Page 33 of Harbinger

Well, that’s comforting.

He can claim whatever he wants, but we both know that it’s not entirely true. He wouldn’t bother with me if he didn’t see a threat.

“You heard what they said.” I swallow, trying to soothe the ache in my throat. I will not break down in front of him. He might not be my enemy yet, but he’s deadly. “They called me a harbinger.”

The stuff of stories and legends. Plenty still believe in omens, still study the night for them. Even the astrolatories devote resources to searching for signs of fortune and fate despite our ability to tap the power of the Stars and bend it to our needs and whims.

“And you believe that nonsense?” He shrugs, but something in his voice betrays him. Bishop Marius—lethal, ruthless, and superstitious, apparently.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” There’s no point in hiding from the truth. “A lot of them do.”

“That’s why I’m taking you somewhere safe, so we can sort this mess out.”

A hollow laugh rattles from me. Mess doesn’t begin to cover this situation. I’m fucked, and we both know it. “A holding cell, I presume?”

We’re in a palace. There must be a dungeon.

“I said somewhere safe.” He gestures in the opposite direction. “Not the first place they’ll look for you.”

And it would be, given that Bishop himself escorted me away from the throne room. “What did you have in mind?”

“It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you.” His tone is drier than the Burning Sea of Ardermare, not even the slightest hint of amusement coloring it.

“I guess as long as you’re not planning to kill me.” I hide my shaking hands within the folds of my skirt and start down the hall. Each step I take feels like it’s carrying me miles away. Even if I turned around, would I ever find my way back to that throne room? To myself?

We bypass staterooms and parlors, all empty. So much wasted space. Away from the throng of visiting nobles, there’s so little life in the palace. Under the beauty and wealth, there seems to be only loneliness.

Bishop guides me away from all of it to a cramped staircase leading to an upper level. My heart constricts. Maybe he lied. Maybe a tower cell is waiting for me after all. But it’s not like I have a lot of options. Bars work both ways—and I’d rather have some between me and those people ready to murder me down there.

I start to ask him why he’s helping me, but something holds my tongue in place. Judging by our every interaction, I won’t like the answer.

The staircase empties into a hall devoid of any decoration. The plaster walls are unpainted. No rugs line the worn oak floors. There’s not a single hint of the palace’s grandeur.

Bishop stops at an unmarked door. My stomach tumbles as he unlocks it.

The room beyond is nearly as empty as the corridor that led to it. A bed sits under the window. Its sheets are tucked in crisp, tight lines. A massive trunk waits at its footboard. There’s a small table and chair in the corner, and a simple armoire against the wall. That’s it.

“Whose room is this?” I stare at the bed.

He hesitates, which doesn’t fit with what I know about Bishop. “Mine.”

I spin to face him. “This is your room?”

Now I understand his reluctance. What in all seven hells possessed him to bring me to his room? I start backing toward the door, but he blocks me. Panic flares in my chest, my eyes darting in search of another exit.

“You’ll be safe here.” He holds up his hand like I’m a horse he’s trying to steady. “It’s the last place anyone will look for you.”

The expression on his face begs me to understand.

He’s right. No one in their right mind will look for me in Bishop’s private quarters.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Actually, I’m quite sure it’s a terrible idea.

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, still carefully positioned between the door and me. “Are you worried that people will question your virtue?”

That doesn’t even rank on the list of things worrying me.

“What era do you think this is?” I roll my eyes, panic giving way to stabs of annoyance. “It’s your reputation that I’m worried about.”