Page 117 of Harbinger

Vessica leads me upstairs and deposits me on the edge of my bed. I suck in a deep breath, relieved to be off my feet. Right now, even my bones ache from trying to hold myself together. She lifts my left leg gingerly, and I wince.

“Sorry,” she mutters as she examines it. “You’re lucky. These will heal, but you need treatment.”

Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m cursed.

“I’ll send for a healer.” She starts to leave.

I grab her hand to stop her. “No.”

“No?” she repeats like she heard me wrong.

“I don’t want a stranger …” The words bottle up in my throat and refuse to come out. Just the thought of someone touching me, assessing me, knowing what happened—I can’t bear it.

Vessica exhales through her teeth, clearly fighting the urge to argue. “Fine. The Bellatorum will have something. For now,” she adds pointedly. “I’ll get it myself. Don’t move.”

As if I could.

She closes the door behind her, and I sit very still, staring at the place where Bishop’s blood dried on my hands. My fingers open and close as if they’re still searching for someone to hold.

When Lenora returns, she has a basin of water, cloths, and fresh clothes folded over her arm. She moves carefully, watching me with concerned eyes.

“Let’s clean you up,” she suggests, placing the basin beside the bed and the other items on the mattress.

I don’t respond.

She eases Bishop’s tunic above my shoulders and hesitates when she sees my torn clothes underneath. Her lips press into a thin line as she surveys the rest of me.

“Let’s get you in something clean,” she says, easing the ripped sweater off my shoulders. She tugs a sleeping gown over my head, then hesitates. “We need to get those breeches off you, too.”

I nod, reaching under the gown’s hem to unbutton them. Grabbing the waist, I ease them off, wincing with every inch. Lenora takes the scorched pants and drops them on the ground.

I glance down and shiver.

There are angry, red wounds along my calves, some seeping, others blistering. Lenora swallows and begins cleaning the dirt and blood from my skin like she’s done this a hundred times.

She probably has for Bishop and his family, but after tonight …

“What will you do now?” I ask suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Lenora pauses, her eyebrows furrowing. Maybe in all the chaos, Vessica didn’t tell her. She resumes blotting soot from my skin with a damp cloth. “We’ll take care of you.”

She doesn’t know. I have to tell her. Not just what happened but what I did.

“Bishop is dead.” The words feel impossible in my mouth, like I’m speaking a language that shouldn’t exist. “I tried to run away. They killed my friend Kieren. Bishop died trying to save me.”

All this loss reduced to those simple facts. But the words sound wrong out loud, like I’m listing events from someone else’s life.

She stills, the rag in her hand dripping onto the floor.

“Sometimes,” she murmurs, “the Stars ask more of us than we’re ready to give. You’ll understand—”

“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t say that. Don’t tell me this was meant to be.”

She considers for a second, searching my face like she might find the right thing to say. She settles on, “All right then.”

Lenora helps me out of the ruined clothes without further comment, sliding fabric away from burned skin with painstaking care. She wraps a blanket around my shoulders, tucking it close like it might keep me from falling apart. “He’ll explain when he arrives.”

“Hadrian?” I shake my head. “I don’t want to see him.”