Page 27 of Harbinger

He’s Bishop Marius.

The patron of the most ruthless order in Antares, my savior, and the current thorn in my side. Who says men can’t multitask? The information dashes any lingering hope I had that he kept quiet about my encounter this afternoon. Order Marius lives by the sword, rooting out any and all unlicensed magic in the kingdom with merciless brutality. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the sickening wet sound his dagger made when it pierced the thief’s animal form. No wonder he hates me for freeing that oscen. Men like him don’t just need to possess magic, they need to control it, especially who has access to it.

“But bishops don’t marry.” My confusion gets the better of me and begins spilling out. “He can’t be patron. He won’t have an heir.”

Not a legitimized one, anyway.

Broderic nods. “I can’t believe he remained a bishop after his family died. His cousins must be thrilled, but what kind of a man sacrifices his bloodline’s birthright to keep more power for himself?”

Patrons answer to the king, but a bishop’s duty is a divine calling from the Stars themselves to shepherd those losing their way and cull those already lost.

“How do you know him?” Broderic asks, drawing my attention back to him.

“Um, I don’t. Not really.” Is facing two life-and-death situations together enough to know somebody? Especially if everything about Bishop, including his family name, raises more questions than answers? Definitely not. “He observed my Petition.”

Broderic studies me for a moment, but he doesn’t pry.

I, on the other hand, can’t stop myself. “Is he always so full of himself?”

“I suppose that’s the hazard of being the youngest patron.” Broderic shakes his head in disgust.

“I thought you were the youngest?” I blink up at him.

“I’m the newest,” he corrects me. “Two years ago, Bishop became patron a year after receiving his birthright. He probably only knew half of his order’s magic when he came to power.”

My eyes widen. Most new initiates spend their first year just learning to wield the basics of magic.

“And now he’s sitting at the left hand of the king,” I say. I can see why Broderic is annoyed. He rushed to finish his studies while our father was dying.

“Heirless,” Broderic mutters like it’s a slur, shaking his head in disgust. “He’s probably filling the king’s head with more nonsense about seizing the Lost Continent.”

At a dinner to celebrate the last five hundred years of peace, no less. “We won’t really invade a—”

But Broderic shushes me as we reach the head table.

We aren’t the first family eager to address the king, so we’re forced to wait in a line of impressionable young nobles and overly enthusiastic parents. The king could probably request each of them brought to his chamber at midnight, and their parents would deliver them wrapped in bows.

The line moves slowly, each person taking up as much time as the king will allow.

“Can’t they just bow, pucker up, kiss his ass, and get on with it?” I grumble under my breath.

“This is a chance for them to make an impression. For you to make one,” Broderic whispers like he’s disseminating trade secrets. “The right impression can impact the rest of your life.”

It’s a little late for that. I’m guessing the wrong impression can as well.

Broderic clears his throat as we shuffle forward a few steps. “About earlier. I should not have—”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I don’t need him to apologize. I swivel to face him. “You can’t force Kieren to join Order Marius. He belongs with us. He’s family.”

A muscle works in Broderic’s jaw. “I will never allow him to marry Isidore,” he says in a low voice. He holds up a hand when I start to protest. “Not only for her sake. For his. Isidore …”

He doesn’t have to explain why it would probably never work. I take a deep breath and nod. “Kieren knows that, too. He’s never made a move. He’s never even spoken about her to me. You really don’t need to worry.”

Broderic looks unconvinced, but he continues to shuffle forward in silence.

When we reach the front of the line, Broderic bows deeply before taking my hand. “Your Majesty. May I present my eldest sister? We’re honored that you invited us to receive her birthright before the Eternal Throne.”

I’ve read shorter books than his speech, but I force myself into the curtsy our mother drilled into me before she died. Back straight, head tilted just so, one foot behind the other in a graceful sweep that makes my silk gown pool around me like rippling water.