THIRTY-FIVE #2
“And his new friend”—Bishop spits the word—“he just laughed and told me I was too late.” His fists clench, and he shakes his head as if he’s back on that balcony. “I lunged for him. That’s when I realized he wasn’t human. Realized why Cassiel wasn’t able to defend himself.”
Bishop pauses and looks me in the eye. “He mortally wounded me, too, left me to die on that balcony in the rain. Lenora found me, just as I …” He trails away again. “She kept the secret. Said that’s what family does. It took me longer to trust the others.”
That doesn’t surprise me. He got himself killed before he trusted me. “And Hadrian?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
I roll my eyes but feel no lighter. “He said it was your story to tell. Is that a scion thing? Being moody and cryptic?”
He laughs softly, but a hard line settles between his brows. “It’s part of his oath.”
“You make that sound very official.”
“It is to him. It …” His eyes close for a minute. “It saved me. He saved me.”
A chill works its way under my ribs, and I go completely still, afraid that if I move, he’ll stop talking.
“Why did you need saving?” I ask as my pulse starts to race like my body is running ahead of me and already bracing.
He pulls his hand from mine and runs it through his silver-blond hair. He doesn’t reach for mine again, dropping his to his lap instead. I immediately miss the warmth.
“I was mad with grief. And all I could think about was finding the scion who killed them all”—he pauses again, as if each word is costing him another piece of his soul—“but I settled for any immortal who crossed my path.” His eyes close as if he can’t face the truth.
“Arden, I killed them all. Quickly, slowly, but always brutally.”
My heart pounds in my ears. Once. Twice. And then it just stops.
His vestiges. Hundreds of them.
Collected in revenge.
The fire crackling in the hearth sounds too loud as I try to digest everything.
How many people never came home to their families? How many of them were like Hadrian? Or Shea?
Over our months together, I’d built him into a man who only drew his sword for a reason. I’d convinced myself that his vestiges were collected from dangerous scions, but the truth is so much worse. He murdered them all.
Because one scion killed his family. Because he hated that he’d become one, too.
Some part of me is horrified, and the room tilts, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat as I fight the urge to be sick.
But then I think of the bishop who dedicated his life to helping others.
Of the man who asks for nothing for himself as he gives everything to those under his rule.
I think of Bishop on the proving grounds, drilling Shea until her arms shake because he wants her to live.
The man who gave Hadrian access to his library and helped him search for answers.
Not only for themselves but for every scion, so that none of them would have to face the fury and another war cycle.
I take a few slow, deep breaths. My heart begins to beat again as I remember the way he fights with steel and discipline and his own body, pushing himself when a vestige would settle a match in seconds. I’d assumed it was pride. Or some vow I didn’t understand.
It isn’t.
It’s penance.
It’s in every conscript he trains. Every life he refuses to use his powers to take. The scion who killed all those people years ago has spent every day since struggling to make himself into a better man.
And he has.
“That’s why you don’t use your powers,” I whisper.
He nods once. “They remind me that there is a fine line between delivering justice and becoming a monster.”
I want to tell him he’s not a monster, but I don’t think he’ll believe me right now.
“Hadrian showed me what I didn’t know. Taught me there was another way. That I could have control over the powers I’d claimed—that I could rise above their pull.”
“Your vestiges?” I ask.
“I didn’t have to claim them.” He leans back a fraction. “Not every immortal I killed was innocent. Some of the powers they carried …”
“But you claimed them anyway,” I finish for him.
He turns to me and holds my gaze. But there’s no comfort in his eyes. He’s looking at me like a man about to open a window he should keep closed, as though he’s preparing for what happens when I’m no longer on the other side of the glass.
I can see it etched in his winter blue eyes—the certainty that I’ll never look at him the same way again.
“My birthright is one of the darkest, Arden. It’s …
” He pauses as though he needs to choose his words carefully.
“A constant fight to control it. Since the day I came back from the dead, it’s been roiling under my skin, waiting for its chance.
Grief makes it harder. Rage. Wanting you …
” He swallows. “My vow is its only cage, but if I’m pushed too far …
If I ever lose control of it again, that cage will be gone.
