s gaze. “Tell me everything you can about the sonne dealers. Especially their operation in Zagrev.”