Page 43 of Mystique of the Fallen
“Of course not, you were primarily taught by fallen knights,” Alaric stated.
“Do you have a problem with our curriculum, Lich Sentinel?” Drystan asked.
“If it makes you feel better to leave out the obvious truth of sentinel superiority, I can’t fault you for your omission,” Alaric said. “Although excluding the truth is essentially a lie.”
“Not necessarily,” Roman commented softly. “Sometimes omitting the truth is the better option. If you have knowledge of something that could hurt someone or affect them negatively, perhaps it’s fairer to keep the information to yourself.”
“But you’re assuming that you know it’ll be harmful,” Chander argued, his pewter gaze glued to Roman’s face. “How do you know for sure if you keep the truth to yourself?”
“A lie is a lie, Roman,” Alaric added. “It is not always easy to tell a person something you fear may adversely affect them. However, you must allow them to decide for themselves how to handle the information. Do not think for anyone else.”
Grant sipped his beer and didn’t miss the strange undercurrents at the table. His resurrection had made him a detective. Those skills would be harnessed in the coming months and years, but it didn’t take a seasoned fallen knight to grasp that the people at the table weren’t speaking of a hypothetical situation.
“So, what’s the deal?” Grant asked. “Is someone keeping a secret?”
“Whaaaaaat?” Arvandus replied. “No. What makes you think that?”
Arvandus’s voice had gone strangely high-pitched, and fallen knights at the table were shaking their heads. Grant rolled his eyes. With the ability to ferret out lies, he already knew Arvandus wasn’t being honest. However, Grant wasn’t entitled to their secrets. “Okay, you answered my question. You don’t want to tell me about whatever this is, that’s fine. But you guys are terrible liars.”
“Let’s change the subject,” Chander stated emphatically. “It’s irrelevant today.”
“If you say one thing about celebrating my title, I’m going to run out of here screaming,” Grant vowed.
“Not a fan of the spotlight?” Arvandus asked, merriment dancing in his eyes.
“No, so maybe don’t force an entire room full of people to cheer for me again,” Grant replied.
“I’d get revenge if I were you,” Samson said. “He did that without considering you might not want the adulation.”
“Likely because he yearns for people to cheer for him whenever he walks into a room,” Alaric replied dryly.
“No worries, Samson, Roman and I are going to plot together to make sure Arvandus pays,” Grant said.
“Seriously?” Arvandus asked. “I did nothing wrong. Excuse me for being proud of you. In the history of the fallen knights, only you and Sam have earned the title of Venerable Knight. I want to fucking celebrate that. You deserve it.”
“So, bake me a cake or something.”
“Not in my kitchen,” Brynnius muttered.
“Now you’re trying to get me kicked out of my own condo,” Arvandus complained. “If I mess up the kitchen, Victor will hand me my balls on a platter.”
“I will allow no one near your balls,” Albrecht commented succinctly in a smoky voice Grant envied. “Not even Victor.”
Grant leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. “Buy a cake then, geez.”
“I will make you something delicious,” Brynnius promised. “What do you like so far?”
“Roman smells like delicious buttery popcorn. Can you do anything with that?”
Brynnius’s brown gaze widened. “I haven’t worked with popcorn other than to add chocolate to it sometimes. I’ll look up some recipes.”
“Oh man, you just made B’s night. Nothing my mate loves more than experimenting with new recipes,” Samson enthused, pressing a kiss to Brynnius’s temple, heedless of the tangled hair hanging over his forehead.
“I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone smelling like popcorn before,” Conley said. “That’s awesome.”
“What does Grant smell like to you?” Brynnius asked Roman. “Perhaps I could incorporate it into a recipe with the popcorn.”
Roman’s gaze locked on Grant’s face, and his lips curved. “Limes.”
