Brandyn’s mouth parted. He forced his eyes not to land on any of them, to look beyond and to go elsewhere, where he could think, and not be assaulted by the barrage of sympathy from people who loved him, who meant well, but would only drown him in the grief that would descend once he processed the utter shock of his father’s death.
“Brandyn, we’re so deeply sorry,” Aylen said. “If only there were magic that could heal the heart.”
“I’ll murder him,” Storm whispered, passing another squeeze through their hands. “With glee. And not as swiftly as the men at the inn. I’ll give him time to consider his cowardice and treachery.”
Brandyn released her hand and stood, moving to the other side of the room. He pressed both hands to the windowsill, looking out into the empty field beyond the falcone
