EPILOGUE
Shea twists my wrist, and my sword clatters to the ground. For the tenth time today.
But who’s counting?
“Yield,” she says, already stepping back. The command is more about practicing for her upcoming proving trials than anything else. We’ve been at it for hours, even though the test is still a week away.
I wave my hand in the air like a white flag. I’m beginning to think I took that scion out in the Cinderwald on willpower alone, especially since I haven’t felt even a tingle of magic since that night.
“I would like it noted that you just kicked my ass,” I pant, one hand on my knee as I try to catch my breath. And I thought Bishop was finally whipping me into shape.
Of course, he’s been too busy tracking down Laurel over the last few weeks for much training time. And when we are together, training is the last thing on our minds.
Taliesin claps once, signaling the end of the session. “Nice and clean. You’re ready.”
His smile is a little too warm. That’s not going to help Shea’s crush on him.
But Vessica snorts. “Your footwork still drifts left on the recovery.”
So much for moral support.
“I knew it.” Shea eyes the proving grounds again like she might go back out and work on that footwork until they fall off at the ankles.
I bump my shoulder against hers, lowering my voice. “If you’re nervous, it doesn’t show.”
“That’s because I’m hiding it under fear and anxiety.” She rolls her eyes.
Just like the rest of us.
Taliesin starts re-wrapping the practice hilts. “You’ve been ready for months.”
But Shea huffs, and I know that she’ll be out here again tomorrow, doing this all over again. Probably every day until she wears that uniform. “That’s what everyone says right before someone eats sand in front of the examiners.”
The sky outside is starting to fade into a pale lavender. If Bishop makes it back tonight, he’ll probably be waiting already. “You’ll be fine.” My stomach growls, interrupting my attempt at encouragement. “I’m going to raid the kitchens before Bishop gets home.”
Instantly, I realize my mistake. Taliesin catcalls, with Shea joining in. It’s beneath Vessica, but a few passing conscripts join in the camaraderie.
In return, I show them all my favorite finger.
It’s the same reaction any time I say Bishop’s name. But I can’t resist laughing, because somehow, in the last place I ever expected, I found all of them.
Even Taliesin, although I’d never admit it to his face.
“Hey,” Shea calls as I grab my pack. “Tell Lenora I’ll pick up Brec soon.”
“Will do,” I promise, slinging the bag over my shoulder and starting the familiar hike back to the estate.
By the time I reach the kitchen door, my muscles are shaking and my stomach is on the verge of mutiny. That’s what I get for skipping lunch. Which is easy enough to do right now between Shea’s upcoming proving, trying to train a half-feral wolf pup, and Bishop constantly tracking leads.
I’m already imagining the warm bread and fresh butter that Lenora always has waiting when my foot catches and I stumble into the door, twisting my wrist just enough that I know training will be worse tomorrow.
I curse under my breath, kick the wayward stone back toward the path, and duck through the door.
The scent of yeast and sugar hits me as soon as I’m inside. I barely make it to the table where both bread and cookies are cooling.
Lenora seems to think I have a bottomless pit in place of my stomach and that it’s her duty to fill it. I’ll never tell her otherwise.
“Save some for Shea,” Lenora calls. “She needs her strength.”
I nod but snatch another cookie as she bustles toward the sink to wash up.
“She’ll be here for Breccan soon,” I say, crumbs spilling from my mouth.
Lenora glances over her shoulder. “He’s in the library.”
Probably further along in learning the ancient tongue than I am with my studies of the forbidden Ravenell texts.
Not that I’m dragging my feet.
“Is Bishop here yet?” I ask as I head toward the hall.
“Haven’t seen him, but he might have slipped in through the front.” She returns to her dishes, humming that old lullaby under her breath.
I’m going to have to get an astrolabe of my own, if only to keep track of where Bishop is when he’s gone these days.
As I approach the library, my gaze lands on another empty space high on the wall. Another mounted wolf head removed, courtesy of Bishop, who doesn’t think it’s healthy for the pup to see them. He must have found a ladder to get this last one down. He even named the pup.
Hero.
Although Bishop still pretends we aren’t keeping him.
I peek inside the library. Hadrian is standing over Breccan’s shoulder, reading something in what I assume is the ancient tongue. He catches me watching and waves a dismissive hand.
“We’ll be finished soon.” His tone holds the same weariness as usual. He’s still trying to piece together whatever Bishop brings home about the Ars Astra, which isn’t much, but now he’s also helping me half-heartedly learn Ravenell magic.
