“No. We’re trying to track them, but Harvari’s ministers aren’t making it easy. They’re refusing to let a military force cross the border, so we’re relying on spies alone—and we’ve increased the patrols near every watch tower.” He hesitated, then said more softly, “We haven’t been able to identify all the bodies. They were . . . not all recognizable. But several we’ve recovered have belonged to men from your army.”
The words were like a knife being plunged into his chest. Most of the men in his army that had been captured had been taken with him. Which meant they had been prisoners far longer than he’d been kept by Raza. Saints, he thought they’d gotten everyone out the night he’d left that accursed camp.
His father’s hand landed on his shoulder. His grip was firm. “I’m sorry, Carve.”
Too many emotions clogged Carver’s throat, but he managed to ask, “Their bodies were returned to their families?”
“Yes.” Cregon tightened his hold. “I’m working to negotiate the return of all remaining prisoners. I have the emperor’s full support, though the Harvarian ministers are mostly pleading ignorance. But I’ll bring them home, son. Every single one, no matter how long it takes.”
Carver nodded. It was the only thing he could do.
Needing to escape the intensity of his father’s stare, he asked, “How is everyone at home?”
Cregon didn’t resist the change in subject. He squeezed Carver’s shoulder, then let his hand fall. “The family is well, but you’ve been missed. Every week or so I’ve had to talk your mother out of storming Esperance so she could check on you.”
Despite everything, Carver’s lips twitched. He could picture his mother doing just that. “I’m glad you managed to hold her back.”
“She’ll be anxious for you to return home.” Cregon shifted his weight. “I borrowed your man, Hugo, and sent him with a message to Westmont as soon as I knew you were coming to the capital. I’ve asked your mother to send Jayveh’s brothers to Zagrev with him. And several other guards, of course.”
His father had chosen wisely. Hugo wouldn’t fail to protect the two young Xerran princes; the man was honorable, highly skilled, and trustworthy. He’d get Jayveh’s brothers safely back to her. “How are they?” Carver asked.
His father grunted. “They were used to living under their uncle’s domineering fist. It took them a while to trust they’d be treated very differently in our home. They’re good boys. They’ve grown a lot in the time they’ve been with us.” He cracked a smile. “In more ways than one. Your mother didn’t really give them a choice in the matter, since she kept giving them food and smothering them with affection.”
That sounded like Alora Vincetti. She believed anything could be solved with good food and unconditional love. The only time Carver had seen her falter in that belief was with Berron.
His gut clenched, and he shifted his weight. “How is Berron?”
His father sighed, his shoulders falling. “Your brother is . . . coping. He didn’t want to come to the capital.”
No, Carver imagined leaving the sanctuary of his room had been the last thing Berron wanted. He’d hidden there almost exclusively for years, now.
“Elowen is here as well,” Cregon said.
Carver’s heart warmed at the thought of seeing his sister, though he had to ask, “Is it safe for her here?”
Cregon gave him a wry look. “Things were quite calm until you arrived.”
That was probably fair.
His father sobered. “Do you truly believe Argent is dead?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t explain how he knew it, but his father didn’t demand reasons. He merely glanced away, as if he needed a moment to control his emotions.
Carver understood. He took a moment to look away, too. Only his eyes fell on the imperial throne on the other side of the room, now cast in shadow. A throne Argent would never sit on.
“You can’t blame Jayveh or the emperor for wanting proof,” Cregon said softly. “To keep believing, until it’s proven he’s truly gone.”
“I don’t blame them. I just don’t want them to suffer false hope.”
“Is hope ever really false?” Cregon moved to one of the chairs pulled back from the table, but he didn’t sit. He merely held on to the tall wooden back, his eyes on Carver. “When we received word you were missing in Harvari . . .” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never prayed so hard in my life that you were alive.”
Carver’s throat heated, even as his stomach cramped. He might have been alive, but he’d been living in hell.
His father knew that. Sorrow, pain, and guilt all rose in his eyes. “It’s still early days,” he finally whispered. “Argent is strong. He may have managed to escape his captors. But if he is a prisoner of the Rising, we’ll likely receive word about a ransom.” His eyes—so much like Carver’s own—found his. “There’s something important you’ve failed to tell me.”
The words made Carver’s pulse skip. “I didn’t leave anything out of my report.”
Cregon’s eyes softened. “Do you truly care for her?”
