“I know.” She rested a hand on his tensed arm. “Honestly, my head feels like it’s spinning, and I’m having a hard time pinning down how I feel about my father. Or Tiras.”
Carver’s eyes searched hers. “I can tell you one thing about your father: He never deserved you.”
The moisture returned to her eyes. She embraced him, surprising him with the rapidness of the movement. Even so, his arms wrapped around her, drawing her closer.
A tear slipped down her cheek, but she let out a weak laugh. “I’m sorry. My emotions are everywhere right now.”
“A lot has happened today,” he said, speaking into the curve of her shoulder.
“True.” She huffed another laugh. “And I didn’t even tell you about the fortune-telling empath I met.”
He froze. “What?”
She smiled against the side of his neck. “I guess I’ll be telling you about Ysabel now.”
Amryn was a little surprised when—soon after Carver left for his meeting—there was a knock on the door. She was even more surprised when her guard announced her visitor.
“Let him in,” she called out.
The door opened and Berron walked in. His single eye darted over the space before fastening on her. Unease swirled inside him, but the emotion was overpowered by concern. His eyepatch was fitted securely, the ties cutting across his brow and cheekbone.
Amryn was reclining against a mountain of pillows in bed, but she straightened at his approach. She cringed as pain flared across her stomach.
Berron cursed, his steps speeding up. “Lie back down,” he snapped.
She fought a smile. “You should have been a physician. Your manner is so calming.”
Berron didn’t feel even a flicker of amusement. He rounded the bed, stopping only when he reached her side. His eye raked over her face, taking in the bruising that surrounded her swollen eye and covered her cheek. Then his attention dropped to the bandage around her throat. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
“I’m all right,” she assured him. “I’ve got some scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious.”
His tension didn’t ease. “I heard you and Carver fighting earlier.”
Amryn’s heart tripped. “You did?” Saints, what exactly had he heard? She couldn’t remember everything they’d shouted, but they’d talked about her empathy and her father. Both topics she preferred to keep secret, for obvious reasons.
“Do you feel safe with my brother?” Berron asked.
The question was unexpected, as was the intensity of his emotions. Worry, determination, and a low ripple of anger wove through him.
Touched by his concern, she softened. “Yes. I’m safe with him.” Safe enough that she’d dared to yell at him and even throw something at his head, never mind that it was a pillow.
Amryn had spent so many years trying to fade into the background. She had always tried to be on her best behavior for Rix and Torin; she was too grateful to them—especially Rix—to ever lose her temper. But with Carver . . . She could be angry. She could be vulnerable. She could be everything she needed to be, because she knew she was completely safe with him. It was a revelation of sorts. And something she was so, so grateful for.
Berron’s arms crossed his chest, the knuckles on his one hand turning white as he gripped his elbow. “I couldn’t make out the words, but I heard him yell at you.”
“I yelled at him, too.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Our emotions were running high after everything at Market Square. But Carver was only upset because he was worried about me.”
Berron’s expression didn’t change, but his emotions faltered. Surprise sparked, and his anger receded a fraction.
Amryn reached out and laid a hand on his crossed arms.
Berron stilled. She didn’t think he was even breathing.
Holding his gaze, she said, “Thank you. It means a great deal that you were concerned about me.”
