NINETEEN #2
“Should I change?” I ask, grabbing the railing like I might need to haul myself back in the opposite direction.
He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “No.” It comes out so softly that he coughs before he adds, “I didn’t expect you to … dress up.”
Something in his voice summons heat to my cheeks, but I shrug.
It’s a good thing that I did, because he’s out of uniform.
He’s traded it in for something simpler that, for once, doesn’t include a sword.
The jacket he wears is dark and fitted, buttoned high at his throat.
It molds to his body, showcasing his muscular form like a subtle reminder that he doesn’t need to carry a weapon to be deadly.
He looks less like a bishop tonight and more like the man the title was built around.
His gloves are nowhere to be seen. The strange markings on his hands lie exposed and unapologetic—and the realization that he’s stopped hiding them from me sends a dangerous flutter through my chest.
It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself firmly, and cling to the thought like a rule I can’t afford to break.
Bishop meets me at the base of the stairs and offers his arm. When I don’t take it, something tight flickers across his face before he turns away. What did he expect after last night?
“Follow me.” He strides forward without waiting.
He leads me past the great room and into the formal dining room instead. The long table is set with polished silver and starched linen, candles guttering in wall sconces that haven’t seen this much use in years.
Kieren is already there, flanked by Taliesin and Vessica, and whatever mood Bishop was in darkens more the moment he sees them.
“Thank you for having me,” Kieren says to us. He’s washed the mud off his boots and slicked his hair back, but he looks nervous to be in the presence of his commanding officer.
Bishop glowers back, and I shoot him a look. Sighing, he offers a grim, “You’re welcome.” Then he frowns. “Why are you all standing around? Are the chairs broken?”
Taliesin and Vessica exchange glances as they take their seats on the opposite side of the table.
I move for my chair at the same moment, but Kieren beats me to it. Bishop steps in from the other side, already reaching for the back of it, and the two knock hands.
“It’s fine,” Kieren says quickly, pulling it out himself. “I’ve got her.”
Bishop straightens, jaw flexing, and takes his place at the head of the table without another word. The air is already so thick with tension that I half expect the chandelier to snap from the additional weight and crush us all.
Lenora sweeps in with the main course, beaming like she’s hosting a royal feast instead of a standoff. Roasted rack of lamb and a sauce with a fragrance rich enough to make my stomach tense. Or maybe that’s just the atmosphere.
“I’ll be right back with the rest,” she announces as she places it on the table.
“Do you need help?” I ask her, already wanting an excuse to escape for a minute.
“I’m quite capable of serving dinner,” she scolds me. “Just enjoy your guest.”
She vanishes back into the kitchen, and Kieren reaches for the platter first. He hesitates before serving himself a modest portion.
Bishop waits until he’s finished before reaching for the dish. He selects a piece nearly twice the size and sets it on his plate, his eyes never leaving my best friend, who’s too busy cutting into his meal to notice.
But Taliesin catches on. He snorts, clearly delighted by the game, and helps himself to an even larger cut than either of them.
I curse under my breath.
“Save some for the rest of us,” Vessica mutters.
“Can someone pass me the wine?” I ask quickly, desperate to smooth the moment.
Bishop picks up the red.
“She prefers white,” Kieren says easily and picks up the other.
Bishop pours himself a drink instead, setting the bottle down with a heavy thump. “She drank red last night.”
Silence ripples around the table. Vessica stares at her plate like she regrets accepting Bishop’s dinner invitation, but Taliesin seems on the verge of applauding.
“Either is fine,” I cut in, leaning to grab the bottle from my best friend.
As long as there’s plenty of it.
Lenora arrives with bowls of vegetables and a basket of bread just as I’m sure things are about to come to blows.
I load up my plate, determined to act like this is fine. Like this is normal or that it will be someday—if we all survive this first dinner.
The table goes quiet as we start to eat, but the silence feels strained, like everyone is waiting for someone else to make the first mistake.
Taliesin breaks first, obviously incapable of keeping his mouth shut. He raises a glass in mock salute. “To new friends,” he says, “and the Stars that brought us together.”
Vessica rolls her eyes. Bishop sighs. None of us raise a glass.
Taliesin takes a drink anyway, undeterred from his fuckery. “So, Kieren, what did you do before this? Raise chickens with Arden?”
Kieren chews a bite of meat and swallows slowly. “There’s lots to do on a farm.”
