Carver turned his attention to the young woman his father had been speaking to. It had been years since he’d seen her, but he recognized her instantly.
Even as a child, Carina Rossi had been pretty, but she’d fully grown into her beauty now. Her long dark hair fell down her back, her bronze skin glowing against the scarlet fabric of her dress. Her voice was a little deeper than Carver remembered it, though her easy smile was the same. The years that had passed were marked in her eyes, however, even if they were the same shade of dark coffee.
Carver gave Carina a short embrace, as befitted childhood friends. “It’s good to see you, Carina.”
“You as well. I was so worried about you in Harvari. Especially when we learned you’d been captured.”
Carver forced himself to smile, too aware of his father’s assessing gaze. “As you can see, I’m none the worse for wear.”Lies. But in this case, lies were so much easier than the truth.
Perhaps it was because Carina knew him so well, but she didn’t seem convinced. Still, she returned his smile. “And now you’re not only married, but happily so, Elowen tells me. Congratulations, Carver.”
“Thank you. I didn’t realize you were in Zagrev.” Last he’d heard, Carina had left Westmont to study at the empire’s largest university in Wendahl. He tried not to think aboutwhyshe’d left.
“I’m visiting my father,” Carina said. Lord Rossi was an ambassador who lived at the palace. “It’s almost his birthday, and you know how he is about—”
“What are you doing here?” The words were a dark hiss.
They all turned, and Carver was suddenly face to face with his brother.
Berron had grown thin.Toothin. He’d lost muscle and weight due to thesonne—both the use of it, and then the absence of it. His face was unshaven, his clothing loose and rumpled. He wore a black patch over the hollow of his missing eye, the ties cutting through his dark, unwashed hair. It had grown shaggy after years of neglect. Carver doubted Berron had let anyone close enough to cut it in the last three years. The stump of his right hand was hidden in the long sleeve of his shirt. The drug lords who had stolen his eye had taken his hand as well, a warning that no one was untouchable.
Berron looked strangely untouchable now. Insubstantial. A mere shadow of himself. Yet he was fuming, his single bloodshot eye fixed on Carina.
She’d paled. “Berron,” she whispered. Shock filled her expression, her eyes wide as she studied him.
Carver swore Berron flinched under her perusal, but it was overtaken so immediately by a scowl, he couldn’t be sure. “What are you doing here?” he demanded again, making it clear his words had always been for Carina.
She sucked in a breath.
“Berron,” Cregon warned.
But Carina didn’t need Cregon to defend her. She took a step forward, her eyes narrowed on the seething man before her. “I could ask you the same thing, Berron Vincetti. But since I remember quite clearly how you told me you never wanted to speak to me again, you really don’t have the right to demand anything of me.” She looked to Carver. “Congratulations again, Carver. You deserve every happiness.” She eyed Cregon next. “Thank you, Cregon. I’ll let you know when I might be available to join you and Elowen for dinner while I’m still in Zagrev.”
Berron’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his left hand rolling into a fist as Carina moved to sweep past him, her long red skirt brushing the floor.
She paused beside him, standing so close their hands almost touched. Lowering her voice, her head angled toward him, she said quietly, “You deserve happiness too, Berron. Even if you’re too much of a fool to claim it.” She swept away, her head held high.
Berron watched her go, a muscle in his cheek jumping.
“Berron . . .” Cregon’s voice was softer now. Consoling.
Berron’s lip curled. He didn’t even glance at Carver as he stalked away in the opposite direction Carina had gone.
Cregon groaned low in his throat. “Saints, I don’t know what to do for him.”
What to doforhim. Not what to dowithhim. Carver knew the difference was only one of the things that made Cregon a remarkable father.
“He didn’t even look at you,” Cregon murmured, deep lines furrowing his brow.
Carver tried not to let his father see how much that had cut him. He cleared his throat. “Which way did Ivan and Amryn go?”
For a moment, it looked like Cregon might force Carver to talk about Berron. In the end, he released a breath and gestured toward the far side of the room. “That way.”
Carver nodded his thanks and strode off, grateful that his father understood. His relationship with Berron was not something that could be easily mended.
Time might heal some wounds, but others it soured.
Chapter 27
