Page 32 of Harbinger

“I didn’t do anything.” I tug harder. “Let me go.”

He ignores me, barking orders to his people as he drags me toward the exit. “Secure the royal family. Make sure no one leaves until I say.”

I can’t let him take me away. Shoving against him, I search for Broderic in the havoc. He won’t let this happen. But my older brother is nowhere to be found. I spot Andry pushing his way toward me. Isidore, wide-eyed with tear-stained cheeks, is right behind him. I shout their names, stretching my arms in their direction.

Bishop blocks me, seizing my wrists and pinning them behind my back. He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “If you want to make it out of this room alive, you’ll let me walk you out of here.”

I have no reason to trust him. In fact, I have multiple reasons not to trust him. But I catch sight of a group of men talking quickly, heads bowed toward one another, hands balled into fists. One glances up and meets my gaze. His lip curls into a sneer, a hand moving to the sword sheathed at his side.

I press into Bishop, allowing his solid body to form a shield between me and the violence I glimpsed in the man’s eyes.

“Good girl,” Bishop mutters, and I instantly regret my decision.

But I’m out of choices, especially as more nobles begin to form groups, some inching closer like they might risk rushing Bishop and his knights. We’re nearly to the door when a young man wearing a thin shirt steps into our path. His round face is familiar, and it hits me. He’s not one of the nobles from the audience. He’s an initiate from Order Calix. I think his name is Dimitri. Something glints in his left hand. Horror floods through me when I realize he’s holding the ceremonial dagger.

Bishop places his arm in front of me. “Try.”

The single word carries enough threat that Dimitri hesitates, his knuckles going white as he grips the knife. A second later, it clatters to the ground. Dimitri backs away from the door.

“You won’t last the night, witch,” Dimitri shouts when we reach the exit.

Bishop’s finger pauses on the handle. There’s a flash of movement, the glint of steel, and a second later, Dimitri’s shirt hangs open, the fabric shorn completely through.

“If anything happens to her,” Bishop says in a low, measured voice, “I’ll split you open and see how long you last.” He pushes open the door, nudging me through it. Two knights follow—the ones who were with him during my Petition. “Stay here,” he orders them. “I’ll send word when she’s secure.”

Secure. That’s a nice word for what probably means imprisoned.

But Bishop doesn’t grab hold of me again. Instead, he nods toward the corridor. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I manage a few steps before the tears hit. There’s no point trying to fight them. Instead, I let them fall fast and hot down my cheeks. I make it a few more steps before I stop in my tracks.

“There’s no time,” Bishop growls as I bend over. “What are you doing?”

“Speeding things up,” I say through gritted teeth. I yank my shoes off one by one. For a second, I stare at the pretty heels, my toes sinking into the plush rug that lines the hallway. Isidore picked them out. I couldn’t be bothered. No wonder they’re too small. They’re her size. I don’t even think—I just turn and chuck them as far as I can. They land at the feet of the scarred knight. He looks down at them, then back at me with a blink. “Get those to my sister.”

My voice breaks, my heart already knowing that I won’t see her again. I won’t see any of them again.

And then I’m running.

The soles of my feet protest the change in altitude and circumstance, but I ignore them, pushing myself faster until my muscles burn, until I’m gulping down air but unable to catch my breath. I don’t stop until the hallway splits.

Doubling over as I drag in long breaths, I stare in the direction of my family’s assigned quarters. But all I can see is that initiate holding the knife. Going back to my room isn’t safe for my siblings.

Bishop catches up to me, never having picked up his own pace. He glowers at me for a second. “Were you headed somewhere?”

“Away.” I don’t bother saying more. He wouldn’t understand. He has a place here. A place within his own order. He knows who he is.

An hour ago, I thought I did, too.

But I straighten and meet his eyes. I’m not foolish enough to believe I can fight him. Not when he’s twice my size and trained to be lethal. But whatever he plans to do with me, I will not hang my head in shame. I will not beg for mercy. I will not go easily.

Silence stretches as we measure each other up.

“Are you going to run again?” he finally asks.

I tilt my head and meet his eyes. “That depends. Are you going to hurt me?”

There’s a slight tug on his lips—that smile of his that never seems to fully materialize—but his silvery blue eyes remain shadowed. “If I planned to hurt you, you would already be dead.”