Silence fell in the room.
“Hector?” Carver called through the door. “It’s General Vincetti. I need to talk to you.”
The skin around Morelli’s eyes tightened as they waited. And waited.
Carver was ready to pound the door again when a lock disengaged and the door swept open.
Hector stood there, a robe tied a little sloppily around his reed-like body. His hair was disheveled and a few sleep lines crossed his cheek. The curtains were drawn. Not a single lamp was lit. Even so, Carver could see the familiar ink stains on the man’s fingers.
“What’s this about?” Hector asked, his eyes darting between Carver and Morelli.
“We need to talk,” Carver said.
“It’s a little early for a social call.”
“This isn’t a social call,” Morelli assured him.
Hector’s forehead creased.
Carver peeked into the room. “If it’s too early for a social call, why did you already have a visitor?”
Hector’s grip on the door handle tightened. “There’s no one here. I’m alone.”
“We heard voices,” Carver said.
“I talk to myself sometimes,” the steward said, sweat beading on his brow. “A habit I can’t seem to break, I’m afraid.”
“Your lying could use a little work,” Morelli observed.
Hector’s throat bobbed. “I’m not lying.”
Carver knew there wasn’t another exit in Hector’s apartment. He and Argent had searched for one years ago during a prank gone wrong. There was a balcony, but they were on the third floor, and there was no safe way to scale down the palace wall.
He brushed past Hector, striding into the shadowed room.
Hector protested, but Carver ignored him as he yanked back the curtains, spilling early morning light across the apartment.
“You can’t just barge in here,” the steward snapped. “This is an invasion of my privacy!”
Carver scanned the room. There was an unmade bed with wrinkled sheets in the corner. A small table with dishes left over from a previous meal. Bookshelves lined nearly every wall, stuffed to the brim.
His eyes were drawn toward the closed door of the washing chamber. “Come out here,” he called, authority in every word. “If you don’t, I promise you’ll regret it.”
“This is absurd,” Hector spluttered. “I’m going to report you to the emperor.”
Carver ignored him, though he was aware of Morelli shifting a little closer to the steward.
“Come out,” Carver ordered once more. “This is your final warning.”
There was a beat of stillness. Then the door to the washing chamber opened, and a man in rumpled clothes stepped out.
Shock hit Carver. “Kulver?”
For once, the young chancellor was not offering a charming grin or asinine line. He had dark circles under his eyes and a serious expression on his face. He lifted both hands, palms forward. “This isn’t what you think.”
Carver hardly knewwhatto think. But he went with his gut. “So you’re not conspiring with Hector?”
Kulver’s lips pressed into a line.
