Chapter 26
Carver
“High Cleric Lisbeth,” Carver said, inclining his head. It was the modicum of respect everyone was expected to show a high cleric.
Lisbeth smiled thinly. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
Her words were phrased as a question, but Carver didn’t think he really had a choice. “Of course.”
Morelli clapped a hand on his arm. “I’ll make my way over to Morav.” He strode away, leaving Carver alone to face Lisbeth.
“Do you have business with Chancellor Morav?” the female cleric asked, curiosity shining in her amber eyes.
“I just wanted to speak with her about a few things.” Frankly, there were questions he should be asking Lisbeth as well.
The emperor hadn’t announced Trevill’s death yet, so he couldn’t ask if she thought Zacharias might have murdered the chancellor.
The two men had detested each other at Esperance, after all.
“Did High Cleric Zacharias leave this morning?” he asked.
Lisbeth’s head tilted slightly. “Yes, he left at dawn with Highest Cleric Jeremiah.”
Carver cracked a slight smile. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to run into him tonight,” he said, as if that would explain his question.
Her expression softened, but she still looked severe due to her shaved head and blue ceremonial robes. “I’m sorry you all suffered under Zacharias’s stewardship, Carver. May I call you Carver?”
He tipped his chin.
She gave a slight smile. “I’m aware you’re not a religious man. But I wanted to personally re-extend my offer of counsel, if you wish for someone to speak to. I know the events in Esperance were trying.” She glanced past him. “I was hoping to offer the same invitation to your wife.”
Carver didn’t want this woman anywhere near Amryn. Not only did Lisbeth make his instincts flare, but she was a high cleric. A woman who would want Amryn dead, if she knew the truth. “I’ll tell her,” Carver said. “But she’s not religious, either.”
Lisbeth pursed her lips. “Well, just so long as you both know my door is always open to you. The church feels awful about Zacharias’s failures, and we want to make sure the Chosen are supported.”
Carver studied her. “For all your preaching of forgiveness, you don’t seem to have a lot of compassion for Zacharias.”
She raised one eyebrow. “I was under the impression you and Zacharias didn’t get along.”
“We didn’t.”
“And yet you’re defending him?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Just making an observation.”
“Hm.” Lisbeth’s eyes were unblinking as she held his gaze.
It was unnerving. “Well, if you studied the words of the Divinities, you might realize that forgiveness doesn’t come freely.
It must be earned. If it were not so, there would be no justice.
For every sin, there is a punishment,” she said, clearly quoting a scripture penned by some saint at some point.
And yet, something about those words made his skin tighten.
Or maybe it was simply the look in Lisbeth’s eyes as she’d said them.
“What do you think Trevill’s punishment should be?” Carver asked on a whim.
“Death,” Lisbeth said without hesitation. “Treason against the emperor cannot be tolerated.” She clasped her hands before her, the long sleeves of her robe nearly swallowing them. “Although I must say, I think Chancellor Morav and others might plead leniency for him.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s one of them,” she said simply. “Sometimes, loyalty clouds judgment.”
Carver found that rather ironic, coming from a cleric. Their devout worship bordered on cultish, in his opinion. “You haven’t been in the capital long, but you seem to have strong opinions about Chancellor Morav,” Carver observed.
The smile Lisbeth gave him was bladed. “It didn’t take long to form my opinion about her. We interact daily, since we both serve the emperor so closely.”
A servant brushed by them, and Carver passed off his empty wineglass. “I was sorry to hear about Bartholomew’s retirement.”
“He was a good man who served the emperor well for many years,” Lisbeth said. “It is daunting to be the one to take his place.”
“You must have done something remarkable to gain Highest Cleric Jeremiah’s attention.”
“You flatter me. I merely serve the Holy Superior—and the Divinities—to the best of my abilities.”
“Still, your position is a powerful one.”
“I suppose you could think of it that way, if you wanted to reduce it to such simplistic terms.”
He cocked his head at her. “How would you define being the spiritual advisor to the emperor and his court, if not as a position of great power?”
She considered her answer before she gave it. “A grave responsibility.”
He couldn’t decide if the answer surprised him or not. Choosing to ignore that for now, he asked, “May I ask why the Highest Cleric chose to make such a significant change in church leadership now, of all times? Why not let Bartholomew see the emperor through our time in Esperance?”
