Page 133 of Harbinger

Something of the ghost I saw in Bishop haunts Hadrian’s eyes now, too. As if the weight of their deaths still lingers like chains around their necks.

Hadrian rubs his jaw with his hand. “There’s no need to say anything. It was a long time ago.” He pauses, still searching the clouds. “Go on. Ask.”

I suck in a breath so deep that it hurts and force out the question. “Was it scary? When you came back?”

Was Bishop scared? His hands were so certain the other night, but the first time …

Hadrian finally looks back at me. “I was afraid of what I might become.”

“Why? What did you know about scions before?” I ask.

He shifts and squares his broad shoulders, allowing me a glimpse of the warrior he must have been back then. “I lived through the Last War,” he says. “I was a child in the one that preceded it. But I knew what scions were capable of.”

I blink at him, standing up. “What are they capable of?”

“Scions started the war cycles, fighting to claim the Eternal Throne.” He takes a seat on the abandoned stump. “Mortals got in the way.”

My eyebrows shoot up. None of this makes any sense. “The king sits on the Eternal Throne. Or he did.” Before his death, and then it hits me. “Wait. Is the king a scion, too?”

A faint flutter starts in my chest. If the king is still alive, maybe I can go home. Maybe this can all finally be over.

“I forget how little people today know of their own history.” Hadrian shakes his head. “And no, the king was not a scion.”

Was. The fluttering stills. He’s really gone.

“Then why aren’t you fighting for the throne now?” I ask.

“Because the cycle hasn’t begun. Yet,” he adds, holding my gaze.

I bite my lip and lean against the shovel. “That’s ominous.”

“In the beginning, the Stars created the Eternal Throne, choosing some of us to become scions and rule from it. But every cycle, the fury rises within us, and we’re compelled to fight. To prove which of us is worthy to claim the throne.”

“But why?” A bigger question rises in me before he can answer. “How?”

“Scions are gifted with unique birthrights.” He taps one of the patterns on his arm. “Most stronger than any magic the patron bloodlines control now. There are different reasons given in the old histories.”

The histories that are now forbidden. “And those reasons are?”

He looks up, staring at the oscen circling above our heads. “That our souls are tied to the birth of new stars. Or we’re stars that fell to earth. Whatever the reason, we have magic running in our veins when we resurrect.”

“Then it’s not nochtimetry …” My voice sounds too high.

“No.” He glances back at me. “Nochtimetry came after. Ravenell crafted it by studying us.”

“By us, you means scions?”

“Yes.” He nods, and my mouth goes dry.

“Those marks,” I say breathlessly, hungry to understand what he’s telling me, to finally set another piece of this puzzle into the right place.

Hadrian raises his arm and pushes up the damp fabric of his sleeve to show me the lines shimmering faintly like intricate translucent veins etched into his skin. But where Bishop’s arms are covered in the silvery patterns, Hadrian has a collection of lines on only one side of his forearm. “Our powers.”

“What do they do?” I ask, stepping closer to get a better look.

But he holds up a finger as he stands and moves to the blighted tree. He places his hands on the dead bark, and the markings on his forearm begin to glow, faintly at first, then brighter, growing into a soft pulse that spreads through the pattern on his skin.

The ground shudders. I lock my knees, bracing, my mind flashing to the last time the world shook beneath me. But it’s over in a few seconds, and then …