Page 66 of Esperance

He met and held Amryn’s gaze. “Two years after that summer visit, we learned the truth. That Rivard gave Berronsonne,andmy brother quickly became addicted to it. Before Rivard left Westmont, he introduced Berron to dealers in the city, and when Berron couldn’t afford more of the drug, he stole from us—from me, my parents, even my grandparents. When we noticed the missing coin and began to speculate about the thief, Berron tried to stealsonnefrom the dealers. They caught him.” His throat was dry, but he forced himself to continue. “Men like them rarely kill the rats that bite them; that would be one less rat for them to feed off of. One less buyer forsonne. But punishment had to be meted out as a warning to others, and the son of High General Vincetti made a powerful example. They cut off his right hand and took one of his eyes.”

Amryn sucked in a pained breath.

Carver’s teeth clenched. “When we found him, Berron was so addicted tosonnethat he screamed more about his need for the drug than he did about what they’d done to him. When my mother tried to sit with him on his sickbed, to comfort him, he struck her.”

The sound of Berron’s fist cracking against their mother’s cheekbone had never dulled in Carver’s ears. The shock and hurt that contorted her face as she’d stumbled back was forever in his mind. The pained growl in his father’s throat as he’d caught his wife in his arms. The hatred and desperation in Berron’s single, red-rimmed eye as he tried to hit his mother again, screaming for her to get him moresonne.

That monster hadn’t been his brother. In that moment, he was someone else entirely.

Carver blinked and forced himself to focus on Amryn. She was standing as still as ever, the pain and sorrow in her eyes speaking volumes, even though she was silent. “Rivard did that to him,” Carver said, his voice a little hoarse. “He knew how dangeroussonnewas, but he still gave it to him. He introduced Berron to those dealers so he could get a cut of the profits, and he didn’t care what it would do to Berron. To my family. He knew how far gone Berron was, but he said nothing. Did nothing.” He swallowed. “The next time I saw Rivard, I confronted him. He told me none of it was his fault, and that Berron’s weakness wasn’t his guilt to carry. And I just . . . I kept hitting him until I was dragged away.”

“You blame yourself,” Amryn said softly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yes. But I blame Rivard, too.”

“Do you blame Berron?”

Yes.

But how could he verbalize that without sounding like a monster? “I should have noticed,” he said instead. “For two years he was suffering, and I was so preoccupied with my own life, I didn’t notice. I should have seen that he needed help. I should have known.”

“You can’t blame yourself. What Rivard did was a huge betrayal, and completely wrong, but he made those choices. And when Rivard gave Berronsonne, your brother would have been . . .”

“Seventeen.”

Amryn’s expression softened, her eyes sad. “He was young. But Berron made his choices, too. He wasn’t a child.”

“He was my little brother, though.” Carver let his arms fall, elbows jutting back as he grasped the railing on either side of him. “I became a general soon after we learned of Berron’s addiction. And it was only a few months later that I was called to Harvari. Before I left, I sought Berron out. He’d become reclusive after everything that had happened, and he rarely left his room. I knew I needed to tell him goodbye, though. That I loved him. That I didn’t think less of him for what had happened, and I didn’t blame him. And he looked right at me and said,I blame you. I hate you.”

Berron’s voice had been clear. There was nosonnein his body, no way Carver could tell himself that Berron didn’t mean the words. It had been two and a half years since that day, but the animosity in those words hadn’t faded in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Amryn said. “It’s a terrible truth that the people closest to us are the ones with the greatest ability to hurt us.”

Her words were too heavy to not be gained from experience. Since her parents were dead, he wasn’t sure how to tactfully ask if they’d been the ones to hurt her, or if it had been someone else. She had no siblings, and he doubted it was her uncle, since she spoke so highly of Rix.

“I’ve never really talked about this with anyone,” he said.

He thought the admission might coax her to be vulnerable in return, but she only watched him, waiting for more.

He didn’t know what it was about this woman that made him open up, but he found himself telling her something else he hadn’t shared with anyone. “Six months ago, when I returned from Harvari, I expected Berron to take the words back. I expected that he would have healed in those two years I was away, but . . . he didn’t.” Berron hadn’t visited him once during Carver’s recovery. He’d nearly died from his injuries, and his brother couldn’t even be bothered to walk down the hall to see him.Thatwas how much Berron still hated him.

Carver hadn’t bothered telling Berron goodbye when he’d left for Esperance.

“I’m sorry,” Amryn said again.

“So am I.”

An especially shrill birdcall cut through the tense air, interrupting the moment.

Carver shoved a hand through his hair. “Did Rivard say anything to you that needs my retaliation?”

“No.” The pink in her cheeks darkened, but he knew it wasn’t in embarrassment because she was smiling a little. “I may have been the one to threaten him this time.”

Carver’s eyebrows lifted. “Do tell.”

“I don’t like the way he’s been treating Tam.” She must have seen the sudden darkening of his expression, because she lifted a staying hand. “I haven’t seen any blatant abuse, and Tam hasn’t said anything specific. I just wanted to make it clear to him that, if I learned he hurt her in any way, there would be consequences.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. Amryn may appear small and delicate, but she had an inner strength that continued to impress him. “Good.”