Chapter 25 #3
Anger, hot and heated. Stinging resentment.
Jealousy, anxiety, self-loathing. All of it wrapped in a barbed pain that hurt her own heart.
But it was more than that. Darker than that.
Everything inside Berron felt shadowed and heavy.
Overwhelming depression. Loneliness, edged with almost painful desperation.
A low pang of despair. Self-consciousness and discomfort, but also a spark of defiance.
And a deep-set craving she’d never felt so intensely before.
She’d been around men and women with vices and addictions before.
Many in Torin’s court had a near-constant desire for drink, gambling, or pleasure, but all of those past experiences paled in comparison to the need burning in Berron’s veins.
His hunger for sonne went beyond simple longing.
It was painful. Gutting. All-consuming, and—if Amryn had to guess—it never truly went away.
Merely numbed from time to time by sleep or brandy or whatever distraction he could find.
Berron’s expression gave none of that away, and Amryn had no idea how he didn’t crack under the weight of the constant war raging inside him. Feeling his emotions for a brief second was enough to make her breathing run thin.
Berron Vincetti was a second away from being overwhelmed by the darkness inside him.
“It was my accent, wasn’t it?” he went on, ignorant of the fact that she’d seen more of him than he would have ever wanted her to.
His tone was falsely light and lined with subtle mockery.
“That was what gave away my identity, surely.” He lifted a dark eyebrow, drawing attention to his eyepatch.
His tone was daring her to acknowledge his flaws.
But she knew he was only trying to make her uncomfortable because he felt uncomfortable.
She resolutely kept her focus on his good eye, ignoring the dark eyepatch that seemed to glare at her. “No,” she said with forced calm. “It was your warm and charming personality.”
He blinked, surprise cutting through him at her sarcastic response.
Then he cracked a sardonic smile. “Oh, I do hope you drive my brother mad.” He ran his eye down her body.
The study of her was deliberate and bordered on crude, yet it wasn’t crassness she sensed from him as he said, “Saints, the man’s bloody luck never runs out, does it? ”
“Perhaps you should withhold judgment on that. Just in case I do drive him mad.”
The corner of Berron’s mouth quirked. “You’re not what I expected.”
“I could say the same about you.”
“It’s the missing hand, isn’t it?” he said wryly.
“Not at all. I was just under the impression you were a recluse.”
Berron snorted. “I was forced to be here.”
“So was I.”
He looked at her bandaged arm. “Carver’s even more heartless than I remember.”
“Actually, he wanted me to stay in and rest.”
“Ah. That sounds more like my saintly brother.”
She ignored his scathing tone, as she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of rising to the obvious bait. “Who forced you to attend?”
“My father was quite insistent that I not embarrass the family in front of the emperor by shunning the evening’s festivities.
” He paused, then added, “Saints know why he thought my being here would be less of an embarrassment to the family.” His head tilted to the side as he studied her. “Who forced you, if not Carver?”
“I suppose you could say the emperor. I don’t think he would have wanted any of the Chosen to miss tonight. And I didn’t want to leave Princess Jayveh without a friend.”
“Yet you’re out here.”
“She has duties. And I needed some air.”
He said nothing to that, merely looked to the glass he’d set on the carved railing.
Disappointment cut when he rediscovered it was empty.
Letting out a sigh, he shifted and leaned one hip against the railing, his body turned toward her.
“So, what happened to you?” He nodded to the bandage that clearly bulged under her sleeve, making his question clear.
“Someone tried to kill Jayveh earlier today,” she said. “I was standing a little too close.”
He slowly lifted an eyebrow. “And yet you wanted to stick close to her tonight? Rather foolish of you.”
“I consider it loyalty.”
“Foolishness, loyalty—either one can get you killed.” He shifted a step closer, and it took all her willpower not to step back.
Berron Vincetti was more than a little unsettling.
Mostly because he wasn’t anything like she’d expected.
Perhaps it was the brandy he’d imbibed, but he was certainly a lot less reserved than she’d anticipated. Also, a lot darker in humor.
A mocking smirk rose into place as Berron met her gaze. “Loyalty can be its own form of foolishness. Tell me, are you loyal to my brother?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, uncertain what he was digging for. Because it was clear Berron was looking for a particular answer. “I am.”
His smirk turned into a grin. “Is that so? You seemed awfully close to that Sibeten man only moments ago.”
He’d been watching her. The realization unnerved her. Regardless, she said, “Ivan Baranov is a friend. Nothing more.”
“Does he know that?”
“You sound like Carver.”
Berron choked. “Swallow those words, woman. My brother and I are nothing alike.”
A slow smile lifted her lips. “Actually, I think you’re more similar than I first thought.”
Berron rolled his single eye, glancing once more at the empty glass.
She could feel the effects of the brandy he’d already consumed, just as she could feel his desire for more.
Then he focused back on her, his tone more serious than before as he said, “The sooner you realize Carver and I are the extreme opposites of each other, the better off you’ll be. ”
“Why?”
