Cregon scowled at his second eldest daughter. “Language, El.”
Elowen gave him a look. “You said worse over breakfast this morning.”
“I’m the High General of Craethen, and your father. I’m allowed to swear.”
“Mother disagrees.”
“Your mother isn’t here.”
“I know. That’s why she hired me to be her spy.”
Cregon frowned. “She did not.”
Elowen flashed a secretive smile, then rose on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I have a few friends I promised to find before dinner. I’ll see you all later.”
They said their goodbyes before watching her flit away. His sister had always been friendly and sociable. Carver had only minded when she started noticing young men. Or rather, whentheyhad started to noticeher. He’d threatened his fair share of her admirers. Then Elowen had found out, and she’d threatened him. He might have ignored her, but his mother had joined in, and that was one woman he had no desire to cross.
He still kept an eye on her, though.
A servant with wine came by, and they each took a glass.
Morelli took a slow sip. “No Berron tonight?”
Cregon’s brow furrowed slightly. “He’s around here somewhere.”
The unexpected news made Carver tense. He still hadn’t seen his brother since arriving in Zagrev, though he assumed Berron was occupying his usual room next to Carver’s own. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly feel ready to face Berron again. Things between them were too bitter, too strained, too broken. He certainly didn’t feel prepared at the moment, considering the questions he needed to ask his brother. Their relationship couldn’t really get worse, but it certainly wouldn’t improve when Carver asked if Berron was a traitor. Still, Jamir’s claims had to be investigated.
Morelli settled a consoling hand on Cregon’s shoulder. “He’s improving. Not fast enough, but . . . I’ve seen glimpses of promise since he’s been here.”
“So have I,” Cregon murmured.
The mood in their small circle had shifted to something much too somber for the room’s atmosphere. True to form, it seemed to bother Morelli the most. The naturally jovial man cleared his throat, obviously searching for a safer topic. “Carver, I noticed Morav across the room. If you wanted to ask her a few questions, we could go together. It might make things feel less like an interrogation, and more like a conversation.”
Carver didn’t want to leave Amryn. But he knew he shouldn’t miss this opportunity to speak with Chancellor Morav. Even if she wasn’t the one targeting Jayveh, she could perhaps shed some light on who might be, since she knew the other chancellors. Still, indecision tugged at him. Two loyalties, pulling him opposite ways.
He had to wonder what Amryn sensed from him when she offered a thin smile. “Go. I’m fine.”
“I’ll stay with her,” his father offered.
Amryn didn’t look entirely reassured, but Carver was. He knew his father would make sure she remained safe.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss against her temple. “I’ll return before dinner starts,” he murmured.
She gave him a small nod. He caught the flicker of nervousness in her eyes, and his resolve wavered. Still, he forced himself to step away.
He and Morelli navigated the crowd, and Chancellor Morav had just come into view when High Cleric Lisbeth slipped in front of them. Her eyes slid right to him,and Carver couldn’t help but feel a chill as the woman gave him a narrow smile. “General Vincetti. I was hoping to run into you.”
Chapter 25
Amryn
Amrynsippedfromherglass of wine, an uncomfortable silence blooming between her and Cregon Vincetti.
Watching Carver walk away had made her anxiety flare, but she hadn’t called him back. She knew he felt compelled to figure out who had killed Trevill, or at the very least, who his allies in the capital might be, if any. She wanted him to figure that out, too, so Jayveh would be safer. But, selfishly, she didn’t want to be left alone in the middle of a crowded room with Carver’s father.
The High General of Craethen watched her too closely, making her even more excruciatingly aware of her chaotic emotions. The intense bursts of emotion she kept feeling around her didn’t help. Her pulse raced, and her cheeks felt too warm. Her palms were beginning to sweat. There were simply too many emotions slamming into her. The painful bite of jealousy. Searing anger. A bloom of anxiety. A flirtatious jolt of energy. A swell of embarrassment. A burst of happiness that clashed horribly with the cut of despair someone else felt. And coating it all was the swirling haziness of too much drink.
Amryn pinched her eyes closed, her own anxiety making the onslaught of emotions more brutal. Saints, she needed to get this under control. Why did it feel so overwhelming right now?
