Page 24 of Harbinger

We make our way down the hall, our shoes barely registering on the palace’s expensive rugs. Voices drift from the sitting room, muffled by the thick oak door, but even stifled, I can hear Andry jabbering away, interrupted every few seconds by Broderic’s steady tone or Kieren’s warm interest. All three fall silent when we enter.

Broderic’s mouth drops open, his expression cycling through surprise, pride, and something protective that hits me squarely in the chest with a pang.

“Well,” he finally manages slowly, “I might need to bring my sword after all.”

“Sword?” I blink. My brother has never carried a weapon in his life. “You don’t even own a sword.”

“Then I’ll borrow Kieren’s.” Light finds his face again, and he breaks into a teasing grin. “To fight off all the potential suitors. They’ll be circling you two like vultures. Andry might have to help.”

Andreas groans and slumps in his chair. “You look okay. For people stuck wearing dresses.”

“Careful, or all the flattery will go to our heads,” I say dryly.

Kieren remains quiet, but he’s not looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Isidore, something soft and hungry and hopeless in his eyes. This is nothing new, but for the first time, her cheeks go pink like she’s actually noticed.

Broderic glances between them, his smile sliding into a scowl.

I step quickly in front of her. “Can we leave? The sooner we go, the sooner this will be over.”

Broderic turns the frown on me. “Stop acting like you’re on a death march.” He stands and smooths the wrinkles from his woolen dress jacket. “Receiving your birthright is a privilege, not a punishment. Not everyone is lucky enough to inherit magic. Right, Kieren?”

Kieren flinches as the barb strikes but collects himself quickly. “Of course.”

For a moment, I’m too stunned at the obvious slight. Collecting myself, I reach for Kieren’s arm, if only to reassure him that he is still part of this family, but Broderic intervenes.

“I think it will be best if I escort you,” he says to me, but the words are directed at our surrogate brother. “There will be no need for security with the palace guards and Order Marius in attendance. Kieren gets the night off.” Broderic tips his head to Andry and Isidore. “We better get going. It’s up to the four of us to represent Damalis.”

Isidore shuffles past with her head down and hurries into the hall. Andry grumbles about stupid parties and follows. But I can’t make my legs work. I look at Kieren, trying to find the right words, but Broderic moves between us and offers his arm again. “We’re going to be late.”

Kieren forces a smile. “Good luck.”

“She doesn’t need luck.” Broderic stares ahead as he sweeps me toward the hall. “She is an Icaros.”

I can’t bring myself to glance back at my best friend, but as soon as we’re around the corner, I smack Broderic’s shoulder. “How could you treat him like that? He’s our brother.”

“He is our ward,” he corrects me, lowering his voice as our siblings come into view ahead of us. “And he needs to remember his place.”

“His place?” I repeat. “Don’t be a snob.”

But Broderic ignores my reprimand. “How long has this been going on between them?”

“Nothing is going on.” But there’s a ringing in my ears. An alarm warning me to defuse this situation. I’m just not sure how to do it.

“That look was far from nothing.” Broderic shakes his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “How could you keep this from me?”

“I wasn’t keeping anything from you.” Laughter and muffled conversations float toward us as we approach the ballroom. We’re nearly there. Once we’re inside, he’ll be too distracted to think about this, which will give me time to come up with an excuse for Kieren.

But Broderic stops, his gaze focused ahead of us. “Maybe not, but you suspected.”

“I have eyes, unlike some of us,” I hiss, pleased when this time, he’s the one who blanches. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Broderic finally turns, his brows drawing together. “Of course I worry.” His tone is caught somewhere between sadness and rage. “One of us has to.”

The words suck the air out of me, stealing my ability to speak. How can he think that? How can he act like I’ve been lounging in our sitting room with my feet propped up while he does everything? No one asked me what I wanted. I didn’t choose to be born into Order Icaros. It’s not like I’m passionate about crops or weather patterns or livestock.

“What does that mean? Is this because you think I’m treating my birthright like a punishment?” My voice cracks around the anger building inside me.

“Yes, because you are,” he says firmly. “Your birthright is a responsibility.”