“Yes.”
Berron didn’t respond, only watched him with that reddened eye.
It took everything Carver had to hold that horrible stare. “Have you ever had any dealings with King Jamir of Xerra?”
If Berron was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “No.”
“Have you ever spoken with King Jamir?”
“Probably. Nothing I recall specifically.”
“Have you ever had dealings with the Rising?”
There was a beat of stillness. Then Berron chuckled, low and dark. “You think I’m part of the rebellion?”
“Just answer the question.”
“No.” His expression was defiant, and it took a second for Carver to realize he wasn’t refusing to answer—hewasanswering.
“Do you have any sympathy for the Rising?” Carver asked.
“No.” His head cocked to the side, his matted hair shifting lankly around his face. “Although you might. Elowen mentioned your wife was a traitor for a little while there in Esperance. But of course, she abandoned her ideals for you.”
Carver’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Berron ignored that. “Did she tell you we met the other night? She’s beautiful. Delightful even. Congratulations. But I suppose it’s no surprise—the emperor’s favored general only ever gets the best.”
He gritted his teeth. “Do you have any enemies who might want to damage your reputation?”
“What reputation?” Berron gestured to himself. “I’m the useless second son of the great High General Vincetti. A glaring disappointment and utter disgrace to the Vincetti name.”
Carver ignored the tug in his gut, as well as the pang in his heart. An old instinct that wanted to rise up and comfort his brother.
The man sitting in front of him didn’t want comforting.
“Any further questions, General?” Berron asked.
The title—layered with mockery and hatred—burned Carver’s too-tight skin. He’d considered asking his brother some questions about Chancellor Janson, but he didn’t think he could stand being in this dark, depressing room a moment longer.
He pushed to his feet. “No. If further questions arise, Morelli will be in touch.”
Berron stared up at him. “Do I get to learn why you thought I was a rebel?”
“King Jamir named you during his interrogation. Probably as a way to get to me.”
Berron’s lips twitched. “Ah, that makes perfect sense. Everything is always about you, after all.”
Frustration roared through him, making him snap, “Wake up, Berron. You’re wasting your life.”
“Ah, the self-righteous sermon. I knew it was coming.”
Carver glared at his brother. “This bitterness and hatred is destroying you just as much as thesonnedid.” He nodded to the nearly drained decanter. “That stuff isn’t helping.”
“You have no idea how much it helps, brother mine.”
“You were drunk the other night, weren’t you? That’s why you yelled at Carina.”
Pure rage hardened Berron’s face, crushing out every hint of his dark humor. “Get out.”
