Page 26 of Harbinger

“You need to do what?” I blurt out. That’s what Bishop meant when he said King Ophelian was eager to meet me?

I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal—or so soon. Then again, I wasn’t given any warning about the ceremonial sacrifice, either. Everyone is just full of surprises.

“You are here at his invitation,” Broderic reminds me.

“So, then he already knows who I am.” I can’t face the king, especially with my brother at my side. Bishop made it clear he’d told the king about my Petition, and if Broderic finds out what I did … I haven’t allowed myself to consider the consequences. That sometimes the Stars skip generations. “Let’s not waste his time.”

“If she won’t go, I will.” Isidore perks up, her eyes darting to the royal platform. The hunger is back. My sister is pretty enough to enchant the king, but she’ll have to fight her way through every noble hoping to catch his attention.

“No. Just myself and Arden,” Broderic says, crushing her hopes. “She’s the one receiving her birthright.”

“Let Isidore go,” I insist. Will I shamelessly throw my weight behind my sister’s cause to save my own ass? Apparently. Then again, the king is just as likely to say something to Broderic if I’m not there.

“I could introduce myself,” Isidore suggests. “I don’t want to be rude.”

“You can wait until after the Kindling, like everyone else,” Broderic says.

I latch on to the idea. “Maybe we should all wait.” They both ignore me.

Broderic stares pointedly at our sister. “And stop looking at him like he’s a trophy to claim.”

She gasps. “I’m not—”

“You are.”

I watch them bicker with a strange detachment that only comes when one is completely and utterly doomed. My sister wants to marry the king. My brother wants to maintain our dignity. Andry wants to taste the wine. I want to hide under the table until the void swallows us.

I foresee a lot of disappointments in our collective future.

“We should hurry,” Broderic says. “They’ll serve the first course soon.”

I scoot my chair back reluctantly. There has to be a way out of this. “What if I just wave? He can probably see me from here.”

My brother’s expression could frost glass. “Arden.”

So much for a truce. Refusing will result in another fight, and I can’t risk that. Not with Kieren’s fate on the line.

“Fine. Lead the way.” It’s only my funeral.

I follow Broderic through the maze of carefully spaced tables, humming a dirge under my breath.

The royal family’s table looks down at us from its silk-draped pedestal as we approach. We may share magic in Antares, but the real power in the room rests on the shoulders of the man seated in the middle. I’ve only seen the artistic renderings of King Ophelian that they send out with royal bulletins; he looks younger in person. In the pictures, they give him shrewd eyes and sharp, hewn features, but his dark-brown cheeks are round as a baby’s. He laughs at some private joke, and there’s something almost boyish about his easy smile.

The sight lessens the anxiety gnawing a pit in my stomach. He doesn’t look dangerous. Maybe that’s why his mother sits on his right side, like she’s not quite capable of trusting the twenty-six-year-old with the crown. To her left, jewels drip from the necks of her daughter and the princess’s consort, their dresses lavishly beaded with even more sparkling gems. A few advisors and distant family members fill nearly every seat, save for an empty chair to the king’s left.

I almost trip over my skirts when Bishop ascends the platform, clad in a scarlet dress uniform. Its tailored jacket fastens high on his throat with gold clasps, a horned wolf mid-snarl embroidered across the chest. His leather gauntlets have been replaced by white gloves, and his twin swords traded for a single saber worn at his side.

“Why is he here?” I ask without thinking.

Broderic follows my gaze, brows drawing together. “The king’s left hand is a position of honor.” He sighs. “I hadn’t heard Bishop was back from the Lost Continent.”

My eyes widen as pieces fall into place, revealing what I should have seen all along. Not just anyone would observe last night’s ritual. Few people travel to the wild, magicless lands across the Baron Sea willingly. Coming back is even less common. I can only think of one person who might regularly do so. And how many people would risk looking at forbidden texts? Only someone totally beyond the reach of the law.

My stomach twists into knots. If he’s important enough to sit next to the king … “What’s his surname?”

“Marius,” Broderic says, confirming my fears.

My gaze flies back to Bishop, watching him bow rigidly before taking the open seat by the king. He’s not just any noble who’s risen to this rank. Not just any bishop.