Page 157 of Harbinger

Which is why Bishop was looking through those forbidden books that day in Wintour. “And when you do?”

“If Ravenell was close when they …” Something pained crosses his face, but he pushes on. “Everything we’ve found suggests this revello is key to their work. If we can find it or recreate it …”

He trails away, but his eyes dart to my collar like he can see the raven burned into my skin beneath.

“I’m not a Ravenell,” I remind him.

“The Stars endowed you with their mark. You might be able to help.” He sighs and reaches for another sheet of paper. “But not until we get our hands on the damn thing.”

I pick up the plate of biscuits, Hadrian’s revelation making me feel the need to eat all of them at once.

And then beg Lenora for a dozen more.

Hadrian flings a finger at the door. “No. Jam. In. The. Library.”

I back toward the door. “Good luck.” I guess.

Because, even if it might free me of this curse, the last thing we need in this house is a dark artifact that might be the reason an entire region was wiped off the map.

Like we don’t have enough problems.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Iland my first strike against Bishop, earning me a question—and a smile that makes my pulse jump.

The impact still hums up my arm, a bright shock of triumph that makes the world sharpen for a heartbeat. I should be gloating. After weeks of bruises and humiliatingly slow progress, a single clean hit against him ought to feel like victory.

But all I can see is the curve of his mouth.

Bishop smiling feels dangerous, like he’s slowly erasing some important boundary between us.

But he tilts his head, wordlessly acknowledging the win, and sheathes his sword. His signal that we’re done for the day.

The sun is already sinking below the horizon, causing the temperature to drop. The cold works its way under my skin as we walk toward the astrolatory, my muscles stiffening as the heat of exertion bleeds away. Every step reminds me that I’ve pushed too hard again.

“Go on,” he says as we enter. “Ask whatever you’ve been vibrating over all afternoon.”

I have been vibrating, because I’ve finally come up with the perfect question to ask him. I hook the hilt on the rack, trying to ignore the butterfly wings suddenly fluttering in my stomach, and turn to face him. “What’s your real name?”

I could have found out as soon as it occurred to me. He wasn’t always Bishop. I’m sure there’s a record somewhere. Lenora probably even knows. However, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I want to hear it from him.

Maybe it’s the way Bishop guards his past so carefully. Or the way every answer he gives feels calculated, as though he’s deciding exactly how much of the truth he’ll let me see. But if I’m going to learn anything real about him, it won’t be from records.

It will be from the moment he finally trusts me with it.

But Bishop tenses, drawing a sharp breath before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He manages a half smile that is gone too soon. “That part of me is dead.”

Well, now I’ve stepped in it.

“I’m …” It never occurred to me that he would care. Not after he told me that remaining a bishop was only a ploy to keep people from asking questions when he didn’t marry and produce an heir. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

His jaw tenses, and he looks past me for a moment, as if the apology has pierced him somewhere deeper than he usually allows anyone to reach. “Don’t apologize. That man died the night I became immortal,” he says quietly. “I can never go back.”

I want to ask him why, but that skirts dangerously close to the other question I keep circling around but can never bring myself to ask. About how he died the first time.

Too personal.

But honestly, I don’t think I can handle knowing. The thought of him dying …