A HENRY STORY 3: Covenants Of The Fallen Prince

XXVI. Bad Blood

"What has he done? What has he promised you?" Howard stood in the middle of the cave where they had taken refuge, staring at Gregor and Ares in the lone beam of Mrs. Cormaci's flashlight and fuming with rage. "How is it conceivable that you have kept a secret such as this from the rest of us in good faith? Feel you no shame?"

Gregor bit his lip, suppressing the urge to yell "You should feel shame" back at Howard. But frankly, he had said enough earlier . . . when he had told Luxa that they could forget they had ever known each other. The moment that had slipped out, he had wished to unsay it. He had tried to imagine Luxa saying those words to him and realized how awful it would be. To suggest it would be possible to forget the last two years. To forget what they owed each other . . . what they meant to each other.

The worst part was that, since he had said that, Luxa hadn't spared him a single look. She lay curled up in Aurora's wing on the other side of the cave, and none of what was happening seemed to even register with her. She hadn't even said anything when they had caught up with her. Only looked at them with an unreadable expression before settling there, where she lay now.

And despite how overwhelmed he felt, Gregor managed to squeeze in worry on Luxa's behalf as well. The Death Rider, Howard. Who else would he be? Her words rang in his ears, and he inevitably asked himself what she had meant. She knew it was Henry; Gregor had been there when she had found out, yet that had almost sounded like—

"Explain yourself!" thundered Howard, and Gregor flinched.

"I wasn't going to endanger our mission to save the mice for that," he mumbled, doing his best to suppress his irritation. Honestly, all Gregor really wanted was to scream at the top of his lungs. He stared at the floor, feeling within himself the urge to lash back. To . . . rage? Every muscle in Gregor's body tensed, and he clenched his jaw, fighting the sensation with all his might. He wouldn't lash out at anyone if he didn't absolutely have to.

"How exactly would such a reveal endanger our mission?" hissed Howard.

"Because Henry helped us!" exclaimed Gregor, looking up after all. "Because if I had told you, this—" He waved his hand in Howard's direction, "—would've happened. We would've started fighting each other instead of for the mice!"

"Perhaps it would have been—"

"Leave it be," said Ares unexpectedly. "Everything has gone well, hasn't it?"

"And what if it hadn't?" shouted Howard. "Gregor is well-known for the softness of his heart." He said it like it was a bad thing, and Gregor flinched. "But you? The fact that you defend him too is beyond me."

"Many things are beyond you," said Ares frigidly.

"Evidently," spat Howard, whipping away. "This is not over!" he called in their direction, but at least he stopped yelling.

Gregor didn't feel an ounce better, though. He looked over toward where they had come from. How imminent was the impending attack, he wondered? By deciding to sneak out, was he—were they all—running away from it? Solovet would be furious, thought Gregor. Vikus and the council too, probably. But then he also thought that he couldn't care less about that.

Gregor took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Why were there still more things going wrong? Wasn't it enough that there was a war he had to fight? That his mom was sick? That his family was split, half of it up and half of it down? And that a prophecy predicted his death, on top of all?

Now . . . In the flashlight beam, Gregor looked around covertly, seeing the way they were all sitting: Howard off by the back wall, aggressively rummaging around in his belt pockets, Luxa curled into Aurora's wing on the other side, and him with Ares over here. No one was talking. No one was even making eye contact.