SEVENTEEN #2
But there are unmistakable signs of life in the forbidden wing: scattered books on a table near the sofa, a pair of boots left next to a tufted stool, holes worn into the threadbare rug.
The low ceiling with its thick, exposed beams is angled to the steep pitch of the roof, but the sitting room doesn’t feel claustrophobic. It feels like shelter—like coming home.
“What’s down there?” I point to the corridor that extends to one side. It’s lined with more closed doors.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try them yourself?” he asks, scooping a few papers off a nearby table and dumping them in a stack on another. “Maybe you’ll get in this time.”
My mouth falls open. “How did you …”
“The lock is coded to tell me if someone tries to enter.”
Of course it is. Because this place is secure enough to be a prison. “You could have mentioned that.” Then it hits me. “You were testing me.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs.
“And I failed,” I say flatly.
“No surprise.” But he nods to the other rooms. “This was my family’s wing. I never bothered to move out.”
I don’t know what I expected to find. I trail my index finger over the cover of a book, outlining its title. I slowly trace the languid dips and swirls of an S and then a C as my mind races with the fact that we’re alone in the forbidden part of his house.
Being alone with him here feels different. Maybe that’s why I’m suddenly too aware of him. Aware of the broad span of his shoulders in the low light. Of the way he seems to fill the space—fill my thoughts.
“I’m a little disappointed,” I admit, trying to ignore that dangerous realization. “Tell me there’s a dungeon hiding down the hall.”
“My study, bedroom. The rest were …” Bishop picks up the book and adds it to an already teetering pile.
I lift a brow. Somebody hates people touching his belongings.
“I stopped making Lenora clean in here. She has enough to do,” he explains, already moving on. “I want to show you something.”
He crosses to the glass doors and pushes them open to reveal a large stone terrace.
Ocean air snaps at my clothes as I follow him out.
Thanks to my blood alcohol content, I barely notice.
The balcony juts out over a cliff, its railing slick with moss and sea spray.
Bishop grips it, staring at the wild, black water.
“This is where I come when I want to be alone,” he says, voice almost lost to the roar of the water below.
I shiver as I step to his side. “Do you bring all your guests here?”
He laughs, but there’s a bitter edge to it. “You’re the first.”
The sky is clear overhead, the rain having finally stopped, and thousands of stars glitter in the darkness, save for in the void of the Night’s Scar.
A thick mist drifts up from the sea and rolls across the balcony.
Bishop shrugs off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders.
I want to give it back and insist I don’t need anything from him, but it’s warm, and I’ve drunk too much to pretend.
Like it or not, I’m alive at the whim of Bishop Marius. But right now? I don’t hate it.
We stand like this for a long time, watching the sea batter the rocks below. My own thoughts churn just as violently, my wine-soaked brain compiling question after question that I shouldn’t ask him.
When he finally takes the bottle from me, he frowns. “You finished it.” He holds it upside down like there might be a few drops left.
“Hazard of drinking with company,” I point out. “The wine goes faster.”
He snorts. “It does. Hang on.”
He disappears inside. When he returns, he’s holding another bottle.
“I thought you didn’t drink alone,” I say as he passes it to me.
“I’m better at giving advice than following it.”
“And not used to having company,” I guess.
“Taliesin and Vessica—”
“Don’t count,” I stop him.
“They’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
I wave it off. “You can’t count people paid to follow your orders.”
“I suppose it’s good that you’re here, then. You wouldn’t follow my orders if I did pay you.” He sighs, but I could swear he wants to smile. “But that’s why I brought you here, where I never feel alone.”
“Because it was your family’s wing?” I ask him.
“My father was always gone, even when he was here,” he confesses. “My mother loved the sea. This wing used to be reserved for guests, but she wanted to wake up to the ocean.”
“And your father wasn’t around to stop her from claiming the western wing,” I guess.
“He loved her too much to say no.” He pauses, looking out into the endless abyss of night and ocean in front of us. “I thought he did it to make her happy, since he was always away on business and never home with us. I used to resent him for it.”
“What changed?” I ask.
“I became patron.” He sounds sad about it. “Now I understand.”
“Tell me about it. I thought my parents made us do everything at home, but once they were both gone …” I shake my head. “It’s a lot of responsibility.”
He glances over at me. “Do you miss it, though?”
“All the work?” My laugh is laced with bitterness. “No. But my family? The land?” Knowing where I belong? Having a place in the world? I swallow and nod. “I do. But mostly I feel like an asshole for leaving Broderic to handle everything by himself.”
“He’ll figure things out.” He picks up the bottle and takes a swig. “We all do.”
“That’s good news, because I don’t have anything figured out. If you do, feel free to share,” I say dryly.
“I work out most of my confusion on the proving grounds,” he says, and I instantly regret seeking advice. “It might help you, too. Unless you’d rather avoid the Bellatorum after what happened in Wolf’s Keep.”
“I’ll go back to the Bellatorum. I made a promise.” I can’t let fear lock me in this house forever, though I’m not about to join his army, either. “But you have enough conscripts to train, especially with all this talk of war coming and invading the Lost Continent.”
“There won’t be an invasion.” His voice is so quiet that I’m certain I’ve misheard him.
“Are you sure about that?” I tap my chest. “Everyone else seems to think—”
“No one thinks,” he cuts me off, his lip curling slightly. “That’s the problem. One supposed omen, and everyone loses their heads.”
“Agreed.” I lift the bottle.
“And I will not invade.” The quiet determination in his voice makes me believe him.
Unfortunately, all the wine inside me has questions. “What if you’re ordered to?”
“Duty only matters if you still have a choice,” he says. “Once that’s gone, it’s just obedience.”
“Is that why you don’t force the children to join the army?”
“People trying to survive don’t have choices. They obey. They endure. They become whatever keeps them breathing.” He looks out at the sea. “The innocent deserve more than that. They deserve the right to decide who they become.”
I pluck a patch of moss off the railing, noticing how several of the balusters are starting to crumble. “I’m not sure the crown agrees.”
“The crown doesn’t know.”
Maybe the wine is loosening his tongue, too, so I ask the obvious question. “How? You must have to report numbers to them for funding and supplies.”
Turning, he surveys Miradores with narrowed eyes like he can see it clearly, even in the dark. Then he sighs and takes a drink from the bottle. “I’ve found ways to make up the difference.”
I glance at the house. I don’t need light to know what he sees: a few poorly patched windows, plaster in need of repair, spots where the wood framing is soft with rot.
A lump forms in my throat. “That’s why so many things need to be fixed,” I say softly.
“Why you don’t have a staff. Why the garden is dead. ”
He’s using his own money to take care of those children.
“I let the garden die when my family did.” But he nods and passes me the bottle like we’re sealing some pact. “The rest is my secret.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say, meaning it. Whatever doubts I have about Bishop, this I can respect.
“They’ll figure it out eventually.” He grimaces like the words taste sour. “Calix keeps sniffing around, asking to inspect our infrastructure. They suspect. Velesont and Leontia, too.”