Distaste twisted Carver’s mouth. “He’s not very principled, then.”
“At least not when it comes to respecting the sanctity of marriage vows,” Morelli said wryly.
They entered the palace through a side door, leaving the bright daylight behind. The shadowed corridor was empty; not unusual, considering it wasn’t a public thoroughfare. This section of the palace housed offices and meeting rooms for themilitary as well as the palace guard. This hallway was also used to take prisoners to and from the prison, which was located at the end of the hall.
“Kulver’s not a total reprobate, though,” Morelli said, their boots clipping against the stone floor. “He’s intelligent, ambitious, and can be quite charming. He’s quickly gained favor among the other chancellors, which isn’t an easy feat. I’m sure he’ll be at the emperor’s feast tonight, so you can—”
Pounding footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor. Loud voices clamored, and someone barked a harsh order.
Carver and Morelli shared a look. The commotion was coming from the prison entrance.
They jogged forward together, and by the time they reached the single door that led to the imperial dungeon, a small crowd of guards had gathered.
“What’s going on?” Morelli demanded.
The senior guard turned, relief bursting across his pale face. “General Morelli. General Vincetti.” He offered a delayed salute, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Chancellor Trevill was just found dead in his cell.”
Carver knelt beside Trevill’s body, which had been laid out on the cell floor. A guard had found the former chancellor hanging from a noose fashioned out of his own shirt when he’d carried in Trevill’s breakfast. The conclusion was supposed to be obvious—Trevill had killed himself.
Carver didn’t believe that for a second.
Morelli questioned the two guards at the door—the one who had discovered Trevill, and his partner who had been standing guard in the hall. Their responses echoed against the stone walls of the prison. No, Trevill hadn’t had any visitors since Carver had been to see him yesterday. No, the guards hadn’t heard anything. No, the night guards hadn’t reported anything suspicious. Yes, Trevill’s dinner had been eaten, his plate left empty.
That meant the former chancellor had died sometime between dinner last night and breakfast this morning.
Trevill’s glassy-eyed stare raised the hair on the back of Carver’s neck. He tried to focus on other things. The fact that there were no bruises or cuts on his exposedchest, arms, or hands. A fingernail was torn, but that could have been from anything; Carver didn’t see any other signs that indicated the chancellor had fought his killer, but there was no doubt in Carver’s mind that Trevill had been murdered.
Morelli crouched beside him, expelling a heavy breath. The cell’s doorway was empty now, the prison guards having retreated into the corridor. “We’ll need to question the guards who were on duty in this quarter last night.” Despite being a soldier, Morelli looked a little paler than usual as he studied Trevill’s body.
Carver felt a little ill himself, but he forced himself to speak. “We also need to talk with the guards stationed at the doors last night.” There were only two entrances to the prison; the main door, which was accessed through the palace, and the door located deeper in the prison that opened onto the palace grounds. That dedicated entrance was primarily used to bring food and supplies directly into the prison, as well as to remove any bodies of those who died while imprisoned.
Morelli peered at Carver. “Why did you visit him yesterday?”
Carver’s lips pursed. “I was trying to find out if he had anything to do with hiring the assassin that tried to kill Jayveh.”
Morelli’s gaze sharpened. “Did he?”
“He said he didn’t hire the assassin, and I believe him.” Carver released a slow breath. “But something still didn’t feel right.”
“Do you think he killed himself?”
“No. He was confident his innocence would be proven, and he’d be released.” Carver met Morelli’s gaze. “That level of confidence makes me think Trevill had a powerful ally in the palace. One who may have killed him in order to keep him from talking.” There were no marks on Trevill’s body, other than the bruising around his neck. He hadn’t fought his attacker. He may have known them. Trusted them.
That hadn’t stopped the killer from silencing him permanently.
Saints, what had Trevill known? Irritation burned, because now Carver would never know. “Whoever killed him is either influential enough to have access to this cell, or rich enough to hire an extremely skilled assassin.”
Morelli’s brows knit. “If Trevill was killed by an ally, do you think that same person is the one trying to kill Jayveh?”
“I don’t know.” But Carver would find out.
He looked back at Trevill’s body. He wasn’t exactly sorry the man was dead, but to die like this, alone in a cell . . . No one deserved that.
A small black mark on Trevill’s left side caught Carver’s attention, high on one of his upper ribs. Craning his head for a better look, Carver saw it was a small tattoo.
“Bring the light closer,” he said.
Morelli lifted the lantern at his side, shining light directly on the tattoo. Not much bigger than a thumbnail, it was the image of a hand; palm forward, thumb and fingers stretched up.
