“They might notice,” Henry said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, “if the guest of honor doesn’t arrive.”
“I’m hardly,” Theo muttered, “the guest of honor.” He said it as if offended by the very idea. “This is simply a…courtesy for my brother. I did worry him with all that’s happened. Taking off the way I did with you and performing technically illegal dark magic. It’s the least I can do.”
The way Theo said that, a mix of indifference and dryness and maybe a touch of discontentment, put more knots in Henry’s stomach. Those emotions led to stronger ones. Regret and resentfulness and grudges. Then spite and hate. Which meant—
—nothing. It meant nothing, and there was no reason to think otherwise, especially if Henry was hearing things he only assumed Theo thought and felt. In fa