“Kieren grew up with us,” I jump in. “When my brother became patron, Kieren accompanied him as his personal guard.”
Taliesin smiles the way people do when they’ve already decided they like someone—or intend to test them until they don’t. “You ever kill anyone?”
I nearly choke on my wine. “Taliesin—”
“What?” He spreads his hands like this is completely normal dinner conversation. For him, it probably is. “You said he was a guard. It’s a fair question.”
But Kieren shakes his head. “I wasn’t really a guard. No one quite knew what to call me after Arden’s father died. I guess ‘guard’ sounded better than calling me their obligation.”
The word sticks. Obligation. I’d never thought of him that way, but somehow, I’d missed that he did. Bishop’s assessing gaze flicks to me before he looks back to his plate.
We make it through dessert by sheer force of will, conversation skirting safely to weather and rations and away from anything that might draw blood.
“I’ll walk you out,” I tell Kieren when we’ve finished, pushing back from the table before anyone can object.
He stands immediately, relief flickering across his face.
Bishop rises as well, but he doesn’t look at either of us. “Training starts at dawn,” he says to Kieren. “Don’t be late.”
I usher Kieren into the hall before Bishop can offer more thinly disguised threats. We cut through the kitchen, where Lenora is already scrubbing a pan.
“Thank you for dinner,” Kieren says earnestly.
She looks up in surprise and smiles broadly. “It’s nice to have a gentleman in the house again.”
Kieren flushes, mumbling something polite before I steer him onward.
She waves her wet rag at me. “He can come back anytime.”
I force a smile and shove him out the back door.
It swings shut with a click that sounds way too final. The only light comes from the windows behind us, gold spilling across the weeds and broken stones, as the stars burn cold and watchful overhead.
Neither of us speaks. The reality is that so much has happened. Now there’s too much to say and no easy way to start the conversation.
When we reach the garden, Kieren turns and slowly surveys the place. “It’s not what I expected.” He kicks a dislodged paver into place and stamps it into the mud with his boot. “Lord Marius could use a gardener.”
“Bishop let the place go when his parents died.” I’m not certain why I’m making excuses for our host, especially after how he behaved at dinner.
But Kieren nods in understanding. “I guess we let plenty go when your dad died, too.”
We pause by the crumbling fountain, which is full of rainwater, dead leaves, and Stars know what else.
Something rustles in a tree above us, and then the night settles.
I tap the stone, watching the moss flake off.
“Maybe we can bring it back to life. There’s still plenty of time to plant before winter comes. ”
Kieren scrubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’m welcome here, even as a gardener.”
So, he picked up on that. But I refuse to let one uncomfortable evening ruin everything. “You’re welcome as long as I’m here. Don’t let Bishop scare you away.”
“Arden, I’m not like you. I don’t have a birthright. No magic. Not even a family name. I don’t belong in a place like this.” His words land like punches, one after the other.
“I don’t belong here, either,” I say, admitting the truth about my own magic for the first time aloud, but he looks unconvinced. I try to shake it off, determined to salvage what I can of the night before he returns to the Bellatorum.
“You really joined up just to see me?”
“I’d follow you anywhere,” he says, winking.
“But you’ll send me a crappy letter that makes me cry.” I smack his shoulder.
Kieren drops his head. “I’m sorry. I’d already decided I was coming when we got your letters. I was so angry when Broderic burned his that I couldn’t see straight to write you.”
Knowing that makes the letter hurt for all new reasons. Someday, my brother will forgive me. I just need to give it time. “Was he surprised when you told him?”
“No,” he says firmly. “But he didn’t seem upset that I was leaving. Andry, on the other hand, says he won’t speak to me again until he’s old enough to come here, too.”
That sounds like my little brother.
I hesitate, but only for a second. “And Isidore? She didn’t try to stop you.”
“No.” His smile makes my heart ache. “I think she was glad to see me go.”
“I don’t believe that.” I won’t. “Did you tell her how you feel?”
“There was no point. She could barely look at me after that night.”
“But if you told her …” I have to believe it might make a difference, if only because I can’t stand the idea of anyone breaking his heart.
“You’re such a hopeless romantic,” he says, laughing when I splutter in protest.
I want to argue, but the words dry up. Instead, I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” He squeezes back. “And that’s why I’m not letting you rot in this place.”
I pull away and frown. “What are you talking about?”