Not really a surprise, since Berron rarely left his room for anything else.
“I can walk with you,” Carver said. “I need to speak with him.”
Berron grunted and started walking down the corridor.
Carver decided to take that as an invitation. He lengthened his stride so he could catch up, shifting to walk on Berron’s good side.
Berron side-eyed him. “I heard you yelling last night.”
Carver immediately tensed.
“And I know you and Amryn fought after Market Square.”
“We weren’t fighting last night.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d had a nightmare.
Berron snorted. “Will Amryn tell me the same, if I ask her?”
Despite his resolve to be courteous, Carver’s voice darkened. “You think I would hurt her?”
“I think youhavehurt her. If I find out that hurt was ever physical, I will break the hand you raised against her.”
The words drew Carver to a halt. He had no idea when Berron had become so protective of Amryn, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. His wife’s kindness had the ability to win over anyone.
Clearly.
Berron had twisted to face him, his brows pulled together. It made the skin around his eyepatch draw tight.
Meeting Berron’s dagger-like gaze, Carver said, “I would never raise a hand against my wife. I’d . . .” His words trailed off when he remembered who he was speaking to. Heat touched his cheeks.
Berron slowly raised an eyebrow. “You’d what?” He lifted his stump. “Sooner cut it off?”
Carver refused to flinch under his brother’s stare. “Yes.”
Berron offered a slow, dark smile. “I’d do it for you, brother mine. I have experience with such things, after all.”
Shaking his head—though that did nothing to shake off the unease Berron so easily inspired inside him—Carver resumed walking. He half-hoped Berron wouldn’t fall into step beside him.
But of course, he did. “I’m surprised you left Amryn’s side,” Berron said. “Especially with assassins trying to kill the Sibeten prince this morning.”
“You heard about that?”
“I’m half-blind, not deaf.” Berron’s head tilted to the side. “Are you ever going to find whoever is trying to kill you all?”
His fingernails dug into his palms. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“You’re failing,” Berron stated.
“I’m aware,” he bit out.
“Who do you think it is?”
“We have a list of suspects.”
Silence. Then, “Am I one of them? You do so love to accuse me, after all.”
Irritation climbed, entering his voice. “No. I don’t think it’s you. And I already told you, I never thought you were a member of the Rising. I—”
“Just had to investigate, like a good little general,” his brother drawled. “So you said. Who are you throwing accusations at now?” He abruptly stopped walking. “Wait. You think it’sJanson?”
