TWENTY-FIVE
My body is mending, even if my grief is not.
The thin skin where I was burned itches, but the throbbing has softened into something manageable.
And I decide I don’t give a fuck if that’s good enough for Bishop.
I’m healed.
I dig out one of the old uniforms Lenora brought me when I first arrived.
It’s tailored too fine for a conscript, its heavy fabric meant for colder months but too worn to belong to anyone alive.
It smells faintly of cedar, as if it’s been shoved in a trunk no one’s opened for years. But it fits me better than it should.
I’d consider it a sign if I still thought the Stars were looking out for me.
I tie my hair back so tightly it makes my scalp sting and stare at the stranger in the mirror. Her eyes are too hollow. Her mouth too tight. But she’s standing.
That has to count for something.
The house is eerily quiet in that way it gets when the day’s yet to begin. But the smell of baking bread threads through the halls, pulling me forward.
Of course the kitchen is already awake.
And it’s not empty. Watery light creeps through the windows, turning the edges of the room pale gold.
Lenora stands at the counter, forearms dusted with flour, coaxing dough into shape.
Bishop leans against the table with a cup of coffee.
He’s in uniform, coat buttoned high on his neck like he paused on the way out.
Meanwhile, Taliesin’s feet are propped on the table, and he looks almost ready to doze off.
All three of them turn when I breach the doorway. I don’t remember the last time I shared a meal with them. I haven’t even spoken to anyone not passing through the garden or the library.
For a heartbeat, we’re all silent, as if none of us can remember what to say to each other.
“You’re up,” Lenora says carefully. Probably afraid I’ll bolt if she startles me.
“I’m up.” It feels like admitting I belong among the living again.
Lenora wipes her hands on her apron and reaches automatically for a plate. “Sit. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Setting the kitchen on fire might have less effect.
One of Taliesin’s boots drops off the table with a thump like I’ve woken him. Lenora pauses to glance at Bishop, whose eyes narrow slightly, the coffee halfway to his mouth.
Lenora puts the plate back down with a sigh before pinning a cheerful smile on her face. “I suppose you’re heading into the garden early.”
Here we go.
“Not today.”
“Then why are you up?” Bishop asks with his usual restraint. Although the edge beneath the question suggests he dislikes the answer already.
“I need coffee,” I say, striding over to pour a cup. The heat from the ovens washes over my face, but it doesn’t reach the place inside me that’s frozen solid.
“Me too,” Taliesin mumbles, stretching his hands like a beggar.
I pass him mine and get another. If they’re worried about my appetite, I’m sure they’ll have an opinion on what I’ve really come down to do. Of course, there’s a barrier to my plan … and that barrier is still glowering at me.
Clutching the mug, I take a deep breath. Now or never.
“I’m going to the Bellatorum,” I announce, “to enlist.”
Taliesin chokes on his coffee so violently that he coughs it back into his cup. “Stars, Arden …” He sputters, rubbing his chest. “Warn a guy.”
“Love,” Lenora says gently, “there is no need for desperate measures. The garden is coming along …”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m not finished yet, but I’ll try to have it done by Twelvetide.” Before the ground freezes and it’s too late to plant spring-blooming flowers.
Lenora’s face brightens, and she slaps a ball of dough on the counter. “Well, that’s quite enough to keep you occupied.”
But I can’t waste away in that garden and pretend I’m preparing myself. I want to plant something real. I need to carve my own place in the world. “I’m sure I can handle both.” I clear my throat. “And I can’t stay here forever.”
I’m tired of standing still while a curse decides what I am. My magic can wake whenever it likes. In the meantime, I want a sword in my hand.
Lenora huffs and begins kneading her dough with unnecessary vigor.
But Bishop takes a sip of his coffee. “No.”
I’m prepared for his objection.
“See?” I hold up my hands to show they’ve healed since I started using the gloves he left for me. “All better.”
“You are not enlisting,” he repeats, his shoulders square as he shifts to full height, as if towering over me will make me change my mind.
But he can’t. Not on this. Whatever magic is inside me, I can’t be helpless any longer. So, I wait for him to explain whatever new bullshit criteria he’s concocted.
“Why not?” I demand when he doesn’t.
He fucking shrugs.
Heat erupts on my cheeks, something familiar stirring deep within my gut. “I’m in one piece now.”
That was his condition.
I glare up at him. He can’t power play his way out of this.
Learning to fight was his idea. I’m only following his lead.
If he changed his mind, there’s one reason for it.
