TWENTY-FIVE #3
He shrugs. “It wouldn’t matter. The Stars haven’t looked favorably on any of the people who wind up on the Bellatorum’s doorstep. Can you blame them for not worshipping them?”
Orphans. Outcasts. People desperate for shelter and food. I hate that he has a point.
“Then why become a bishop?” I blurt out.
He considers for a moment, and when he finally answers, it drips from him.
“I didn’t do it out of some divine mission, if that’s what you’re asking.
” He pauses, his forehead creasing as if he’s trying to make sure his answer sounds right.
“My brother was the politician, eager to be patron and run things. He was always clashing over business with our father and arguing about any red tape. I just wanted to be away from it, actually doing something. I did it to help people.”
I blink, jolted by his casual tone. I can count on one hand how many times he’s spoken about his family and still have fingers to spare.
“And that’s why you stayed a bishop after you became patron?” I pause, weighing my next words. “You know it puts a target on your back. My brother says people talk …”
He tests another sword. “And they would talk more when I never had children. Never produced an heir.”
“Don’t you want to try?” I blurt out and clamp my mouth shut.
His mouth curves at one corner. “Are you applying for the position, Lady Icaros?”
Seven hells, I walked into that one. I squeeze my eyes shut as if I can hide from my embarrassment. “I just don’t think anyone would blame you if you’d given it up to be patron.”
He sighs and turns to face me. “Arden, scions can’t have children. That ability dies the first time we do.”
Oh. My lips form the word, but no sound comes out. I can’t believe I actually asked him that. Where is a hole to crawl in and die when you need one?
I scramble for another question. “What are you going to do when you don’t get old?”
But he smiles. “I figure I have a few more years to figure that out before people start to ask questions, but you know that everyone expects a patron to get married sooner rather than later.”
Something twinges in my chest. Broderic said the same thing, right before we left for Wintour. It feels like a lifetime has passed since that day.
The last thing I want is to dredge up those memories. Not while I’m trying to move forward, while I’m trying to prepare for whoever might want me dead next. I turn the conversation back to him. “Then you weren’t called to being a bishop?”
“I do believe in helping people, and I guess if the Stars are real, if they’re really watching over us, guiding us,” he says, “I think they’d agree with me.”
“Well, if they smite me,” I say, silently adding again, “for desecrating their astrolatory, I’m blaming you.”
He snorts. “My brother and I used to fight in here all the time when we were kids,” he says, passing me a slender sword. “We’d leave a rock by the back door as a signal, so our mom wouldn’t find out.”
“It sounds like she didn’t approve, either.”
“No, she didn’t.” Something in his smile makes my head swim. He glances around us. “I come up here to think.”
I follow his eyes around the stone room. There’s a solemnness that invites solitude, and Stars know that Bishop likes to brood.
“How does that feel?” He nods to the weapon in my hand.
Stop being distracted. I don’t know all that much about sword fighting, but I’m guessing that’s pivotal.
I thrust it to the side, turning my wrist like I saw him do a second ago.
It’s less heavy than I might expect, much lighter than the one Kieren usually carried.
I ignore the deep throb in my chest at the thought and focus on his question.
“It’s … good.” I search his face for what he’s looking for. “It seems like it would … kill people.”
Bishop raises his brows at my inspection criteria.
It’s not like he gave me a lot to go on.
“Is it too heavy?” he asks.
I shrug before lifting the sword a little higher and dropping it. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Here. Hold it like this.” He steps behind me and reaches around to adjust my grip. He’s not wearing gloves again, and when his palm presses over my hand, a current of energy surges through me and lands somewhere that definitely qualifies as a dangerous distraction.
I swallow hard, shifting forward ever so slightly to put space between us. Something aches in my chest like my body disapproves of the direction I’ve chosen. I swallow again and try to focus.
“This is a good one for you to start with. It will put less strain on your muscles while you’re building them.” He’s so close that his breath whispers over my ear.
Friends, Arden. Get it together. That’s the goal. Not a charity case. Or someone who always needs saving. And I’ll never achieve these goals if I can’t pay attention every time he touches me. How is he supposed to train me? With workbooks?
When he finally steps away, my knees buckle, but I gather myself together … until he takes the sword and hangs it up on the rack.
I frown. “I thought that was the right one for me.”
“It is.” A slow smile spreads across his face—the kind that reveals just how far I’m in over my head. “But training doesn’t start with swords.”