Page 55 of Harbinger

“Let me guess, you let the mosquitoes bite you at the lake,” I say, rolling my eyes, “without swatting them.”

“When I stopped hunting down the man who killed my parents and brother.” He doesn’t look at me, but there’s a rawness in his voice that tells me the grief is still there.

And now I feel like the asshole.

“Any other questions?” he adds quietly.

Not about that. But if I don’t get some answers, I’ll be killed, too.

“Why does everyone want me dead?” I ask, finally working up the courage. “What changed since the council meeting?”

“Everything,” he says.

Well, no shit. I grind my teeth and try again.

“Look, I’m sure people hunt you all the time, but it’s new to me. So, I’ve got a few questions. Like what the seven hells this mark means.” I thump my chest for emphasis. “It’s not even doing anything yet. I don’t feel any different than before. I need—”

“I know exactly what you need,” he interrupts. “You want to know what happens when your magic awakens.” He pauses. “So does everyone hunting you. That’s why I’m taking you somewhere you might find the answers.”

My eyes widen. Was that really so hard for him to share?

Apparently so, because he doesn’t add more. I debate needling him until he tells me what he thinks it all means, but my shoulders sag with fatigue. Tomorrow is soon enough to face how fucked I really am.

We split up the rabbit, devouring it in silence as night falls. The moon is lost behind a bank of clouds, but the stars are bright enough to burn holes in the night.

Bishop rolls his shoulders. “Get some sleep. We’ll leave at sunrise.”

But I stay by the fire a little longer, watching the flames eat through the last of the wood.

Maybe Vennaro is where this ends. Maybe it’s where I finally learn why Bishop Marius is helping me. Or maybe it’s where I disappear forever, leaving nothing behind but rumors and whispers. Either way my magic is still sleeping like it has all the time in the world, even if I don’t.

I glance at Bishop, but for once he isn’t watching me. He just sits staring into the distance like he’s alone. Like I’m not right next to him. He doesn’t move when I finally climb under the blanket.

If I were braver, I’d ask what happened to him. I’d ask about the patterns on his skin, the book he stole, the things he doesn’t say.

But I don’t. I stare up at the star burning brightly at the center of the Night’s Scar.

I close my eyes, listening to the fire crackle and wind sing through the trees. I wait for sleep to drag me under. When it doesn’t, I whisper to the night, “Are you really going to keep me safe?”

“I don’t break my word.”

For the first time, I believe him.

But that doesn’t mean I trust him.

ELEVEN

The sky is still dark when I wake to Bishop organizing his pack, and I’m immediately certain my toes are going to snap off from cold. The fire from last night is little more than a blackened ring in the dirt, wisps of smoke crawling up to nothing. Even the embers look tired.

I sit up and flex, wincing as pins and needles stab the soles of my feet. “Did you pick the coldest camping spot in Antares?”

Bishop doesn’t look over. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Debatable,” I mutter, dragging myself upright. My hair actually crunches when I touch it. The air nips at any exposed skin, and I wrap the blanket around me tightly. I’d kill for a cup of something hot—even the herbal tea from home that tastes like boiled weeds and regret.

Bishop digs into his coat and pulls out an astrolabe, its brass rings faintly humming. He twists it until it silences.

“Not now.” He mutters a few curses that tell me exactly how he feels about the device and drops it into his pack. He roots around for a minute, then stands and tosses me the last bit of rabbit that we left on the fire overnight. “Eat.”