SEVEN
The pain in my chest intensifies, tendrils of fire rooting under my flesh as the magic claims me.
The pain ebbs, and under it … nothing. There’s no stirring sensation like everyone describes.
Not even a faint fluttering. But I still can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but clutch my chest as chaos descends in the throne room.
Chairs scrape against stone as people leap to their feet. Some rush forward, others back, torn between attacking and fleeing. Everyone is shouting, and I want to cover my ears with my hands.
“Not possible—”
“It’s the burning raven—”
“Kill her before—”
“Get the high vesper!”
Strong hands close around my upper arms, and I look up to find Bishop staring down at me.
How in all seven hells can he look so fucking calm right now?
A group of knights surrounds me, and panic grips me even more tightly than the man holding me.
I try to pull free—of him, of the fear—but neither releases me.
“I didn’t do anything.” I tug harder. “Let me go.”
He ignores me, barking orders to his people as he drags me toward the exit. “Secure the royal family. Make sure no one leaves until I say.”
I can’t let him take me away. Shoving against him, I search for Broderic in the havoc.
He won’t let this happen. But my older brother is nowhere to be found.
I spot Andry pushing his way toward me. Isidore, wide-eyed with tear-stained cheeks, is right behind him.
I shout their names, stretching my arms in their direction.
Bishop blocks me, seizing my wrists and pinning them behind my back. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “If you want to make it out of this room alive, you’ll let me walk you out of here.”
I have no reason to trust him. In fact, I have multiple reasons not to trust him.
But I catch sight of a group of men talking quickly, heads bowed toward one another, hands balled into fists.
One glances up and meets my gaze. His lip curls into a sneer, a hand moving to the sword sheathed at his side.
I press into Bishop, allowing his solid body to form a shield between me and the violence I glimpsed in the man’s eyes.
“Good girl,” Bishop mutters, and I instantly regret my decision.
But I’m out of choices, especially as more nobles begin to form groups, some inching closer like they might risk rushing Bishop and his knights.
We’re nearly to the door when a young man wearing a thin shirt steps into our path.
His round face is familiar, and it hits me.
He’s not one of the nobles from the audience.
He’s an initiate from Order Calix. I think his name is Dimitri.
Something glints in his left hand. Horror floods through me when I realize he’s holding the ceremonial dagger.
Bishop places his arm in front of me. “Try.”
The single word carries enough threat that Dimitri hesitates, his knuckles going white as he grips the knife. A second later, it clatters to the ground. Dimitri backs away from the door.
“You won’t last the night, witch,” Dimitri shouts when we reach the exit.
Bishop’s finger pauses on the handle. There’s a flash of movement, the glint of steel, and a second later, Dimitri’s shirt hangs open, the fabric shorn completely through.
“If anything happens to her,” Bishop says in a low, measured voice, “I’ll split you open and see how long you last.” He pushes open the door, nudging me through it. Two knights follow—the ones who were with him during my Petition. “Stay here,” he orders them. “I’ll send word when she’s secure.”
Secure. That’s a nice word for what probably means imprisoned.
But Bishop doesn’t grab hold of me again. Instead, he nods toward the corridor. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I manage a few steps before the tears hit. There’s no point trying to fight them. Instead, I let them fall fast and hot down my cheeks. I make it a few more steps before I stop in my tracks.
“There’s no time,” Bishop growls as I bend over. “What are you doing?”
“Speeding things up,” I say through gritted teeth.
I yank my shoes off one by one. For a second, I stare at the pretty heels, my toes sinking into the plush rug that lines the hallway.
Isidore picked them out. I couldn’t be bothered.
No wonder they’re too small. They’re her size.
I don’t even think—I just turn and chuck them as far as I can.
They land at the feet of the scarred knight.
He looks down at them, then back at me with a blink. “Get those to my sister.”
My voice breaks, my heart already knowing that I won’t see her again. I won’t see any of them again.
And then I’m running.
The soles of my feet protest the change in altitude and circumstance, but I ignore them, pushing myself faster until my muscles burn, until I’m gulping down air but unable to catch my breath. I don’t stop until the hallway splits.
Doubling over as I drag in long breaths, I stare in the direction of my family’s assigned quarters. But all I can see is that initiate holding the knife. Going back to my room isn’t safe for my siblings.