The fact that I’m in no hurry to do so hasn’t escaped his notice. I’m about as close to truly manifesting my magic as he is to finding the revello.
I nod, but before I can close the door behind me, he calls out, “Bishop is home. He’s in a bit of a mood.”
That’s both the first and last thing I want to hear.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Hadrian shrugs. “He just poked his head in and glowered.”
Uh-oh.
“I’ll check on him,” I promise, but Hadrian is already bent over Breccan’s shoulder, tapping something in the book in front of him.
I take the stairs two at a time. Hero is waiting at the door to the western wing with his ears pinned back. He greets me with a low, throaty rumble I’ve never heard from him before. The kind of sound a much larger animal would make.
“What’s gotten into you?” I murmur, but he’s already trotting ahead toward the bedroom.
By the time I walk inside it, Hero is planted in front of the balcony doors, growling at his own reflection in the glass.
“Hero. Stop.”
But he doesn’t. Instead, he swings his head toward me, then back to the glass. His rumble climbs a notch as he stares through it.
Bishop is on the balcony, his back to the house. The sky beyond him bleeds from rose into deep violet, the sun a thin red line over the churning sea.
“Easy.” I lay a hand on Hero’s head. “It’s just Bishop.”
The pup lets out another unhappy growl. I pick him up and deposit him on the bed.
Somebody needs a nap.
We probably both do.
Stepping onto the balcony, I unfasten the baldric across my chest and prop my sword against the wall by the door.
But Bishop doesn’t turn to face me. He just stares at the sky above us, like he’s watching the twilight descend. His hair hangs loose at his shoulders, a new sword sheathed on his back below his red cloak. He stopped wearing it after Damalis, and part of me had hoped …
“Bishop?”
He still doesn’t turn.
Something in my belly tightens. The feeling I used to get as a child when the closet door wouldn’t stay closed and I knew better than to be afraid.
“Hadrian said you were in a mood.” I keep my voice light. Or try to. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” His voice is low, almost amused, and for some reason it makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Did something happen with that lead in Wintour?” I ask, growing uneasy. “Did you find Laurel?”
He shakes his head. “I found exactly what I was looking for.”
The strangeness of the answer unsettles me. Hadrian said he was in a mood. But this doesn’t feel like a mood.
This feels like the quiet before the clouds dump rain on my head.
He turns slowly toward me. His face remains in shadow, the dying light at his back catching only the edge of his jaw and the curve of his mouth.
He holds out a hand. “Come here.”
I hesitate for a heartbeat. But I’ve learned that when this man asks me to come closer, it is almost always because he needs to hold me through whatever he can’t say.
I cross to him, and he gathers me in his arms.
But there’s something wrong in the way he embraces me. His grip is too tight. Almost consuming. His breath stutters unevenly into my hair like he’s fighting something but already losing.
“You are beautiful.”
His hands slide up my spine, fingers digging in as if he needs the pressure to stay here. Then they’re at the back of my neck and his thumbs drag forward.
And close around my throat for a heartbeat before releasing me.
“Not very bright, though.” The words carry a wicked edge.
I flinch at the sting they inflict. Not quite cutting. He’s not making any sense. “What in seven hells is wrong with you? You’re lucky I left my sword by the door.”
“Oh, did that upset you?”
“Insults usually do.” As well as hands around my neck. What’s gotten into him?
His eyebrow rises in that half surprise my stubbornness always inspires.
“I wonder …” He sweeps a thumb over my lips and angles his head, but I can’t bring myself to close my eyes as he leans down to kiss me.
His breath caresses my lips, and I recoil.
He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Pity.”
I twist away, something squirming in my belly. My eyes snag on the vestige under his ear, and my entire body tenses, understanding before I do.
I lift a hand toward it, and he lets me, trembling slightly as my finger traces it.
I’ve never seen it before.
The vestige’s pattern extends down, meeting another I don’t recognize at the base of his throat, where the lines disappear under his black tunic.
My gaze slides back to his.
He was right before. I’m not very bright.
“Cassiel,” I breathe.
His mouth splits into a wide, charming grin—the kind that might break hearts.
I wrench away, and he lets me go.
“You’re twins.” My lips fumble around the word.
“He always hated that part.” Cassiel shrugs as if he can’t blame him. “I was born at five minutes to midnight. He was born ten minutes after. When he was mad at me, he used to say that meant we weren’t twins.”
My older brother.
That’s what Bishop told me. It wasn’t a lie. It just missed the important part of the truth.
A drumbeat pounds in my ears. All these years, he wasn’t dead.