“I did,” said Alastair. “Anything further you have to say can be said in front of my sister. She will tell no one your secrets.”

Charles seemed to resign himself. “Very well,” he said tightly. “I haven’t seen you since the meeting. I came by your house, but Risa indicated that you weren’t at home.”

“I do not plan to be at home to you ever again,” said Alastair evenly.

Cordelia attempted another break for freedom, but Alastair was still clamped firmly onto her wrist. “I should have left you when you became engaged to Ariadne,” he said to Charles, color flaming in his cheeks. “I should have left when you abandoned her in such a terrible way. Now you are engaged yet again, and I have realized that you will never care half as much for me—or for anyone—as for your career.”

His grip on Cordelia had loosened. She could have left, had she wanted to, but in that moment she realized Alastair needed her there. She stayed, even as Charles went a grayish color.

“Alastair,” he said. “That is not true. There is no other way.”

“There are other ways,” said Alastair. “Look at Anna. Look at Magnus Bane.”

“I am not a bohemian, willing to be exiled to the fringes of society. I wish to be the Consul. To be part of the Clave. To matter.”

The sound Alastair made was half pain, half exhaustion. “And you can have whatever you wish, Charles. You just cannot also have me. I wish to live my life, not to hide in the shadows as you engage yourself to a series of women in an attempt to conceal who you really are. If you choose that for yourself, it is your choice, but you cannot choose for me.”

“That is all you have to say to me, then? After these years? Surely that cannot be all,” Charles said, and in that moment he was not ridiculous, as he had been when he was toasting himself. There was genuine grief in his eyes, Cordelia thought. In his way, he loved Alastair.

But it was not enough. Some kinds of love weren’t.

“Good luck, Charles,” Alastair said. His dark eyes shone. “I am sure you will have a very successful life.”

He walked away. Cordelia, left suddenly and awkwardly alone with Charles, hastened to follow her brother.

“You must not know what to make of that conversation,” Charles said, his voice stiff and overbright, as she turned to go.

She hesitated, not looking at him. “I know you hurt my brother,” she said at last. “I know you will not do it again.”

“I will not,” Charles said very quietly. He said nothing more as she made her escape.