Page 155 of Harbinger

“You’re coming to the party, right?” I ask, remembering that Bishop said knights were invited, even ones in training.

Shea’s gaze drifts past me to the Bellatorum’s gate. “I was invited, but I’m not sure if I can bring my brother.” Her shoulders droop slightly like she’s just remembered the responsibility she carries after a glimpse of something easier.

Another mouth for Lenora to feed and spoil with small gifts? One that probably hasn’t had anything home-cooked in Stars know how long? She would kill me herself if I said no. “I think he’d be more than welcome.”

She beams, sighing under her breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a Twelvetide party. The conscripts play cards and get drunk,” she quickly adds, “but it’s not the same.”

“It was my sister’s favorite. We got ready together every year.” I would let Isidore pick everything out, let her do my hair and dress me up like a doll. It meant so much to her, and I didn’t care.

“My mother’s, too.” Her smile is so wide it creases her eyes before faltering. “I’d give anything to have one more Twelvetide with her.”

I know the feeling. Like yesterday when I found a pile of dresses—the ones I’d ordered in Wolf’s Keep—on my bed after I finished training and caught myself wishing Isidore would be there to help me choose one. “Come early and get ready with me,” I blurt out.

She shifts a little, looking down at her breeches. “I’ll probably just wear my uniform. I don’t ….”

“Bishop’s housekeeper made me order all these dresses.” I grab her hand. There are three gowns, each boxed and carefully wrapped in tissue paper nearly as delicate as the dresses themselves. Three, which is two more than I know what to do with. Given how different my daily wardrobe of borrowed uniforms and gardening dirt is, I’ve yet to feel brave enough to try one on. “You can borrow one of them.”

She chews on her lower lip before she nods. “As long as Breccan won’t be in the way …”

“We’ll drop him off in the library.”

Hadrian will love that.

“Okay.” She grins. “It’s a date.”

Her relieved smile stays with me most of the way back to the house, something warm on another otherwise cold, lonely day. But as soon as I reach the bridge, my thoughts ricochet back to Bishop. His hand on mine, the look he gave me before he left, the way he noticed my body giving out … and refused to let it.

And now he’s trekking off to investigate another murder, leaving the safety of Vennaro’s borders—the only region untouched by heart collectors in months. The realization drops in my stomach like a stone, sending ripples of unease through me.

Lenora stops me at the door, fussing as she helps me out of my coat. I let her, my arms too tired to even manage the buttons. When I warn her about a somewhat small guest for Twelvetide, she tuts that I don’t have to ask, then forces a plate of biscuits smothered in butter and preserves into my icy fingers before shooing me off to rest.

I head for the library instead.

Hadrian’s head appears over one of the upper tier’s railings as soon as I step inside. “That better not be jam on those biscuits.”

“Good morning to you, too.” I devour half of one, tucking it away in two bites, as he clatters down the spiral stairs. By the time he reaches the main floor, I’ve deposited the plate on the table—safely away from any of his precious books.

He grunts but doesn’t immediately order me out.

“Did we get a Civicus today?” I ask.

“It’s right there …” He waves to the armchairs by the fire, then glances over and frowns. “Taliesin must have stolen it.”

It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this would be a capital offense if we were all living under his regime.

He takes a seat at the table, pulling a giant stack of papers and leather-bound journals in front of him. “What did you want with it?” he asks as he burrows into his work.

“Bishop left for Ardermare.” The words close like a fist around my heart.

I try to shake off the feeling, but it lingers, even though I know he can take care of himself. He proves it every day by kicking my ass during training.

“Nasty business,” Hadrian mutters. “It’s as bad as Damalis.”

So much for shaking it off.

I frown. “And why is that?”

Hadrian scans his notes, responding absentmindedly. “The scion’s vestiges weren’t claimed.”