TWENTY-EIGHT
Iland my first strike against Bishop, earning me a question—and a smile that makes my pulse jump.
The impact still hums up my arm, a bright shock of triumph that makes the world sharpen for a heartbeat. I should be gloating. After weeks of bruises and humiliatingly slow progress, a single clean hit against him ought to feel like victory.
But all I can see is the curve of his mouth.
Bishop smiling feels dangerous, like he’s slowly erasing some important boundary between us.
But he tilts his head, wordlessly acknowledging the win, and sheathes his sword. His signal that we’re done for the day.
The sun is already sinking below the horizon, causing the temperature to drop. The cold works its way under my skin as we walk toward the astrolatory, my muscles stiffening as the heat of exertion bleeds away. Every step reminds me that I’ve pushed too hard again.
“Go on,” he says as we enter. “Ask whatever you’ve been vibrating over all afternoon.”
I have been vibrating, because I’ve finally come up with the perfect question to ask him. I hook the hilt on the rack, trying to ignore the butterfly wings suddenly fluttering in my stomach, and turn to face him. “What’s your real name?”
I could have found out as soon as it occurred to me. He wasn’t always Bishop. I’m sure there’s a record somewhere. Lenora probably even knows. However, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I want to hear it from him.
Maybe it’s the way Bishop guards his past so carefully. Or the way every answer he gives feels calculated, as though he’s deciding exactly how much of the truth he’ll let me see. But if I’m going to learn anything real about him, it won’t be from records.
It will be from the moment he finally trusts me with it.
But Bishop tenses, drawing a sharp breath before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He manages a half smile that is gone too soon. “That part of me is dead.”
Well, now I’ve stepped in it.
“I’m …” It never occurred to me that he would care. Not after he told me that remaining a bishop was only a ploy to keep people from asking questions when he didn’t marry and produce an heir. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
His jaw tenses, and he looks past me for a moment, as if the apology has pierced him somewhere deeper than he usually allows anyone to reach. “Don’t apologize. That man died the night I became immortal,” he says quietly. “I can never go back.”
I want to ask him why, but that skirts dangerously close to the other question I keep circling around but can never bring myself to ask. About how he died the first time.
Too personal.
But honestly, I don’t think I can handle knowing. The thought of him dying …
I experienced that once. And once was enough.
By the time we leave the astrolatory, my arms are trembling in that deep, delayed way that promises consequences tomorrow.
Cold has worked its way into my joints and sweat clings beneath my coat despite the winter air.
I clear my throat and shoulder my pack higher, ignoring a twinge in my back.
“I suppose we won’t train much the next two days. ”
Guests have already begun arriving for the upcoming holiday—some from within Vennaro, others traveling from the various Marius outposts throughout the kingdom.
Bishop’s responsibility to greet them all is already limiting our training time.
Although I suspect he’s only doing it to remind them that he’s watching their every move.
I’ve even been warned that he’d prefer I relocate to a more secure section of the house. I haven’t had the guts to ask him exactly where in Miradores he considers secure enough.
But Bishop slows a fraction, brow furrowing as if he’s still stuck in his own head and not following our conversation at all.
“Twelvetide,” I remind him.
He scoffs. “I’ll take any excuse to avoid my family.”
Something hollows out beneath my ribs, a quiet collapse I don’t have the energy to stop this late in the day. I won’t be with my own family for Twelvetide for the first time in my life.
Likely for the rest of my life, and one of them …
I swallow the thought like I always do.
“You could invite them here,” he murmurs, guessing why I’ve suddenly gone quiet.
Sometimes I think the man has carved a space in my brain and sits there listening to everything that I’m thinking.
I shake my head. “That’s not necessary. There are plenty of people coming already.”
And Broderic wouldn’t say yes anyway. He still hasn’t responded to the message I sent about Kieren’s death.
I guess we’re both dead to him now.
“Speaking of Twelvetide,” he says, drawing my attention back to him, “I’m giving you one of your presents tonight. I know it’s early.”
“One?” I blurt out. I didn’t even consider getting gifts, and Bishop has gotten me multiple? “I didn’t get you anything.”
And now he knows that.
Why has it become so hard to keep my mouth shut around him?
