TWENTY-TWO #2
“Scion means …” He shifts back on his heels like a little distance might help him think. “It’s what I am.”
He falls silent after his cryptic declaration. I wait, but he doesn’t continue.
“That’s it?” I hesitate. Count his breaths. But he doesn’t give me anything else. “That’s all you’re going to say?”
He considers again, rubbing his index finger over his lips like he’s drawing his answer out deliberately to fluster me. “Yes.”
I blink as this processes, then explode. “That’s all I get? You came back from the fucking dead, and your explanation is a single word?”
Such a control freak.
“Do you honestly believe I’m going to accept that?”
He snorts. “No.”
He’s about to die for the second time tonight.
“You aren’t going to answer my questions?” I ask through gritted teeth.
Must not kill him. It will give Lenora more laundry to do.
He pushes onto his feet. “Not tonight.”
“Of course not.” After all of this, after everything, he’s still keeping secrets.
But the others … they knew. Taliesin’s calmness, Vessica’s slip about talking to Bishop … I didn’t understand in the woods. Didn’t understand Lenora’s words. He’ll explain …
They all know, and I don’t even get a basic explanation.
You didn’t scream. Taliesin will be disappointed.
“Everyone else knows, don’t they?”
Bishop sets the jar of salve on my nightstand. “Yes.”
It’s not confirmation. It’s a slap in the face.
“Everyone?”
The muscles in his neck bulge like he’s biting back what he wants to say to this. “Everyone with access to this house.” He crosses his arms, and the thin material of his shirt strains against his muscles like even it is desperate to escape this conversation. “Taliesin. Vessica. Hadrian. Lenora.”
My grip tightens on the book, its primary function shifting from anchoring me to occupying my hands so I don’t strangle him. “But not me.”
He meets my gaze without flinching. There’s not an ounce of apology staring back at me.
“You don’t trust me.” It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact. And somehow, that makes it worse.
His eyes flash. “Like you trust me?”
He reaches into the pocket of his burned trousers and pulls out a crumpled sheet of parchment. My letter, its edges blackened by smoke.
He thrusts the letter toward me.
I don’t need to read it again. The words are burned into me.
Bishop,
Don’t come after us. Everyone in Antares
will be better off without me, especially you.
—A
P.S. Your secret is safe with me.
The ink is smeared where blood soaked through, warping the words until they mean something else entirely. Evidence of the choice I made. Of what it cost.
“And what secret is that?” he asks, eyes skirting to the book.
“Don’t you mean which? There are so many.” The children he doesn’t force into conscription. The reason his estate is falling apart. Being a scion. But I can’t bring myself to ask him if he killed the king. “Secret trips. Lying about your location.”
“I was in Wintour,” he cuts in. “I saw the queen.”
Maybe it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. And it’s not the only thing that he’s kept from me. “Care to explain the others?”
“We will talk about this in the morning,” he says through clenched teeth.
But I’ve gone too far to stop now.
“You hid things. You let me believe …” Angry tears clog my throat. I swallow them and keep going. “You let me believe you were helping me.”
“I am helping you,” he growls.
“No, you’re helping yourself.” A thick silence settles after the accusation leaves my mouth.
Bishop doesn’t move. That’s how I know I’m right. When he finally speaks, the words strain from him. “But there are things you don’t understand.”
Something edged hides in the words, like he’s still holding back. He glances at the door. I wait for him to try to help me do just that. He doesn’t.
“That’s not an explanation,” I say, voice shaking.
“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”
I throw the papers back at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
He stares me down as they flutter to his feet. “Fine. I’ll say it. I want you alive.”
I don’t know how to respond.
He kneels in front of me again, close enough that I can’t look anywhere else. “I want you safe.”
There’s something I can’t ignore in his words.
“And I want you to stop running before it costs you everything.” He grips my knees like he’ll hold me in place himself before he lets that happen.
“You asked why I didn’t tell you about Damalis.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I nod.
“You were pushing to come with me.”
I blink. “I wanted to help.”
“I didn’t want you there,” he says plainly.
His bluntness knocks the air from my lungs. “Why?”
He hesitates. “Because it was your home.”
Home.
The word hits harder than I expect.
Damalis flashes through my mind in unwanted fragments. The fields and the worn stone walls, Andry’s laughter echoing off the hills. Kieren chasing loose cattle with me. The certainty that no matter how little we had, there would always be a warm fire and my family.
Because it was your home.
Like that place doesn’t exist for me anymore.
Like I can never go back.