And then Henry’s words hit me. I have faith that you won’t lie to me. That you won’t ever pretend to be something you’re not.
I wasn’t lying to Henry. But I was pretending. I’d been pretending for weeks, ever since I’d discovered that Ivy believed the conspiracy surrounding Justice Marquette’s death wasn’t over. I hadn’t thought twice about keeping the possibility of a fourth conspirator from Henry.
I have faith that you won’t lie to me. I swallowed, my mouth dry. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Henry inhaled sharply and leaned back. I felt the moment pass, like air knocked violently from my lungs.
And then I told him.
Henry stood up and began walking—away from what I’d just told him and away from me.
Halfway to the street, he came to a standstill. His fists weren’t clenched. He didn’t make a single sound. But he might as well have been yelling.
I knew better than to approach. “Henry—” His name stuck in my throat. He didn’t give any visible sign that he’d heard me. I could see his shoulders rising and falling with heavy, jagged breaths. I tried to imagine what was going on in his head right now.
And then I wished that I hadn’t.
He’d thought that the people responsible for killing his grandfather were dead. He’d thought that even if the world never knew what had really happened, there had been some form of justice. And now he’d found out that he’d thought wrong.
I have faith that you won’t lie to me.
“Say something,” I told him quietly. He barely moved. He made no sound except for the air making its way into and out of his lungs at an uneven pace, each breath a little sharper than the last.
He was angry.
He was hurt.
He was coming undone—but he wouldn’t fall apart. Henry Marquette didn’t fall apart. He didn’t let himself lose control—
“Henry.” I took a step toward him. “Please, just—”
“Yell at you?” Henry suggested quietly. “What is it precisely that you want me to say, Kendrick? That I wish you had done me the decency of telling me the truth weeks ago?”
He hadn’t turned to face me. Something in the way he said the word wish made my stomach twist. His voice had gone rough when he said it, an audible crack in his hard-won control. “Should I tell you that I had a right to know?” Henry continued, glancing back over his shoulder at me. “That I feel as if I am right back at my father’s funeral, staring at infamous fixer Ivy Kendrick and wondering how she could lie so effortlessly to my mother’s face?”
Those words hit me with the force of a blow, and I knew that they were meant to.
“What else does Ivy know?” Henry asked. “Has she even looked into the possibility that someone orchestrated my grandfather’s murder?” He stared at me, into me, through me. “Has she questioned whether or not the president was involved? Someone in his administration?”
“I don’t know,” I told Henry. That admission echoed down the driveway.
“Kendrick, what you don’t know,” Henry told me, his voice rough and barely more than a whisper, “could fill an ocean.” He looked down at the ground, the whites of his eyes standing out in contrast to his dark brown skin. “I told you that Thalia wakes up screaming at night.” He’d let me in. He was punishing himself for that now, punishing me. “She crawls into my bed afterward. I let her sleep with me. I let her lay her head on my chest, so that she can hear my heartbeat.” His voice shook. “I tell her that we are safe, that nothing is going to happen to us.” He paused. “I lie to her. Because this world is not safe. The people who are supposed to protect us, the people we are supposed to trust—I know that sometimes they are the ones who do the most harm.” He paused, and his already quiet voice got even softer. “How can I protect Thalia, or my mother, or you—from that?”
Henry didn’t wait for an answer before he stalked off. It was just as well. I didn’t have an answer to give him.
CHAPTER 44
It took me hours to get to sleep that night, and even then, the fight with Henry followed me into my dreams.
“Get up, Tessie.” In the middle of the night, a voice jarred me awake. “Theresa.” There was a note of urgency in Ivy’s voice that hit me like a splash of water to the face.
I sat up in bed. “What happened?”
Ivy ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face. “I need you to pack a bag. Clothes, your school stuff, anything you might need.”
“A bag?” I caught Ivy by the arm as she moved to stand. “Ivy, what’s going on?” No answer. “Is this about the information I gave Adam?”
Ivy’s expression wavered slightly. I could see her locking down her emotions, trying to flip into fixer mode and handle me like any other problem. But she couldn’t. Ivy had a way of looking at me, like I held her heart in my hands.
“What’s going on, Ivy?”
She pulled back from my grasp and stood, crossing to my closet and pulling out a bag.
“You’re sending me away.”