stilled as he thought it through. “There’s no denying today’s mechanical conveniences. Humans are on the cusp of momentous discoveries that would have been impossible even twenty years ago. And yet,” he began, then quieted again.
“And yet?” I prompted after a moment.
He sighed. “There have been times that were dangerous, but invigorating. Scenes from history I was fortunate enough to witness firsthand. The birth of this republic—the vigor of the debate, the fervency of the belief that man could do better than monarchy. Moments during the Civil War in which men and women—even in times of great peril—were brave enough to remind us of the best of ourselves. D-day in London, when Whitehall was filled with heart-bursting joy . . . and grief.”
Ethan sighed. “Immortality affords you the opportunity to witness history in the making.
Humanity’s triumphs and its cruelties, both. It is both a high price to pay and a priceless gift, to carry the weight of that knowledge.”
He turned over a bit, propping his head on his fist and glancing down at me. “Now, having walked through my lifetime, Sentinel, what’s my treat?”
I lifted the box for him to see and thoroughly enjoyed the vaguely dismayed expression on his face.
“You’re joking.”
“I never joke about Mallocakes. Sit up.”
He didn’t look any less suspicious, but he did as I asked, shuffling down to the end of the bench to give me room to join him. But I was fine on the ground. It put space between us and kept the interaction casual. It let me pretend the emotional boundaries I’d put between us were still firmly intact . . . even as I sat on the ground quizzing him about his life and preparing to feed him cream-filled sponge cake.
But when denial was your safety net, denial was what you worked with.
I pulled off the paper zip strip on the box and pulled out two cellophane-wrapped snacks. I handed one to him, put the box aside, and cradled mine in my hands.
“Behold the glorious marriage of cake and cream.”
Ethan looked unimpressed by the sugar log I’d placed in his hand. “Really, Sentinel.”
“Trust me. You won’t regret this.” I opened my packet and held up the cake. “Now, there are various theories of the best way to eat a Mallocake.”
Finally, a hint of a smile. “Are there, now?”
“Our favorite sorceress, Mallory Carmichael, prefers to dunk them whole in milk. It’s not a bad treatment, but I think it makes them soggy, and I have this thing about wet bread.”
“You are a constant source of wonder.”
“And thus appropriate that I prefer the ‘fishes and loaves’ method. Behold,” I said, pulling the cake in half lengthwise, then holding up the two chocolate slabs. “I’ve doubled the number of cakes!”
“You have a strong tendency for silliness, you know that?”
“It’s one of my better qualities,” I said, nibbling on the edge of the cake. And as if the chocolate sponge was a drug itself, the flavor almost instantly sent a calming pulse through my blood.
Ethan took his own bite. “Not bad, Sentinel.”
“I have any number of issues,” I admitted.
“Taste in food is not one of them.”
For a moment, we ate our snacks silently in the garden.
“I told you once that you were my weakness,” he said. “But also my strength. I said it before betraying your trust. I know that now, and I am so very sorry.” He paused. “What would I have to do to convince you to give me another chance?”
His voice was just more than a whisper, but the sentiment was strong enough that I had to look away, tears brimming in my eyes. It was a legitimate question—but not one for which I had an easy answer. What would it take for me to believe in Ethan again? To believe that he’d chosen me, for better or worse, and regardless of the politics?
“I’m not sure you could convince me otherwise. I’m too fast a learner.”
“And I taught you that I would betray you if the opportunity arose?”
This time, I met his gaze. “You’ve taught me that you will always be concerned with next steps and appearances, with strategy and alliances. You’ve taught me that I could never be sure you really wanted me for me—and not just because I helped you meet some end, or because it was convenient. You’ve taught me that I could never be sure you wouldn’t change your mind if breaking things off gave you a strategic advantage.”
Ethan’s smile drooped, and for the first time, he faced the possibility that his actions would have unalterable repercussions. “You don’t think I can change?”
I softened my tone. “I don’t think a relationship is any good if I have to ask you to change. Do you?”
He looked away, then sighed haggardly. “This feels like a battle I cannot win.”
“Love shouldn’t be a battle.”
“And yet, if it wasn’t worth the fight, what would be the point?”
We were quiet long enough that crickets began to chirp in the garden plots around us.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about Jonah?”
I nearly jumped at the question, my heart suddenly thudding at the potential my secret had been discovered. “No,” I answered. “Why do you ask?”
“He seems to have some interest in you. Are you well acquainted?”
Thank God I already had at least part of an answer prepared. “We talked outside Temple Bar the night of the attack.” Absolute truth.
“Anything else?” His gaze was suspicious, his eyes tracking across my face as if trying to gauge my sincerity.
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me, Merit.”
“Are you asking me not to lie to you because we’re friends, because we were lovers, or because I’m a vampire of your House?”
His eyes widened. “I expect your honesty for all three reasons.”
“You expect—you are owed—my loyalty.
That’s not entirely the same thing.”
This time, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? What haven’t you told me?”
“Nothing that I can share right now.” And there it was. I may not have told him about the Red Guard, their invitation to me, and Jonah’s role in the organization, but I’d now confessed that I hadn’t been honest with him, that I’d held things back.
He blinked back shock. “You have information you won’t share with me?”
“I have information that isn’t mine to share,” I clarified. “The information belongs to others; I know it only coincidentally, and I won’t do them the disservice of making the decision to share it.
Not when they’ve chosen not to.”
His gaze was calculating. Evaluating. After a moment, he nodded. “So be it,” he said. While his capitulation was a victory for me as Sentinel, I still felt like I’d lost something, like I’d broken some personal bond. I’d placed being House Sentinel over being his friend and confidante.
I’d done the same thing for which I’d chided him.
Ethan stood up and balled the cellophane in his hand, moving around me and stepping back onto the path. He stopped for a moment, before glancing back over his shoulder. “It’s a difficult balance, isn’t it, to put others before your own needs?”
I didn’t care to have my own hypocrisy pointed out to me. I looked away.
When I glanced back at the path again, he was gone. My mood wasn’t any better when I returned to the second floor. My head was beginning to throb again, this time for different reasons. I put the box of Mallocakes back in the kitchen, then walked back to my room. My hand was on the door when I heard a voice behind me.
“He’s not as cold as he seems, you know.”