The darkness inside him swelled, coloring his tone and sharpening his features. “Because if you are loyal to my brother, then by default, we are enemies.”
His words were so cold—so sure—she fought a shiver. She refused to look away from his intense gaze, even though her heart beat a little faster than before. She even managed to keep her voice calm as she said, “I don’t want to be your enemy, Berron. Carver doesn’t want that, either.”
Berron simply stared at her. Then his lips parted, and—
“Berron, there you are.”
They both turned to face the newcomer. He was well dressed, though that was mostly in the quality of the attire.
Even from here, Amryn could see wrinkles marring his clothes.
They also fit a bit loosely on his frame, as if he’d recently lost weight but hadn’t bothered to have his clothes tailored.
His light hair showed streaks of silver and there were lines around his eyes and mouth.
He looked to be in his fifties, perhaps.
Berron shifted beside her. “Chancellor Janson.”
The chancellor was one Amryn hadn’t met yet, though she’d heard his name; Elowen had mentioned Janson was the chancellor who’d summoned Berron to Zagrev. He was the one investigating the sonne trade.
Janson clearly knew who she was. Her red hair was such a novelty this far south, it made her easy to identify. “Lady Vincetti, I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted.”
“Not at all,” Berron drawled for her. “My new sister and I were simply getting to know each other.”
Chancellor Janson must have been used to Berron’s sarcasm, because the older man didn’t even blink.
He simply took Amryn’s offered hand, brushed a polite kiss against her skin, then straightened.
His most prominent emotion was curiosity as he studied her.
“It’s an honor to meet you, my lady. We all owe the Chosen a great debt of gratitude. ”
She felt her cheeks warm, and she willed her self-conscious blush not to spread further. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chancellor Janson.”
“Don’t be flattered,” Berron said to the man, leaning back against the railing as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She seems to think it’s a pleasure to meet everyone.”
Amryn’s flush deepened.
Janson’s sigh was heavy. “You must forgive him, my lady. Berron’s manners are lacking.”
“As is my desire to be here,” Carver’s brother quipped.
Janson eyed the younger man more closely. “You’re drunk.”
“I had to do something to survive this infernal dinner.”
Chancellor Janson’s expression softened. Amryn felt an echo of pain in him that she couldn’t explain, as well as deep sympathy. “Perhaps you should retire for the night,” he murmured to Berron. “Let the drink run its course.”
The skin around Berron’s eyes tightened. “Didn’t you need something from me? I can’t imagine you sought me out for my splendid company.”
“We can talk tomorrow,” Janson said easily. “I think it would be best if you got some rest now.”
Berron pushed off the railing. “If my father asks, I’ll tell him you gave me the order.” He faced Amryn. “For your sake, I hope it’s a while before we meet again.” With that, he strode away, leaving her and Janson standing awkwardly on the terrace.
Janson’s voice was low as he said, “Don’t judge him too harshly, my lady. A man in pain does not always take the feelings of others into consideration.”
“I don’t judge him.” In fact, her heart ached for him. Berron was in more pain than anyone realized.
“He’s been a great help to me,” Janson continued.
“My investigation into the sonne trade has been slow and laborious for years, but Berron has been able to give me names and details no one else has ever known. We’ve made huge strides in the time he’s been here.
We’ve arrested more criminals in the last few weeks than I have in the last couple of years.
” He smiled, a little self-deprecatingly.
“Apologies, my manners are as lacking as Berron’s.
This is hardly a topic for a lady’s ears. ”
“I’m glad you’ve made such progress,” Amryn said honestly. “Sonne is a terrible drug.” She was even more sure of that now, after feeling the devastation it had left in Berron.
“It’s a blight on Craethen,” Janson said grimly.
“It not only ruins lives, but entire families. It destroys our cities and weakens the empire. It’s damaging our economy, killing our people and .
. .” He shook his head, a surge of resolve rushing through him—along with an undercurrent of anguish.
“I can’t rest until the entire trade is dismantled, the guilty are punished, and sonne is no more. ”
His mission was clearly personal. She could feel the depth of that in every word he spoke. Amryn was not about to pry, however. Instead, she said, “I think it’s good for Berron to help you.” It had gotten him out of his room in Westmont, if nothing else.
“It offers a sort of redemption, I think,” Janson said. “But more than that, it delivers justice. And to a man who has lost dearly, justice is a sweet reward.” He gave her a small smile. “Apologies. I’m getting older, and I tend to ramble.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Amryn said. “I should be getting back inside, though.” Cregon was no doubt looking for her, though she had to admit she’d prefer it if Carver was the one who found her first.
She exchanged a polite farewell with Chancellor Janson, who looked content to remain on the terrace, before making her way into the brightly lit great hall. She’d only made it a couple steps when a man slid in front of her, halting her in her tracks.
The stranger flashed a charming smile, his eyes glinting in the light as he said, “Whoever abandoned you should be branded a criminal—or an idiot.”