A Matter of Truth (Fate, #3)

To let you go, I think, even though it breaks my own heart into tiny pieces. And the thing is, Kellan Whitecomb—not so much his actions, but what he means to me, how I feel about him—has always had the ability to render me senseless. I can’t let this be how it is anymore. No matter what, I need to get a grip and act fairly.

Even still, this moment here hurts more than I can articulate, but I need to do it. He’s nobody’s second best. Not even mine. He’s too wonderful for that.

And because I’m not hiding anything from him, he must feel this, since he snaps, “Fine. You can think you’re being noble,”—ouch—“or self-sacrificing or whatever the hell you think you’re doing, but I know you. And I need you to understand right now that . . . yes, while you were gone, I found ways to deal with the pain of your loss.” He steps closer to me, viciously twisting the leather band around his wrist. “Gods. She’s relentless. Whatever happened with her, I regret that more than anything. There is nothing between her and me, no matter what she thinks. Nothing. She’s—you can ask Jonah. She’s . . . unbalanced.”

I’m not surprised to hear he’s slept with other women during my absence. It’s an agony I’m quite familiar with. But the one that hits me out of left field, the one that has me leaning back against the wall, is the thought that maybe Jonah did the same.

And Kellan must know I’m feeling this way because the hurt in his eyes nearly sends me back to Alaska.

I whisper words so familiar to the both of us, words that have defined way too much of our relationship together. I tell him I’m sorry.

He walks me home in silence. I do not offer to have him stay for dinner.





In the last week, other than talking to Zthane and key members of the Guard, as well as the surprisingly sympathetic pair of Etienne and Mac over tea, I have yet to answer for my actions over the last half-year. A brief phone call from Astrid informed me that the Council is well aware of my return and that they’ve been in contact with the Guard concerning the debriefing I gave upon re-entry. Apparently Karl wasn’t kidding when he said that Zthane was claiming I’d been on a top-secret Elders recon mission in Alaska. So, during one of our daily meetings at Guard HQ, I confront Zthane about this.

“I’m not afraid to take responsibility for my actions,” I tell him, even though it’s a lie, because of course I’m scared. I’m tired of living in fear, though, tired of always worrying about making the wrong step. If I have to take the hit because I did something wrong, so be it. “And, honestly, it will be all the worse if you’re caught lying about what I’ve done. The Council—”

“Knows the truth already.” Zthane sighs deeply and leans back in his chair, his fingers tented in front of him. When my eyebrows lift up, he clarifies, “Well, certain people within the Council know—those specifically on the Elders Subcommittee.” His dark eyes flick over to where both Karl and Kellan are sitting. “There was a meeting two nights ago to discuss some of the more relevant aspects of the situation.”

Huh. Mac mentioned this Subcommittee at tea yesterday, saying he was part of it. But he never mentioned anything else, including that he’d been discussing my case with his—our—peers.

Giuliana comes into the room, setting a tray of coffee down on the conference table before handing Zthane a dossier.

I wait until the Elemental’s seated to ask, “Meaning?”

He pops off the lid to his coffee and pours in a pack of sugar. “Meaning I told them about you and Dane’s escapades in Anchorage, and of the contact you made with the Métis colony. The Subcommittee was quite interested in these aspects and wishes to explore them further.” He recaps the coffee. “Punishing you for the foibles of youth or the whatnot will only distract the Council from the issues at hand. And Chloe, this is not the time for that.”

I find myself laughing at that. Is this the equivalent of a hand smacking? “Foibles of youth? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Is there another term for it?” He retents his fingers, the tips pressing up against his lips. “Frankly, you are not the first Magical to do what you’ve done, and most certainly will not be the last.”

I nearly choke on my own coffee. “Excuse me?”

“Do you think you are the first of our kind to run screaming for the hills? Or, for that matter, the first Creator?” His smile is tight. “While not every Creator has done so, it’s not an entirely uncommon occurrence. Despite what you think, the Council and Guard are keenly aware of the pressures you are under concerning your craft, not to mention your—and I say this with all the love in my heart—age and lack of experience.”

I pretty much only blink at him in return.