Carver was shocked, but Amryn simply stepped closer and inserted the key into the lock, twisted it, then returned the key to Berron. “Do you have any plans for dinner? Carver and I were just going to eat in our room tonight. You could join us.”
Berron snorted. “I’d rather dine on the Scorched Plains.”
“I’m not sure they serve food there.”
Carver had no idea who was more surprised by Amryn’s quip—him or Berron.
His brother stared at her for a beat, then, without a word, he strode into his room and slammed the door shut.
“I’m sorry,” Carver said quietly. “It’s not you, he’s just a brooding drunk.”
“He wasn’t drunk,” Amryn said.
“But the key . . .” His words trailed off as realization trickled in. A knot formed low in his gut. Berron hadn’t been drunk. His hand hadn’t been shaking, he simply hadn’t been able to fit the key in the lock. “His eye,” he said. “His perception is off.” Because without two eyes, he couldn’t judge depth accurately.
Carver had never considered that. Berron hadn’t just lost an eye; he’d lost the ability to easily do things everyone else could. He also had a perpetual blind spot. The thought made the back of Carver’s neck itch. He couldn’t imagine living that way. An attacker could sneak up on him so easily.
And his hand. It was more than simply a missing limb. Was his balance affected, at least in the beginning? Even if he’d learned to compensate for that, how many tasks had become difficult or impossible because he only had one hand? Perhaps itmade him a terrible brother, but he’d never truly considered the full impact of what Berron had lost.
Amryn’s attention flicked to the guards stationed at their door, and Carver took the silent cue. He gently led her inside their own room, and once alone, she whispered, “He’s in such pain. It’s unrelenting. He was embarrassed, too. Desperate to get away from us, I think.” She paused, then added, “He believes he deserves to be alone and miserable.”
Carver’s jaw felt too tight. “He’s making it bloody hard to get close to him.”
Amryn didn’t deny his words. But sympathy tinged her voice as she said, “He needs patience. He needs people to see beneath the surface. He needs understanding.” She met his gaze. “His craving forsonneis intense. The addiction he battles constantly . . . I don’t think anyone realizes the incredible strength he exerts every day—every moment—just to resist.”
He frowned. After everything Berron had done—the lies he’d told, the way he’d fallen to the non-existent mercy of that drug—Carver had only ever seen his brother as weak. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face the reality that Berron may have had moments of weakness, but he’d displayed incredible strength, too. Even surviving his withdrawal had taken strength, let alone the daily battle he fought against his need forsonne.
The temptation itself didn’t make him weak. Resisting it, in fact, made him stronger than Carver had ever suspected.
“I know he’s hurt you,” Amryn said softly. “And I know there’s nothing I can say that will immediately fix things, but . . .”
He knew she was debating her next words. That only made him nervous to hear them.
“You fought a war, Carver,” she said, speaking slowly. “A public one that everyone saw. Everyone knows it left its mark on you. Emotional scars that almost everyone can understand, even if they’ve never fought in battle.” Her lips pursed, and he held his breath as she said more carefully, “Berron is fighting a war, too. It’s one that everyone knows about, but few can understand. And I think it’s left more scars than anyone realizes.”
Chapter 31
Amryn
Amrynwasjuststeppingout of her room when she spotted Berron returning to his.
“Hello, Berron,” she called out.
He scowled at her.
It had been two days since she had last seen him, though this time Carver wasn’t with her. He was in a meeting with his father and some of the other generals to discuss the trouble along the border. Amryn suspected Carver’s mood would be heavy when he returned, and she hated that for him. He was already under too much stress, and she knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. He certainly hadn’t been eating well. He regularly missed meals due to his many obligations and his continuing investigation into Trevill’s death. Hector, the emperor’s steward, had given him a list of people who had all learned the Chosen would be returning to Zagrev, so he had quite a lot of people to question. She didn’t like that he wasn’t taking care of himself, though.
Amryn suddenly wondered if anyone noticed if Berron was sleeping or eating. Something in her chest tightened. “How are you?” she asked.
Carver’s brother stared wordlessly at her, the ties of his eyepatch looser than last time she’d seen him. She wondered who tied it for him, or if he merely tugged it on and off until it was so loose he had no choice but to ask for help. Her heart hurt at the thought.
She knew Berron didn’t want sympathy or assistance. She’d sensed that clearly enough when she’d helped him unlock his door the other day, just as she’d sensed he’d react better to subtle gestures of help, especially if she used humor. He seemed most comfortable when he employed humor—even if it was dark and biting.
Into the growing silence, Amryn said, “I’m on my way to meet Jayveh and Sadia for tea in the garden.”
Berron said nothing.
Amryn tried to read his emotions, but it was hard to discern anything when it was all just varying shades of black. He wasn’t in a good mood.
