NINETEEN
Kieren doesn’t move at the sound of his name, just stares Bishop down from the middle of the muddy courtyard.
It takes a second for the rest of the pack to realize he’s the one being called out.
The others shuffle aside, their faces a mix of confusion, envy, and the kind of wary respect reserved for people who might lift themselves past the dregs.
Bishop speaks again, but I’m already moving. I cut straight through the line, boots squelching in the muck, tunnel vision blurring out everything except the idiot in the conscript uniform.
There’s an ugly bruise on Kieren’s cheek that wasn’t there when we said goodbye. But his eyes—the same warm brown as always—find me, and the entire world shrinks to the space between us.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the side. “Did my brother …?” I can’t even finish the sentence. If Broderic forced him out—made him sign up—then my brother should be glad it’s not safe for me to leave Vennaro.
He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he looks … relieved. Like the hard part was getting here, and now he can finally breathe. “Arden.” He shakes his head. “No one forced me. It’s a long story, but I chose to come here.”
Bullshit. Unless … he came because of me. My stomach pitches as it hits me.
“You’re here because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.” I want to shake him until his teeth rattle. “You’re supposed to be in Damalis, taking care of Andry and Isidore. What the void are you thinking?”
One of us should be there.
“There wasn’t much for me to do back home. Not after … everything.”
“Not after what?” I demand. I want to punch something. Preferably Broderic, for letting him leave. Although maybe Kieren could do with having some sense knocked into him.
His mouth twists, like he’s chewing the words before spitting them out. “Your brother said things were handled once the troops arrived. No need for a guard when you have a personal army, right? I figured I could do more good here.”
“Here?” I repeat. “You don’t belong in Order Marius.”
“I don’t belong anywhere,” he says bitterly.
The ache in my chest deepens because I know exactly how he feels. I want to say something—anything—that will fix this. That will make him see it isn’t true. “Neither do I.”
“That’s why I’m here. I can’t just let you face this alone.”
Part of me wants to send him away. Tell Bishop to cross his name off the list. Order Kieren to go make a real life somewhere.
Because he’s not one of the Bellatorum’s orphans.
He signed up as an adult. He’ll be expected to fight, and if Bishop is wrong, if we can’t stop war from coming, if the other orders get their way and vote to invade the Lost Continent …
There are a dozen reasons that this is the worst decision of his life.
But I know why he made it, so I pull him into a hug so tight I might crack a rib.
He grunts in surprise but doesn’t fight it. Instead, his arms circle me, warm and solid, and for a second, I’m home again. We stand like that, the rain slowly soaking us through, our audience forgotten.
When I finally let go, my hands are shaking. “You’re a fool, but you’re my favorite foolish, foolish man.”
He grins, and the sight is so familiar it nearly guts me. “I missed you, too.”
Behind us, Bishop clears his throat. A gruff reminder that we’re not alone. I round on him, still gripping Kieren’s sleeve like he might slip away. “Did you know about this?”
Bishop’s face is stony. “Not until I saw his name on the roster.”
The men exchange wary looks, appraising each other in this new setting.
Bishop is half a foot taller, and in his fitted officer’s uniform he looks like he could chew Kieren up and spit him out.
But my best friend doesn’t back down. It’s a good, old-fashioned pissing contest, and neither wants to lose.
“Well,” I say, refusing to let either off the hook, “Kieren’s coming to dinner tonight.”
Bishop blinks, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “He has orientation.”
“Obviously, he’ll come after he’s done.”
He pauses, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s looking for a way out. “Lenora isn’t expecting guests.”
“She’ll be thrilled,” I counter. “Kieren has better table manners than your friends. He’s coming to dinner.”
Kieren looks between us like he’s just realized that what he signed up for by agreeing might be worse than actual warfare. “That’s not necessary—”
“It is,” I cut him off. “You’re not getting out of this just because Bishop is allergic to company.”
I’m still deciding how to make this all work when boots splash behind us, and Taliesin appears, eyes lit up like he’s won a bet. “Is this private drama, or can anyone watch?”
“We’re just discussing dinner plans,” Bishop says tersely. “Tell Vessica that we’re having dinner with an old friend of Lady Arden’s.” He glances at me. “If that’s okay with you.”
Bishop needs reinforcements? Fine. “The more the merrier.”