The same reason those men attacked me. The reason that no one’s suggested I go back to Wolf’s Keep. “Is this because of the raven-mark?”
“No, it’s because we don’t make decisions with broken hearts.” His voice drops a shade lower, but it does nothing to soften the impact. “It never ends well.”
“You told me to come back when I was healed,” I snap. He can’t actually stop me. We both know it. “Like you still thought it was a good idea.”
Lenora takes a tiny step as if she’s considering moving physically between us if necessary.
Bishop lifts a hand to stop her, his gaze holding mine. “Learning to fight is a good idea.” The change of heart makes my head spin until he adds, “But you’re not enlisting. I said I would train you.”
But I’ve considered that. It’s the last thing I want. I owe him too much already. And joining would give me a place in the world. “I’ve thought about that. It’s not fair to you.”
He pauses like he’s anticipating my next move before making his own. “I want to do it.”
It’s not even a believable play.
I scowl and reach for the most obvious argument. “Don’t you have better things to do? Like protect an entire kingdom?”
“The last time I checked, you were a citizen of that kingdom,” he says coolly. I swear he’s got a comeback loaded for everything. “A patron, at that. I will train you.”
Translation: end of story.
Taliesin smirks behind the rim of his coffee mug, and I consider throwing mine at him.
“You aren’t joining Marius. You have your own order to consider,” Bishop adds.
Which one? I’m not about to voice that question.
“I don’t want your charity.” The words spill out in a rush from being pent up inside me for so long.
A shadow crosses his face and vanishes like a passing cloud. “This isn’t charity.”
Lowering himself to train a patron’s daughter? Giving her a room in his house? “What is it, then? It’s not like I’m paying rent.”
His frown deepens as he sets his coffee on the counter and crosses his arms. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The answer pierces deep, and I suck back a breath. Because if I’m the harbinger, if killing me starts the cycle … that’s the last thing he wants.
My throat aches, still raw from nights spent crying into my pillow. I swallow and force myself to nod. I need to prepare. “I’d feel safer if you’d answer any of my questions.”
Hadrian’s visit only left me with more of them, and the terrible understanding that I might not have run if I’d known the truth about Bishop.
And then Kieren might still be alive.
But Bishop exhales slowly, clearly searching for a new and unique way to deny me.
“Fine,” he says, as if conceding costs him something. “We’ll begin today.”
“Today?” My pulse jumps a second too soon.
“After you eat.” His lips tug at the corners as he speaks.
“I said I’m not—” I start to grumble.
“You’ll eat,” he cuts me off. “Then we’ll train, and you can earn those answers.”
The arrangement sounds more like a threat than a compromise, but it’s something. So, I gulp down a retort that won’t get me anywhere with his stubborn ass and nod.
Lenora looks between us, eyes flashing with triumph. She moves quickly, plate already in hand, and sets it in front of me.
“I guess I know whose side you’re on,” I grumble. But the bread is still warm from the oven, butter melting in a puddle atop it, and she’s left the egg yolks runny like I prefer. My stomach growls in anticipation, earning me a knowing smirk from her.
She pats my shoulder. “I’m on whatever side keeps you safe.”
How am I supposed to argue with these people?
I pierce the yolk with my fork, sopping up the golden liquid with the toast. The first bite makes me glad Bishop forced his hand.
Not that I’ll ever admit it. But still …
maybe this doesn’t have to be terrible. Maybe we can find our way back to that tentative friendship we’d started to form before …
I down another bite, but I can’t quite swallow the memory along with it. Bishop has every reason to be angry with me, but he’s given me the benefit of the doubt. I finish my toast, resolving to do the same, even though he watches me eat like he expects me to run away.
When I ask Lenora for another egg, Taliesin snorts under his breath. “Not hungry.”
“I thought you wanted me to eat,” I say sourly, but I’m not talking to him.
Bishop only smirks back. “Eat as much as you like. You’ll need it.”
That doesn’t sound ominous at all.
The sky is the color of wet ash when we arrive at the Bellatorum an hour later, the clouds pressing down around the foothills and forming a thick blanket of fog that turns the proving grounds dim and flat.
Early winter has brought wind that batters everything between the sea and the mountains with slicing gusts, and the misty rain it carries stings my eyes.
Despite the weather, the metallic clanging of swords echoes in the distance, and neat lines of conscripts move between buildings. The drizzle blurs their faces, but their heads are held high like they don’t notice.
If only I could say the same.