EIGHT
“Who?” I repeat, my voice trembling, as Bishop unlocks the trunk.
He lifts the lid and then tosses me a pair of boots. “Put these on.”
I don’t ask him where we’re going this time. I pull the boots on, not bothering to fasten them. They’re too big anyway. I tug at the high collar of my borrowed dress. Vessica and I aren’t going to be best friends anytime soon, but I owe her for thinking of that.
Bishop waits by the open door. “After you.”
He sounds as put out as Broderic when he got stuck babysitting me when we were kids.
I don’t give Bishop the satisfaction of a passing glare as I stride out of his room.
He moves into step beside me in the corridor. “You aren’t going to ask what happened?”
“Do I want to know?” I snap even though my heart is pounding. “Would you even tell me?”
He huffs in response. How illuminating.
“Someone died?” I ask anyway. “Is that why people are screaming?”
“Yes.” He shoots an incredulous look at me. “The king has been assassinated.”
King. Assassinated. Each word is harder to process than the last. My steps slow until I come to a complete stop. “Someone killed the king?”
Harbinger.
I push the thought away.
“And cut out his heart,” he says grimly.
The ground seems to slip from under my feet. Miraculously, I stay upright.
“A heart collector,” I say breathlessly. The stuff of fairy stories our mother told us. Boogeymen meant to make us behave.
Or so I thought.
“Now who’s the superstitious one?” he asks.
There is something dismissive and slightly arrogant in his tone that thaws my shock, and I march forward. “Spoken like someone who let a killer walk straight into the palace and murder the king.”
Of course he’s above the old childhood fear written into every generation. He’s been forged into something meant to strike fear, not yield to it.
His gloved hands curl into fists, but his gaze remains straight ahead of us. “Remind me why I keep saving your life?”
His guess is as good as mine.
“How can someone just get inside the palace and do that?” I ask without thinking. A second later, it hits me, and I halt in my tracks again, my stomach pitching. “You think I had something to do with it.”
That’s why he asked me if I was a witch. I wish I could change shape, could slip into the night, could leave all of this behind.
“No, I don’t think that, because I had eyes on you all night,” he says in a low voice.
The reminder is a stab to the chest. The king is dead, and I am alive. For some reason, that feels backwards. Mostly because now I suspect the man who should have been protecting him was protecting me.
Uneasiness ripples through me in waves of fire and ice until I’m covered in a cold sweat.
Every guard was watching me. Everyone was focused on me. An innocent man is dead, and it’s my fault.
My knees buckle, and I brace a hand on the wall, pretty sure I’m about to vomit.
“No time for that now.” Bishop grabs my sleeve and pulls me back to standing. “I’d summon some of that self-righteous recklessness if I were you.”
“Self-righteous?” I consider shoving him down the stairs. Since I’ll probably be blamed for the king’s murder, what’s one more?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He rolls his eyes up like he’s imploring the heavens themselves for patience. “I don’t know if you’re courageous or incredibly reckless, but whatever it is that keeps getting you into trouble, you’re going to need a lot of it.”
The pit in my stomach grows. “Where are you taking me?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks.
I swallow before nodding. “Tonight hasn’t been full of good surprises.”
He finally smiles, but it’s gone in an instant. “The queen wants to see you. She’s called for a meeting of the patrons.”
The woman sitting a few seats from King Ophelian at dinner isn’t just his sister anymore. Now that she’s queen, my fate is likely in her hands. But the patrons are what worries me.
Because that means that Broderic will be there.
I really need to vomit.
“What are they going to do to me?” I ask, my voice ragged.
Bishop hasn’t lied to me yet. He won’t pull punches. No, whatever gruesome fate awaits me, he will lay it out in simple, factual terms like a healer setting out his instruments.
He takes a deep breath before he answers, “That will largely depend on you.”
Somehow—and it amazes even me—that’s the worst news of the night.
“I thought you told me to be reckless,” I grumble. “How is that going to help me?”
“No.” His voice drops as we approach a corridor swarming with nobles. Half of them are drunk, and the other half are in their nightclothes. “I told you to be brave.”
“It’s not quite the same thing, don’t you think?”
He snorts. “Trust me, there’s not much of a difference.”
A noble at the end of the hall catches sight of us and elbows his companion. Panic cinches my chest like a vise as we continue toward the gawking men.
