He hated that she had to hide who she was.
His conversation with Rhone still burned in his mind, even after he’d shared the details with Amryn. She had never heard of the Acolytes, but the trepidation in her eyes mirrored his own. Still, they had enough concerns without adopting more, so Carver was content to ignore them.
The dulled practice blades clanged as they hit again and again. The other training rings around them were also occupied by sparring men, filling this corner of the palace grounds with the rhythmic sounds of training. It was a comforting place for Carver, since he’d spent countless hours just like this.
As he and Morelli fought, Carver couldn’t help but notice that—even if his honorary uncle was aging—the barrel-chested man was still strong. Morelli’s movements were agile and perfectly controlled. He and Cregon were the same age, and both men remained formidable opponents. Carver had been sparring with them his entire life, and even though he’d improved over the years, they still provided a challenge.
Their blades caught and slid, steel ringing as they spun away.
Sweat beaded Morelli’s brow. “Amryn seems lovely,” he said, breathing a little harder than before. “I’ll have to prepare some embarrassing childhood stories to share with her.” He flashed a grin when Carver groaned. But as he took a step back and lowered his sword, a rare seriousness entered Morelli’s gaze. “I’m happy for you, Carver. You deserve it.”
The look was one Carver had gotten often since coming back from Harvari. A mix of concern and pity. His hands tightened around the hilt of his sword, the edge of his ring biting into his skin.Invictus.
“It suits you.”
Amryn’s words flitted through his mind, feeling just as wrong now as they had last night. He’d worn the ring with pride when his father had first given it to him. Now, the word pressing against his skin felt more like a condemnation.
Unconquered? Hardly. He’d failed Argent in Esperance. In many ways, he was failing Amryn, too. She had to rely on that accursed bloodstone to keep her safe; a dangerous object they didn’t understand, and that he’d promised Felinus he’d keep hidden. Then there was Harvari.
He’d grown adept at ignoring those particular demons. He’d managed to shove them back during the light of day, convincing everyone around him that he was fine. The dark memories had only tormented him in the dead of night, where he alone could grapple with them. But the guilt he carried for failing to protect Argent had dragged up all his past failures, unearthing scars he’d done his best to forget.
Morelli’s sword slammed into Carver’s side.
He stumbled, pain streaking deep.
Morelli cursed as he yanked his sword back. “I thought you’d block it.”
“Sorry,” Carver bit out, a hand pressing against his aching ribs. “Distracted.”
Morelli shoved back the hair that had fallen over his brow, breathing hard as he said, “Did I break anything?”
“No.” But he’d have a nasty bruise.
“Thank all the Saints,” Morelli muttered. “Your mother would kill me if I broke you.”
Carver shot him a thin smile. “She’d probably just stop feeding you.”
Morelli swore. “A fate worse than death.”
They both drew back, ending the sparring session by silent mutual agreement. Carver snatched up the shirt he’d discarded earlier and tugged it on before leaving the training ring. They returned their practice swords to the nearby racks and drank deeply from the water left out for the training soldiers.
“You know what this means?” Morelli asked. At Carver’s questioning look, the older man said, “You reallyaregoing soft.”
Carver huffed—then winced as the rough exhale exacerbated the stinging ache along his ribs. “No,” he argued. “It just means my father was right: distractions have no place in a fight.”
Morelli’s lips twitched. “Let’s not tell him he was right. His ego’s big enough.”
They began making their way back to the palace, winding along a smooth stone path.
“Your father mentioned you were looking into the assassination attempt on Princess Jayveh,” Morelli said. “Any leads so far?”
“Not really.” After speaking with Trevill, Carver was quite certain the man hadn’t been responsible for the attack. But he didn’t have much else to go on. He didn’t have the list from Hector yet, of those who had known about the Chosen coming to Zagrev. And while there was a potential motivation for Chancellor Morav to want Jayveh dead, since she was the emperor’s senior advisor, Carver didn’t feel like it was very likely. Not when the woman had served the emperor so faithfully for years.
If Trevill had an accomplice, it was possible they were responsible. While Trevill had denied having an ally—or of being guilty in the first place—Carver still thought it likely. Certainly more likely than Trevill’s claims that he’d been framed. Regardless, he should look into the names Trevill had given him. Chancellor Janson, who was looking into thesonnetrade, and Chancellor Kulver, who Carver knew nothing about.
Carver glanced at Morelli. “Do you know Chancellor Kulver?”
Morelli frowned faintly. “Yes. He’s the newest addition to the emperor’s advisory staff—appointed about a year ago. He’s probably about your age, which makes him the youngest chancellor as well. He’s from Vadir originally. Educated in Wendahl.” He shrugged. “I mostly hear the gossip about him. He’s rumored to have hadromanticentanglementswith several women of the court.” He lifted one brow. “Marriedwomen, mostly.”