Bishop catches up to me, never having picked up his own pace. He glowers at me for a second. “Were you headed somewhere?”
“Away.” I don’t bother saying more. He wouldn’t understand. He has a place here. A place within his own order. He knows who he is.
An hour ago, I thought I did, too.
But I straighten and meet his eyes. I’m not foolish enough to believe I can fight him. Not when he’s twice my size and trained to be lethal. But whatever he plans to do with me, I will not hang my head in shame. I will not beg for mercy. I will not go easily.
Silence stretches as we measure each other up.
“Are you going to run again?” he finally asks.
I tilt my head and meet his eyes. “That depends. Are you going to hurt me?”
There’s a slight tug on his lips—that smile of his that never seems to fully materialize—but his silvery blue eyes remain shadowed. “If I planned to hurt you, you would already be dead.”
Well, that’s comforting.
He can claim whatever he wants, but we both know that it’s not entirely true. He wouldn’t bother with me if he didn’t see a threat.
“You heard what they said.” I swallow, trying to soothe the ache in my throat. I will not break down in front of him. He might not be my enemy yet, but he’s deadly. “They called me a harbinger.”
The stuff of stories and legends. Plenty still believe in omens, still study the night for them. Even the astrolatories devote resources to searching for signs of fortune and fate despite our ability to tap the power of the Stars and bend it to our needs and whims.
“And you believe that nonsense?” He shrugs, but something in his voice betrays him. Bishop Marius—lethal, ruthless, and superstitious, apparently.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” There’s no point in hiding from the truth. “A lot of them do.”
“That’s why I’m taking you somewhere safe, so we can sort this mess out.”
A hollow laugh rattles from me. Mess doesn’t begin to cover this situation. I’m fucked, and we both know it. “A holding cell, I presume?”
We’re in a palace. There must be a dungeon.
“I said somewhere safe.” He gestures in the opposite direction. “Not the first place they’ll look for you.”
And it would be, given that Bishop himself escorted me away from the throne room. “What did you have in mind?”
“It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you.” His tone is drier than the Burning Sea of Ardermare, not even the slightest hint of amusement coloring it.
“I guess as long as you’re not planning to kill me.” I hide my shaking hands within the folds of my skirt and start down the hall. Each step I take feels like it’s carrying me miles away. Even if I turned around, would I ever find my way back to that throne room? To myself?
We bypass staterooms and parlors, all empty. So much wasted space. Away from the throng of visiting nobles, there’s so little life in the palace. Under the beauty and wealth, there seems to be only loneliness.
Bishop guides me away from all of it to a cramped staircase leading to an upper level.
My heart constricts. Maybe he lied. Maybe a tower cell is waiting for me after all.
But it’s not like I have a lot of options.
Bars work both ways—and I’d rather have some between me and those people ready to murder me down there.
I start to ask him why he’s helping me, but something holds my tongue in place. Judging by our every interaction, I won’t like the answer.
The staircase empties into a hall devoid of any decoration. The plaster walls are unpainted. No rugs line the worn oak floors. There’s not a single hint of the palace’s grandeur.
Bishop stops at an unmarked door. My stomach tumbles as he unlocks it.
The room beyond is nearly as empty as the corridor that led to it. A bed sits under the window. Its sheets are tucked in crisp, tight lines. A massive trunk waits at its footboard. There’s a small table and chair in the corner, and a simple armoire against the wall. That’s it.
“Whose room is this?” I stare at the bed.
He hesitates, which doesn’t fit with what I know about Bishop. “Mine.”
I spin to face him. “This is your room?”
Now I understand his reluctance. What in all seven hells possessed him to bring me to his room? I start backing toward the door, but he blocks me. Panic flares in my chest, my eyes darting in search of another exit.
“You’ll be safe here.” He holds up his hand like I’m a horse he’s trying to steady. “It’s the last place anyone will look for you.”
The expression on his face begs me to understand.
He’s right. No one in their right mind will look for me in Bishop’s private quarters.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Actually, I’m quite sure it’s a terrible idea.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, still carefully positioned between the door and me. “Are you worried that people will question your virtue?”
That doesn’t even rank on the list of things worrying me.