“What do I have to do?” I ask.
“Convince them you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Half of them think I’m a witch,” I remind him. Seven hells, even Bishop accused me. I tear my attention from the men and turn it on him. “They’re not going to believe anything I say.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “You won’t have to convince all of them.”
Does that mean he’s on my side? I’m about to ask him when someone touches my shoulder from behind. A shriek jumps to my lips before I realize it’s Broderic.
“Are you okay?” My brother’s arms wrap around me before I fully process that he’s here.
I dissolve against him. “Yes.”
Not even a little.
Broderic pulls back just enough to study my face. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he promises, and warmth floods through me. “We’ll be back in Damalis before you know it.”
I find myself nodding. Broderic steps away, his arms falling to his sides, and I resist the urge to rush at him like I’m ten again. Like he’ll catch me, lift me, make me fly. Like he’ll always keep me safe.
“I’ll see you inside.” He nods quickly to Bishop, some silent understanding passing between them, before continuing down the hallway.
This is what Bishop meant. I have at least one ally in there. If Broderic can sway only a few of the other patrons to his side … Hope flutters in my chest, its fragile wings tickling my rib cage.
My brother won’t let anything happen to me. That fact is enough to help me face this.
Bishop escorts me the rest of the way, and for one horrifying moment, I think we’re walking toward the throne room.
We bypass it, turning into another large room across the hall instead.
Broderic’s already taken a seat at the round table along with the rest of the patrons.
He glances at the others, all of whom are decades older.
My stomach sinks again. Icaros is the least influential order.
If my father were here, we might have stood a chance.
If we had money, we could buy some clout. But we have nothing to bargain with.
Bishop points me toward an empty chair next to my brother before settling into the one closest to the door.
An old man leans toward him, his face and hands creased with age. “I trust the palace is secure.”
Bishop doesn’t bother to look at him as he answers, “I have it under control, Patron Velesont.”
“Do you, heirless one? I wonder if you should be here after—” He shuts up when Bishop finally glares at him.
I have the same question. I’m not sure having Bishop here works in my favor. Although he’s had ample opportunities to kill me in the last twenty-four hours, so maybe he’ll take my side.
Before anyone else can question Bishop’s methods, a retinue of guards marches into the room. They part to reveal the newly minted queen.
She looks smaller than she did at dinner, as if the weight of everything that’s transpired is already starting to chip away at her.
The chamber’s dim light catches on the deep brown tone of her skin, and her coiled curls are pulled tightly back.
A few have come loose, feathering her temples, but there’s nothing but grim determination on her face.
The man accompanying her has a nose nearly as long as his pallid face, with brown hair shorn closely as if he can’t be bothered with it.
A few lines crease the corners of his eyes, but otherwise, he seems too young to be accompanying the queen.
The sash draped across his shoulders is embroidered with stars, his robe marking him as a vesper.
Most of the patrons gasp, bowing their heads like somehow he’s more important than the queen.
I shoot a puzzled look at Broderic, but he’s too busy gawking.
Velesont’s patron rises to his feet and bows deeply. “It’s a privilege, High Vesper.”
He’s not what I expected. Then again, nothing in Wintour has been what I expected.
“What’s going on?” I nudge Broderic beneath the table.
My brother leans closer and whispers under his breath, “The high vesper only leaves the Royal Astrolatory if the Stars demand it. He must have noted a sign.”
I guess the king getting his heart carved out would qualify under that heading.
He can’t be here because of me.
The high vesper gives us a gentle smile before placing one hand on the queen’s shoulder. “I’m only here to support Selestina during this difficult time.”
Her throat slides, but she maintains her poise. The high vesper guides her to the large armchair positioned on the other side of the table, lingering behind her once she’s seated.
“Thank you for coming.” Squaring her shoulders, she glances at each of us in turn. She pauses when she gets to me, and I drop my head dutifully.
Better to save the recklessness for later.
“Has the culprit been caught?” a man with salt-and-pepper hair but smooth, light-brown skin demands like he’s speaking to a child. A silver chalice glimmers on the back of his hand. Order Calix. Naturally. Control enough things people depend on, and you think you control them, too.
Queen Selestina shakes her head. “The grounds have been swept. There are guards at every entrance. It’s unclear how the assassin escaped or how they got in at all.”