“Relax.” He reaches over and takes my pack as we squeeze through the narrow passage in the retaining wall. But he doesn’t hand it back once we’re through it. He slings it over his shoulder as we start down the steep slope toward the Bellatorum.
He never lets me carry it anymore.
“It’s not a big gift,” he continues as we take the large stepping stones across the waterfall’s tiered brook.
As soon as I reach the other side, I pause to rub out a cramp in my calf.
Bishop sighs as he watches me. “Actually, it’s more of a gift to me.”
“Well, in that case,” I say dryly, wincing as I straighten.
“Back or shoulders?” he asks, not bothering to mask his frustration. It’s become our little game. He expresses his concern and disappointment that I refuse to admit that I’m in pain and would benefit from the steam baths, and I ignore him.
“I’m fine.”
He mutters, “Stubborn.”
And our game concludes until the next time we play.
But when we reach the paved walkways of the Bellatorum, he continues through the proving grounds instead of heading toward the house. I halt in my tracks.
“Where are we going?” Although it’s obvious where he’s headed.
Bishop is making a new move.
“Come on,” he calls to me. “I told you that I have a surprise for you.”
That bastard. I take a step in the direction of Miradores instead, but he adds, “Will you just trust me?”
That stops me, because that is what we’re supposed to be doing now—trusting each other. I suck down a deep breath and force myself to follow him.
“I know what you’re up to,” I say as I fall into step beside him.
“In that case, I’ll assume you have no objections.” He smirks at my stunned expression.
“Oh, I have many objections.” But where to fucking begin? “I told you—”
“That you didn’t feel safe using the baths,” he cuts me off.
“I didn’t say that!” Not exactly.
He releases a weary sigh that sounds as heavy as my footsteps are beginning to feel as the entrance to the baths comes into view. “I read between the lines.” He pauses at the door and turns to me. “No one is inside.”
I stare at him like he’s spoken in the ancient tongue. “What?”
“I closed them for Twelvetide,” he explains, eyes burning so brightly they almost glow.
Even the blue of his irises looks silver in the twilight.
“You’re the only person allowed to use them until the new year.
Even a brief soak will help, so just …” He glances away from me, adding a gruff, “Happy Twelvetide.”
“I didn’t get you anything,” I repeat, half mumbling. He closed the entire complex. It isn’t fair. I shake my head, opening my mouth to say just that.
But Bishop continues. “And they are staying closed whether or not you use them, so I’d consider it a personal favor if you let me do something for you just this once.”
I bite my lip, unable to stop myself from smiling.
It sneaks up on me before I can suppress it, tugging at the corner of my mouth like a secret I’ve failed to guard.
My lip smarts where my teeth catch it, but the small sting is nothing compared to the warmth spreading through me.
He did this for me. But closing an entire facility?
It’s selfish. The gesture is too extravagant to be a gift.
But if I can count on one thing, it’s that he’s every bit as stubborn as I am. He really will keep them closed.
Only a few torchieres are lit, but Bishop switches on more lights, revealing an entirely empty dressing room. Now that we’re inside, a different anxiety takes hold of me. It curls low in my stomach, coiling with every step I take into the bathhouse. I push it aside, wandering slowly behind him.
I brush my fingers against the wall as I pass, grounding myself against the smooth stone. The dull pain in my shoulders reminds me why we’re even here, but the soreness no longer commands my attention.
Instead, my gaze drifts to the broad line of Bishop’s back as he moves ahead, utterly at ease in the empty space he’s claimed for my sake.
I don’t know whether I want him to leave … or stay.
But before I can decide, he pauses at the small infirmary and gestures toward the arched doorway beyond. “The pools are all yours.”
“Thank you.” I’m so preoccupied with the fact that we’re both here, alone, that I nearly forget to say it.
He nods, flipping on a lamp in the infirmary before slipping off his coat. Hanging it up, he reaches toward a tin on a high shelf, the fabric of his uniform straining against his strong shoulders.
It’s rude to stare. I force my eyes away from him and take a single step toward one of the polished wooden benches stationed between the walls of lockers lining the dressing room.
The space is completely empty, each locker door propped open and ready for use.
Not even a single towel left on a hook, though there is a row of neatly folded ones laid across a long heating stone near the pool entrance.