“I couldn’t say. The Holy Superior had his reasons, I’m sure.” Lisbeth let her hands fall to her sides. “May I ask you a question, now?”
He dipped his chin.
“How are things between you and your wife?”
His spine stiffened, though he tried not to show it. “Why do you ask?”
She lifted one shoulder, making the folds of her robe ripple.
“Your time in Esperance was cut short, which didn’t give you the time we wanted you to have to build your foundation as a couple.
And the months you spent there were certainly harrowing.
I just wondered if you felt your marriage was lacking in any way. ”
“No.”
For the first time, he thought her faint smile might be real. “You’re truly a man of many words, Carver.”
Forcing his tongue to loosen, he said, “Things between us are good.”
“Are you happy with her?”
He frowned. The question felt . . . off. “Yes. Very.”
“You have no qualms or misgivings about her?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Amryn is perfect.”
“Hm,” she hummed low, her eyes sharp. “Perfectionism can be a curse. It only takes the smallest mistake to ruin the illusion.” She flashed a smile at him before shifting back slightly.
“I won’t keep you any longer, Carver. Just remember, you can call upon me at any time.
And please do extend that offer to your wife. ” She swept away without another word.
Blazing Saints, clerics were strange. A slight frown was still on his face as he made his way toward Morelli, who was flirting with a woman nearby.
Clearly, he hadn’t made it to Morav.
To Morelli’s credit, he kissed the woman’s hand and stepped away the moment he noticed Carver’s approach. “How was the high cleric?” he asked as they resumed their path to Morav.
“Odd.”
Morelli snorted. “Lisbeth seems even odder than most clerics.”
Carver couldn’t argue with that.
“Chancellor Morav,” Morelli greeted, his deep voice booming.
The emperor’s senior advisor glanced up from her quiet conversation with a nobleman and his wife. When she spied Morelli, her already unsmiling face somehow grew even less amused. “General Morelli,” she greeted flatly.
Morelli’s smile didn’t dim, despite the decidedly less warm greeting from the chancellor. “Do you have a moment?” he asked.
Chancellor Morav was probably one of the shortest people in the room, but even so, she commanded respect.
She had been one of the emperor’s closest friends and confidants for decades.
Carver’s grandfather had once called the woman singularly focused.
His father had always encouraged Carver and Argent to keep their antics far away from the woman who had a limited sense of humor.
For all the lines on Morav’s face, Carver didn’t think any of the creases had been made from smiling.
She was a polished politician, but she wasn’t interested in pandering.
She was secure in her position at the emperor’s side.
The only cracking Carver had seen in that security was when she was facing one of the clerics and her frustration got the better of her.
She had gray hair and a quiet enough demeanor, though there was no mistaking her for fragile.
There was steel in her spine, even if she was beginning to stoop with age.
After politely dismissing the couple she’d been speaking with, Morav’s gaze brushed over Morelli before settling on Carver. Her assessing gaze was sharp. He didn’t think many measured up to her expectations. “General Vincetti. You’re looking more and more like your grandfather.”
Carver flashed a smile. “I thought I noticed some new lines on my face this morning.”
The lines around Morav’s eyes deepened as she frowned. “Very much like your grandfather,” she muttered.
Limited sense of humor, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if we’re interrupting. Morelli and I were just talking about Trevill’s betrayal, and we thought you might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
“I’m not sure why you would think that,” Morav said.
“Perhaps you could tell us who his friends are,” Morelli suggested.
She folded her thin arms over her chest. “Any friends Trevill had among the other chancellors are long gone. No one has an interest in claiming anything but distaste where he’s concerned.”
That was in direct contrast to what Lisbeth had predicted would happen. So much for loyalty among politicians. But the distance in Morav’s words made Carver ask, “You never considered him a friend?”
“No. But I’ve been in politics long enough to know that friends are generally an unnecessary burden. I choose to make allies instead.” The corner of her mouth lifted, though her eyes remained cool. “And enemies, of course.”
Naturally. “Did Trevill have any enemies that you know of?” he asked.
Morav’s head tipped to the side. “Is this an interrogation, General?”
“Not at all. I’m merely curious how someone like Trevill, who was in a position of such power within the empire, could work so actively against the emperor’s interests.”
“Perhaps you should ask him,” Morav said pointedly. “I’m afraid I don’t know the mind of a traitor.”