Cregon’s brow furrowed. “Hector isn’t going to be happy. He still doesn’t know who the leader is.”
“We can’t risk waiting any longer,” Carver insisted. He had always seen the emperor’s security as impenetrable, but since their arrival Jayveh had been targeted twice, and he and Amryn had been attacked in their room. Now, Ivan had nearly lost his life. Not to mention Trevill had been murdered. The palace wasn’t proving to be a very secure place, and he was sick of it.
“If you can’t arrest the leader of the Brotherhood, won’t the attacks just continue?” Amryn asked. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a robe. The only sign of her nerves was the way she picked at an errant thread in the cuff of the sleeve.
“She’s right,” Cregon murmured.
Carver gripped the back of his neck, irritation spiking. “We can’t just do nothing.” The danger was too real. He’d been lulled into a sense of security because it had been so long since the strike against him and Amryn, but the attack against Ivan proved that whoever wanted the Chosen dead was still actively working to kill them. And the use of a poisoned weapon was certainly an escalated threat.
He suddenly frowned.
“What?” his father asked.
“Why haven’t the assassins been using poison all along?” Carver asked.
Amryn’s eyebrows drew together, but it was his father who murmured, “It would have been easier for them.”
Carver nodded. Assassins favored poison for that very reason. Not only could poison help ensure the job got done, but it could also be administered in such a way that the assassin could be long gone before the target even died. Which raised the question: why hadn’t the assassins tried to slip poison into their food or drink? With the Chosen often eating meals in their private rooms, targeting them would have been easy—especially since the assassins obviously knew not only their locations, but their routines. The strike on Ivan proved that. But instead of taking the easier path, these assassins were striking in the most violent ways possible.
There was only one explanation Carver could think of. He met his father’s stare. “The assassins were orderednotto use poison. Our deaths were supposed to be violent.” Because it made a stronger statement? Or was it a sign there might be more to this than a strictly political motivation? Was this somehow personal?
Regardless, the strategy had just changed, because the assassins had used poisoned blades on Ivan. An escalation? Or a sign of growing desperation?
He met his father’s gaze. “We need to arrest every member of the Brotherhood that Hector has identified. Maybe one of them will be able to tell us who their leader is.”
“It’s a gamble.” Cregon released a slow breath. “I’ll send a message to Morelli. We’ll meet with Hector and discuss the best plan.”
Carver hated the plan.
Hector had pleaded for more time. The ball was only two weeks away, and he was confident Kulver could discover the identity of the Brotherhood’s leader in that time.
Morelli and Cregon had been convinced.
Carver was not.
Chancellor Kulver—who had unfortunately been at the meeting—had been as irritating as ever. “I still haven’t heard anything that makes me believe the Brotherhood is even targeting the Chosen.” He arched one brow at Carver. “Maybe you should be following other leads, General.”
He hated that Kulver had a point. Which probably explained his darkened mood as he made his way toward Chancellor Janson’s office.
He didn’t truly think Janson was interested in killing the Chosen—frankly, the chancellor seemed wholly dedicated to ending thesonnetrade, to the exclusion of all else. But Trevill had named him, and he was on the list of people the emperor had told about the Chosen’s early departure from Esperance. That made Janson one of Carver’s last real leads to explore.
He would have much preferred to spend the day in his room with his wife. But Amryn had gone to visit Ivan, so it wasn’t as if she’d be there right now anyway.
Carver was still grappling with his sour mood when he turned a corner and nearly ran into Berron.
His brother flinched back with a curse. “Watch where you’re going,” he snapped.
The harshness in his brother’s reaction only increased his own annoyance—until he realized he’d approached on Berron’s blind side.
Carver forced himself to take a breath. Made his fingers unclench. “Sorry, Berron.”
His brother ground his teeth. The glare he managed to achieve with only one eye was actually quite impressive.
Carver tried to remember the last time he’d seen Berron. Right after the attack on Market Square, maybe. He knew his brother had sought Amryn out afterwards. He’d been worried about her.
Knowing Amryn would want him to be kind to Berron made it a little easier to ask, “Where are you headed?”
“To meet Janson.”