There’s no rebuilding it from the other side. ”
I open my mouth to ask what birthright the Stars gave him in exchange for being part of their endless game but think better of it. Not when I’m not ready to admit mine might be worse.
But he sees my face. “It’s terrible,” he whispers. “It’s the curse I deserve.”
“I don’t believe that.” My fingers find his sleeve and curl there.
“I didn’t even know I was using it …” His throat slides. “I don’t know how many people like Hadrian I killed. How many of them were scared, untrained, and then I …” He drags a hand over his face. “I never gave them a chance. That’s why when a scion shows up at the Bellatorum, I help them.”
Like Shea.
But something about how he says it makes me ask, “There are other scions at the Bellatorum?”
“A few. Some have already gone. I’m sure more will come.” His gaze lingers, like he’s searching me for the forgiveness that he can’t give himself.
“Aren’t you worried that if you train them …” Guilt rushes through me and cuts off the question.
But they can’t all be like Shea.
“It would be just for me to die at the hands of someone I trust.” His voice is firm, but his gaze shifts away. “Too many immortals opened the door to a bishop but let in a wolf.”
“You aren’t that man anymore.” I take his hand, waiting until he turns his haunted eyes back to mine. “You’re allowed to forgive yourself.”
He raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t point out my hypocrisy.
Still, I push back. “You get to choose—and you’ve been choosing all this time.”
“And when I can’t?” The words are a hollow whisper. “When the cycle begins …”
The skin on my chest tingles. I close my eyes as if I can hide from it. “It won’t.”
“I love that you believe that.”
I swallow, my heart skipping a beat. “I have to.”
Like Hadrian needs to believe the fury can be contained. Like I need to believe I’m not Ravenell. That my birthright isn’t dark magic. Like I need to believe Bishop can overcome his demons, too.
He cups my cheek in his hand, and I finally look at him again. “Stars, you’re beautiful,” he whispers. “Fierce. That’s why I need you to promise me something.”
The way he’s looking at me … I’d promise him anything.
“If the cycle comes, if the fury overtakes me, if we can’t find a way to stop it …” He pauses, but something in his voice has me bracing before he continues. “I won’t be a monster again.”
This is the line he’s drawn. It’s one I can understand. “I know that.”
But he shakes his head. “You don’t. You have no idea what I’m truly capable of.”
I lean forward and press a finger to his lips. “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. I know you. I see you.” I turn his own words against him. “This thing between us …”
Something keeps me from saying it, from naming this beautiful pain in my heart.
This feeling I’ve only known with him. I know it’s there—planted inside me—but it needs time to grow.
Time to see if it grows in him, too. “The way I feel about you …” I tiptoe to the line but can’t quite cross it.
“It means you never have to explain your heart to me.”
His nostrils flare slightly as I finally lower the finger silencing him. He pauses, drawing a shuddering breath, and whispers, “Endymion … My name. It’s Endymion.”
The name lands like a confession, as if he’s just placed something precious and dangerous into my hands.
“En-dim-ee-uhn.” I drag each syllable out, smiling slightly at how it sounds on my tongue.
“He’s still here,” he admits, as if he’s committing a crime by being anyone other than Bishop, “but I can’t … The vow isn’t just a cover. It was a choice. Penance.”
Anger flickers through me. Not at him—but at whoever taught him this was the price of being good.
“If it wasn’t …” The longing in his voice steals my breath, and I shift closer without thinking. “If I could give you all of me. If I could trust myself …” But he shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted anything more, but I can’t risk it.”
Something cracks open in my chest, but I nod.
“Keeping my vow was about absolution.” His knuckles skim along my jaw. “Now it’s a shield. A reminder of the man I need to be for you. To protect you. From all of this.” He exhales slowly, and my heart breaks a little more when he adds, “From me.”
“I’m not scared of you.” I slide over and climb into his lap, taking his face between my hands so he can’t look away. “You can’t scare me. In fact, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
The corners of his mouth tug up, and there’s something like awe in his eyes. “Is that so?”