Chapter 66
Carver
It was late at night when Tam directed them to a large manor on the outskirts of Vamalj, a small city four days south of Zagrev. According to Tam, the mansion belonged to her father. The king of Kalmar had bought the home for his wife, who had loved vacationing in the region.
The house appeared completely abandoned.
“Let me go in first,” Tam said. “I’ll tell my men to surrender.”
“No,” Cregon declared immediately. “You’re not getting a chance to warn them.”
They had approached from the east, using the shelter of a wooded area to mask their arrival.
Carver’s father was carefully scanning the darkened mansion.
Moonlight was the only illumination against the windows, though it looked like heavy drapes had been drawn inside.
Rebels in hiding, or simply a house that had been closed up?
“Ford,” Cregon murmured. “Take Morrison and scout the area.”
Ford inclined his head and slipped away. He was as good as a ghost in the night, able to vanish into the shadows and move with complete silence.
Tam let out an irritated breath. “This isn’t a trap. How would I have even planned such a thing? I haven’t had any contact with my men since I left Vamalj.”
“We’re not taking any chances,” Cregon said. “How many men are inside?”
Tam’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Four. If they’re all still there.”
The back of Carver’s neck suddenly itched. “What does that mean?”
She shifted uncomfortably beside him, the manacles around her wrists clinking.
“They’ve grown a bit restless. Things didn’t exactly go according to plan in Esperance.
” She hesitated, then added, “I deviated from the Rising’s plan and rushed a few things.
The men in there didn’t know that at the time, and they weren’t very pleased to learn it.
The fact that it took much longer than expected to get the Rowan’s attention hasn’t helped anything.
” She nodded to the house. “Before I left for Zagrev, a couple of the men in there started to express doubts in my leadership.”
Carver snorted.
Tam’s eyes narrowed. “If you let me go in there first and talk to them, the exchange can happen without any mess.”
“That won’t be happening,” Carver said firmly.
Tam shot him an irritated look, but Carver didn’t care. Their dislike was entirely mutual, and it had only been exacerbated over the last four days because he hadn’t left Tam’s side. Not once. He refused to give her an opportunity to betray Amryn.
“You can’t expect us to trust you,” Cregon told Tam.
She met his stare. “I’m risking far more than you are, General. You could break your word and kill me the second I turn Argent over. My life hangs in the balance. Which, I must point out, gives me every reason to be telling you the truth.”
Cregon didn’t respond. His gaze shifted to Carver. “Keep her quiet.” With that order, he slipped away to confer quietly with the others.
Carver remained with Tam, both of them standing in the shadow of a towering tree.
“Aren’t you curious?” Tam asked softly.
He glanced over at her. Her wrists were shackled, the end of the chain wrapped around his hand. “About?” he grunted.
“Who betrayed Amryn’s secret to me?”
Tension suddenly bracketed his spine.
Tam must have noticed, because a slow smile grew. “I could tell you, you know. If you gave me something in return.”
“What?”
“Your word that you won’t kill me.” Tam eyed him in the darkness. “I’m not a fool, Carver. Even though you agreed to this deal, I can see how you look at me. You plan to kill me, regardless of what happens in there.”
He didn’t bother denying it.
Tam’s expression tightened. “You’ll want to know the things I can tell you. About who in the Rising told me Amryn’s secret. Because if you think she’s not in danger, I can assure you, you’re wrong.”
Carver’s scalp prickled. But he didn’t get a chance to question Tam, because Ford melted out of the shadows.
Cregon and the other men gathered close to hear his report. “The perimeter is silent. Most of the drapes are drawn, but I couldn’t detect any movement in the house. There are some scattered tracks, maybe a few days old.”
“How many entrances?” Carver asked.
“The ground floor has three,” Ford said. “Main, side, and back.”
“We split up,” Cregon decided. He made assignments, then looked at Tam. “Where is Argent being held?”
She hesitated. “I can’t know for certain. They may have moved him to a different room.”
Carver snorted. “Convenient,” he muttered.
Cregon eyed Tam. “You’ll remain out here. Gagged.”
Tam rolled her eyes but didn’t resist as Carver tied a cloth between her teeth.
Carver didn’t want to entrust her to anyone else, but he handed the end of her chain to another soldier. Meeting the man’s gaze, he said, “If she tries to run, or even speak, you kill her.”
Tam expelled a huffed breath through her nose, but Carver waited until the soldier nodded before he turned his back on them.
