Movement beside him. The cool tip of a blade pressed against hischeek. A whisper in his ear. “Open your eyes, General, or I’ll take out his.” A soft chuckle. “Which would be a shame, as he only has one left.”
Carver’s breath caught.
Berron.
No. It wasn’t possible. His brother wasn’t in Harvari. He wasn’t even a soldier anymore. He’d been dishonorably dismissed from the military when the truth of his addiction had been discovered. Berron couldn’t be here.
But what if he was?
Panic made Carver’s eyes flash open. His vision was blurry for a horrible moment, making it difficult to take in the man chained across from him. Like Carver, he had no shirt. His ribs stuck out prominently, and every inch of him was covered in cuts, burns, and bruises. His head was bowed forward, his dark hair hanging limply around his face.
Carver’s heart tripped.Look up. Please, look up . . .
As if the man could hear his thoughts, his head slowly lifted.
Carver jerked in his chains. “No,” he rasped.“No.”
It wasn’t Berron, staring back at him with only one eye.
It was Argent.
His best friend looked right at him, his single eye burning. His cracked lips parted, his voice surprisingly strong as he said, “This is your fault. They’re hurting me because of you. I lost Jayveh because of you. I losteverything. Because you failed me.”
Carver’s entire body shook. “Argent . . .”
A muscle ticked in Argent’s jaw. “I blame you. I hate you.”
They were the same words Berron had once thrown at him. His heart cracked. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Please . . . Argent . . .”
Raza stepped up to the imperial prince, brandishing his knife. Carver’s stomach plunged. Argent was about to be tortured in front of him. And just like all the other prisoners he’d had to look in the eye in this tent, there was nothing he could do to save him.
“No!” Carver struggled in his chains. “Don’t!”
Raza’s blade slammed into Argent’s shoulder.
Argent threw back his head and screamed.
Carver roared.
“Carver,you’re—”
He wrenched back, somehow tearing free of the manacles clamped around his wrists.
A gasp rang in his ears, and a shadow fell back.
Carver’s breaths were ragged, hissed out between gritted teeth, his eyes blinking furiously as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, adrenaline burning in his veins. He was in a shadowed tent. The low tint of distant firelight wavered against the canvas, bringing filtered light into the small space. Sweat drenched him, and his heart hammered against his ribs. He could still feel the cut of the chains around his wrists. Still hear Argent’s screams.
But he wasn’t bound. He wasn’t a prisoner. And even though the earthy scents of the jungle surrounded him, he knew he wasn’t in Harvari. He wasn’t with Raza.
It was a name he tried not to even think, because it made the man too real. But his torturer was dead. Killed by Carver’s own hand. He’d watched the light drain from Raza’s eyes. He’d kept stabbing until Ford had dragged his emaciated, bloody body off the Harvarian torturer.
Argent was also dead.
“This is your fault . . . I lost Jayveh because of you. I losteverything. Because you failed me.”
Guilt roared through him, intensifying the shudders wracking his body. His lungs were too tight. He pinched his eyes closed, fighting to control his panic. Fighting just to breathe.
“I’m sorry,” a soft voice whispered.
