FIFTEEN
Idon’t want to die.
Somehow, I doubt that will qualify as a strong enough reason for Taliesin.
“Can’t think of anything?” His breath is hot against my skin. The metal blade is cold.
A shadow circles overhead, drawing my eyes to the stormy sky. Maybe I released my own death into the world. Maybe that’s why I keep seeing omens.
And I am so fucking over it.
A raindrop hits my forehead with a splat, and something snaps inside me. “You want a reason?”
“I believe that’s been established,” he taunts me.
“Fine. You don’t have to kill me.” The words tumble out as the rain picks up.
The sounds of sparring continue in the distance.
If the conscripts won’t stop for rain, I doubt they’ll notice what’s happening to me.
“Maybe you’ve spent so much time taking orders from wealthy assholes, you’ve forgotten that.
But it’s up to you. Not them. Not me. You.
Maybe you want to kill me. Maybe you don’t.
But you sure as fuck don’t have to do it.
So, give me one good reason why you should kill me. ”
I wait, ready this time for pain or pity or whatever unpleasant thing happens next.
Instead, the sword vanishes. Taliesin backs away, but I don’t budge.
It’s a trick. I know it. He’ll wait for me to move and then finish the job.
Call it an accident. Self-defense. I don’t know how he’ll explain how I wound up with a sword in my back, but he’s charismatic enough to get away with it.
“Not bad,” he mutters.
Metal on metal clashes behind me like a clap of distant thunder, but all I hear is what he doesn’t say: Not bad … but not enough.
When he doesn’t strike, I turn to face him—and find Bishop standing behind him, his sword at Taliesin’s throat.
I choke back a gasp as silence falls over the proving grounds.
Bishop’s presence is enough to command the attention of every soul present.
Even the sparring match behind us grinds to a halt.
“Why don’t you give me a reason, Sir Procrax?” Bishop glides the blade across Taliesin’s skin, drawing a thin line of blood like his knight is the one here with something to prove.
“If you kill your only friend, who will put up with your shit?” Taliesin’s voice is a little too breezy for someone one spasm away from being headless, but he lowers his own weapon slowly before letting it fall to the broken stones beneath him.
Bishop doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps between us, his weapon still aimed at Taliesin. For a moment, they just stare at each other.
“Bishop.” Taliesin raises his palms, but he doesn’t offer any more reasons. No explanation. Just those empty hands and a single, pointed look.
“Her reason was better.” Bishop takes a deep breath and sheathes his sword. “This isn’t a game. You should be more careful when someone suggests playing like it is.”
His eyes are glued to Taliesin, so it takes me a second to realize he’s speaking to me.
I swallow. “I wanted to know what he would do.”
“What did I say about trouble?” He glances at me. “You can’t avoid it for one afternoon?”
I scowl. “He’s the one who gave me a sword.”
Taliesin’s eyes flick briefly to me, like he wants to say something. Maybe sorry. Or something thoroughly arrogant like better luck next time. But he only grins.
Bishop takes a step closer to me, and I realize every soul on the proving grounds is still watching us.
His expression could be carved from marble. “Enough for today,” he says over his shoulder to the gawking crowd. “Anyone who didn’t finish their drills will start again at dawn. Hit the baths.”
A few groans ripple through the conscripts, but they scatter toward the bathhouse.
When he turns his attention back to me, somehow his expression is even colder. “What exactly are you doing here?”
“Me?” How am I the one in more trouble? I hitch a thumb toward Taliesin. “You left him to babysit. He was showing me around.”
“How friendly.” Bishop is back to glaring at him.
“Except for the trying-to-assassinate-me part.” A tremble rolls through my body, and I cross my arms to hide it.
“Assassinate is a strong word. I wanted to see what you’re made of.”
“Flesh and blood. Just like you.” I pin my gaze on the small line of blood on his neck.
Taliesin laughs and rubs his thumb along the cut. Blood smears across his skin, but he doesn’t even wince.
Bishop isn’t amused. “Get cleaned up before you drip blood all over your uniform.”
“Yes, sir,” Taliesin says, bowing dramatically.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Bishop adds.
Taliesin straightens, brows drawing together as he searches Bishop’s face. Whatever he finds there sends him hurrying to join the others.
Bishop turns and fixes his attention on me. “You’re bleeding.” His words are clipped. Nothing more than a statement of fact. But there’s a flicker of concern running through them like a hairline fissure in a sheet of ice.