“An old friend, huh?” He claps Kieren on the shoulder, sizing him up like he’s a fresh slab at the meat market. “You look like you might survive dinner with us. I give you even odds.”
“I’ll take those odds,” Kieren deadpans, and Taliesin cackles.
Bishop looks ready to murder them both. “Orientation,” he calls out, earning the attention of every new recruit in the courtyard. “Line up and follow Sir Procrax.” He tips his head at Kieren. “We’ll see you this evening.”
He sounds absolutely thrilled about it.
Kieren gives my hand a squeeze. “We can catch up tonight,” he promises. “Don’t worry.”
There’s little to no chance of that, but I nod anyway.
The other conscripts file into line, shoulders squared despite being half soaked through.
Kieren takes his place at the rear, ignoring the curious looks most of the others give him.
Watching him fall in with them feels wrong, like I’m letting go of something I won’t get back.
Taliesin leads them toward the barracks, already shouting information.
Bishop doesn’t say anything. He just starts walking, expecting me to follow him.
I do—but this time, my steps are light. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel adrift, don’t feel as though I’m slowly drowning. Kieren is here, and while I don’t approve of the circumstances, that’s all that matters.
We walk back to Miradores in silence. Bishop doesn’t try to fill it, which feels like a mercy. At first. But by the time we reach the gates, I’m painfully aware that he still isn’t talking.
He waits until the back door closes behind us to finally speak.
“This wasn’t in his letter?” Bishop asks. The question sounds bitter after the quiet that preceded it.
“You read it,” I remind him. And he threw it into the ocean. Not that it matters now. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
“But you’re happier about it.”
So, that’s how he’s measuring the situation.
He drags his tongue over his lower lip, and something deep inside me clenches. “I can’t give him preferential treatment.”
I pull my gaze up to his again. “Why not? You let the orphans decide—”
“He’s not a child. He’s a grown man. He signed up for a reason.” He pauses and gives me an expectant look.
“Things were tense back home,” I say, but he lifts a brow. “What? I didn’t sign him up.”
Bishop closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. “Sure.”
“What are you implying?”
“Look, clearly you’re in love—”
“What?” It bursts out of me, more laughter than question.
“And you’re planning to run away together,” he continues, ignoring me. “You should know that if he deserts, it’s considered treason.”
Ice filters into my veins. Treason is punishable by death.
It’s the only crime nearly as serious as practicing forbidden magic.
“First, there is no plan. Second, he’s my best friend.
Nothing more. I’m not going to let him do anything that could get him killed.
” I poke him in the chest. “And you are going to make sure he’s safe. ”
“Nothing more?” he repeats, like this is somehow his sticking point.
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Maybe. Most women might be moved by such a selfless gesture.”
“You know me,” I say. “I’m just wandering around hoping anyone with a penis will sweep me off my feet.”
He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates.
“Anything else?” I snap, tired of defending myself.
His nostrils flare slightly. “I’ll make sure Lenora knows he’s coming for dinner.”
“Thank you,” I force through gritted teeth.
Bishop nods like this settles the matter, but as he disappears into the house, the word treason echoes uncomfortably in my head.
Isidore kept all my gowns, so I’m forced to resort to one Lenora dug up.
It’s at least a size too small, and I’ve never thought of blue as my color, but tonight feels momentous enough to make an effort.
Especially since Lenora has been scrambling around the house all afternoon to prepare for Kieren’s arrival.
Pausing at the mirror, I rake a comb through my windswept hair before dusting a little bit of color onto my cheeks and lips.
The effect can best be described as presentable, if nothing else.
If things go well, this might be the first of many dinners.
If they go poorly, I might as well be dressed up for our final supper together.
A quick glance at the clock on the mantel informs me I’m already five minutes late, so I leave it at that. I gulp down a steadying breath, say a silent prayer to the Stars that we avoid bloodshed, and head toward the main floor.
I make it to the stairs only to find Bishop waiting at the foot of them, his back to me.
He turns at the sound of my approach, his eyes lifting slowly like he’s still caught in his thoughts.
But when he sees me, he stiffens. His nostrils flare slightly, and a muscle works in his jaw like he’s biting back commentary on my tardiness.
I smooth a hand over the tight waist of my borrowed dress. Clearly, it was made for someone with less appreciation for bread than me. He tracks the movement, his mouth flattening into a grim line.