The deserted hallway was littered with shards of stone and layers of dust, all remnants of the quake. The only sound was their boots hitting the floor, scuffing against the grit that covered the otherwise smooth stone.
The air grew stiffer between them with each step. Carver tried to tell himself he didn’t mind the burning silence, but something niggled in his gut. It felt uncomfortably like his conscience.
“Thank you,” he forced himself to say to the Wolf prowling beside him. “For saving Amryn from Marriset.”
That hadn’t been her real name, but they’d never learn it now that she was dead—killed by Ivan’s hand. The woman had been an imposter all this time. An assassin who had taken on the identity of one of the Empire’s Chosen and pretended to be one of them. She’d been hired by Chancellor Trevill to disrupt things at Esperance and ultimately ensure the Craethen Council—made up of all the married couples that had been arranged by the emperor—was thoroughly destroyed. Trevill hadn’t admitted to any of his crimes, but they had letters as proof, as well as Marriset’s dying testimony. Amryn had also felt Chancellor Trevill’s guilt. It was all the evidence Carver needed.
“No thanks are necessary,” Ivan said, his voice edged. “I needed to avenge Cora.”
Ivan’s wife had been Marriset’s first victim. The poor girl had been painfully shy, and the youngest among the Chosen. Her time at Esperance had been cut far too short, and it had been a brutal experience from the start. She’d witnessed her brother’s execution on their first day in the temple, after he and some of his compatriots had orchestrated an attack during the wedding feast.
“She will truly be avenged once Trevill faces justice for his crimes,” Ivan added.
“He will be tried and found guilty.”
“Enemies of the empire usually are.”
There was an edge to those words that made Carver bristle. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Ivan stopped walking, and Carver halted as well. Glass shards that littered the floor snapped under his booted heel as he twisted to face the Sibeten prince.
Ivan’s hard expression was lit by moonlight that streamed through the nearest shattered window. “You know Trevill is not the only traitor within these walls. What do you think the emperor will do to Amryn?”
Carver’s hands fisted at his sides. “Amryn isn’t a traitor.” She’d turned against the Rising when it became clear the rebels were threatening Argent’s life, as well as Jayveh’s and Carver’s. Not only had she courageously come to him with the truth, but she’d also agreed to help capture the rebels at the Feast of Remembrance. Of course, that had ended in tragic failure. Still . . . “Argent gave her a pardon,” Carver said.
“But he is not here to enforce it, is he?”
The words hit like a blow. Instead of wincing, Carver narrowed his eyes. “The emperor will uphold Argent’s pardon.” Especially when he realized his beloved grandson was dead, and that pardon had been one of his last official acts.
Ivan grunted. “That is a lot of faith to put in a man whose hands are drenched in blood.”
Carver’s mouth thinned. “You don’t know the emperor as I do.”
“True. We see him in very different ways. But even you must acknowledge that you will not be able to protect Amryn from the emperor you are sworn to serve and obey.”
They stared at each other, eyes sharp and stances wary. Carver had to force himself not to reach for the blade on his belt.Do you know she’s an empath?It was the question he’d never risk asking, much as he burned to know the answer.
Ivan must have taken Carver’s silence for an acknowledgement, because he nodded slowly. “You are not as confident as you pretend to be.”
Carver gritted his teeth. “You don’t need to worry about Amryn. I can protect her.”
Ivan’s thick arms crossed over his broad chest. “It would be safer if she did not go to the capital.”
“All of us must report to the emperor.”
“You are the emperor’s favorite general. Surely you could make an excuse for her absence. Allow me to escort her home, to her uncle.”
Everything about that made Carver tense. The thought of separating from Amryn. Having her travel to the far side of the empire—back to her uncle and her king, the men who’d asked her to risk her life by joining the Rising. HavingIvanaccompany her on that long journey.
Carver glared. “There is no possibility of me sending my wife off with you, Baranov.”
Ivan’s lip curled up at the corner, amusement sparking in his eyes. “You believe I have romantic intentions toward your wife?”
Carver’s blood heated. “Do you?”
The prince looked far too amused. “Neeyev. The woman is beautiful and charming, kind and intelligent—”
“You’re not helping your case,”Carver ground out.