“It’s nothing.” The cut on my arm starts to throb as soon as I say it, and I cover the wound with my hand.
He isn’t fooled. “Let me see.”
When I hesitate, he stalks forward and holds out a hand.
“Let me see,” he repeats.
I surrender my arm for inspection, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
There’s definitely a lecture in my future.
Probably some warning about finding myself on the wrong end of a sword—as if that had been my idea.
Or maybe he’ll fire Taliesin from his chaperone duties and leave me to my own devices. That’s likely wishful thinking.
But Bishop cradles my arm with a gentleness that surprises me, his hands warm even through his leather gloves. He’s quiet as he peels back my blood-soaked sleeve, but his gaze darkens like the storm clouds over us as he examines the cut.
Reaching for his cloak, he pauses just long enough to meet my eyes. “It’s clean,” he murmurs before dabbing the blood with the thick fabric. His fingers brush over my skin, and a shiver races up my spine, settling with a tingle at the base of my neck.
“Am I going to live?” My dry tone sounds heavy to my own ears.
“Not if you keep trusting strangers with swords.” He frowns as the wound continues to bleed.
“Says the stranger with a sword who keeps rescuing me.” I pull my arm away from him. It still stings, but I slide my sleeve back down, trying to ignore how his gaze lingers longer than necessary.
“You’re welcome,” Bishop says.
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“I’m sure you meant to.” He nods at my arm. “We can bandage that inside.”
By we, I hope he means me. It’s bad enough that he had to step in. Again. But being vulnerable in front of a man like him … I can’t afford for Bishop to know more of my weaknesses.
“He wouldn’t hurt you,” Bishop says quietly as we turn to leave.
The cut on my arm says otherwise, but I shrug. Taliesin wanted to learn something about me, but I learned something about him in the process. Despite his flirtations and eagerness to fight, he thinks before he acts. He could have killed me. He really wanted me to give him a reason to stop him.
“If he tries something like that again, tell him no.”
I snort. “He doesn’t seem like the type who listens.”
Actually, something tells me that Taliesin makes up his own mind. It’s an unusual trait for a knight. I doubt it means he’s good at taking orders.
Bishop sighs like he knows this, too. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”
I follow beside him in silence.
“We have six pools. You’re welcome to use them,” Bishop says as we reach the side of the building and he opens the door.
Steam hits us as we step inside. My shoulders relax involuntarily, my body anticipating the heat. Not that I’m about to get naked in front of a bunch of strangers.
“Velesont must love you.” Transporting all that water must cost a fortune.
Bishop shakes his head. “Hot springs run under the mountains. We pipe them through.”
“Not magic?” I ask, surprised.
“Just good old-fashioned engineering. Something we can always rely on. But the water is full of healing minerals from the mountains.” He tips his head toward the door. “You can use them now. You fought today.”
“I’d hardly call it a fight.” But that’s not what’s stopping me. I glance down. The last thing I need is people ogling the mark burned across my chest.
“They’ve seen worse,” he murmurs.
I doubt it.
“Maybe another time.” Like when all seven hells freeze over.
“I’ll get you something for that.” He gestures to my wounded arm.
Bishop lets himself into a small infirmary, not bothering to turn on the light as he rifles around in a cabinet. Meanwhile, I do my best to politely ignore the conscripts stripping off their training uniforms only a few feet away in the changing area.
It takes him a while, but finally he holds up a bandage and a small tin stamped with the license of Order Leontia. “This will heal it in a day or two.”
“I can do that.” I take both from him and nod toward the steam shrouding the baths’ entrance at the far end of the space. One of us should enjoy them. “Why don’t you …”
He adjusts his gloves, not bothering to even look. “It’s better not to fraternize.”
Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to see his own markings—the ones I glimpsed while we were traveling—but if I didn’t know better, I’d think Bishop was shy.
Somehow, that seems impossible. But before I can test this theory, Taliesin strides by wearing nothing but a towel slung around his hips and the skin the Stars gave him.
There’s definitely not a shy bone in his body.
He winks as he passes us. “Care to join me?”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “You tried to kill me less than ten minutes ago.”
He only shrugs. “Light bloodshed is just foreplay.”
“Actually,” Bishop says, stopping him, “let’s talk now.”
“But—”
“Now,” Bishop cuts him off. He turns to me, hesitating for a moment. “Feel free to wait wherever you’re most comfortable.”
It feels rude to stand around in clothes, so I force a grim smile. “I’ll be outside.”