Carver followed his father toward the front of the mansion, Ford at his side.
The main door was locked, but Ford picked it easily.
Cregon led the way inside, moving with cautious but steady steps into the dusty great hall.
Even in the dimness, Carver could make out a grand wooden staircase that wound to the upper floor, an unlit chandelier dangling from the high ceiling.
A sitting room was to the left, a library to their right.
Large sheets had been placed over the furniture, but there were footprints marring the dusty floors.
Most of the steps seemed to follow the same path.
It led deeper into the house.
Adrenaline spiked at this sign of life, even though the house was silent except for the few low creaks as soldiers made their way through the darkness.
Cregon followed the tracks in the dust, leading them to a large kitchen that had dirty dishes on the counter.
The cloying rot of old meat and vegetables pervaded the air.
Carver cringed at the stench of decay. He was quite certain that Tam, at least, had used this as her hiding place since leaving Esperance.
The footsteps in the dust veered to a padlocked cellar door.
Ford pulled out his lockpicks, but Cregon halted him.
His voice was quiet as he said, “We need to make sure the rest of the house is secure, then we’ll enter the cellar with more men and lanterns.
” His jaw hardened. “If this is a trap, we won’t be lured into the deepest part of it without being prepared. ”
While they waited for the rest of the house to be searched, they lit lanterns. Carver kept glancing at the cellar door. Dread built every time he saw it. He knew that exploring the other side of that door would make Argent’s death wholly real.
Saints, he didn’t want to open that door. And yet, impatience bit at him. A need to throw it open. To get this done and return to the capital. To Amryn.
Several tense minutes later, the search of the upper floors was completed. While they’d found signs of people living here recently, the mansion itself was empty. Unless Tam’s allies were hiding in the cellar, they were long gone.
Cregon sent a few men to guard the entrances, and then—finally—a team of men moved toward the cellar door.
Ford deftly picked the padlock and Cregon pulled the door open.
Carver lifted one of the lanterns and moved to stand beside his father, keeping his other hand free in case he needed to draw a blade.
His pulse thudded in his ears as he peered into the cellar.
He could just make out a rickety staircase that descended into blackness.
A chill wafted up against Carver’s face, carrying the earthy scent of the cellar floor and walls.
For one suspended moment, no one moved. Carver wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing.
He took the first step into the cellar, the glow of the lantern dispelling the shadows that would have otherwise swallowed him. He felt his father follow at his heels, Ford lifting another lantern before he followed.
At the base of the staircase, Carver held out the lantern, but it was impossible to see every wall. Crates of food stores were stacked in towering rows, and there were barrels of ale and bottles of wine. He couldn’t see anything beyond that.
“Search every corner,” Cregon ordered to the soldiers gathering at the base of the stairs.
Carver struck out with the others, his father at his side. The cellar wasn’t overly large, but it was crowded with supplies and forgotten items from the house. Scuffed chairs, a broken table, a tarnished mirror . . .
The smell of cold earth was suddenly replaced by a pungent stench. Ford muttered a curse and Carver fought against gagging. It was a reeking smell he knew too well. An unwashed body. Bile and other bodily fluids. Infected wounds. Feverish sweat and dried blood.
He had smelled like that for an eternity in Harvari.
A pained whimper pricked his ears.
Not breathing, Carver twisted to the left, and light fell over a man chained to one of the many wooden posts that helped support the cellar’s ceiling.
The man’s head was ducked, hiding his face.
Dark, oily hair hung in a tangled, matted mess around his hunched shoulders.
He was wracked with tremors, his clothes ripped in places and hanging off his gaunt frame.
Scratches marred his arms. A chain was wrapped around his neck, securing him to the post at his back, not allowing him to lie down or move at all.
His wrists were shackled in his lap and his legs were stretched out in front of him, manacles at the ankles pinning his legs to the ground, keeping him immobile.
“Help . . . me,” the man croaked.
Carver’s entire world shifted. Because he knew that voice, worn and broken as it was.
Ford let out a strangled curse, and it was a good thing Cregon snatched the lantern from Carver, or he would have dropped it.
He stumbled forward, falling to his knees beside the shackled form. “Argent?” he rasped, a myriad of emotions thickening his throat.
Slowly, the man’s head lifted. Matted hair fell away and bloodshot eyes, narrowly squinted against the light, looked right at him. And there was no mistaking the truth.
Tam hadn’t lied.
Argent was alive.