Page 66 of Harbinger

“Did you deserve it?” I ask.

“Oh, absolutely.” He grins. “But she was still worth it. Best three weeks of my life.”

“It seems like a lot of people want to hurt you.”

His smile only widens. “Bishop says I bring out the violence in people.”

For once, I agree with Bishop.

We only walk a few minutes on the mainland before we reach a split in the road, marked by a column carved with directions. Unfortunately, the directions are written in the ancient tongue. Taliesin continues toward the right-hand path, which slopes at such a steep angle I wonder how close we are to the mountains. I lag behind him a few steps, staring in the other direction.

“That way takes you to Wolf’s Keep,” he says, noticing my interest.

I recall Lenora mentioning it in passing. “The village, right?”

He nods. “Probably your best chance at finding a way out of here.”

“I’m beginning to think that you want me to escape.”

“Honestly? I’ll be a tad disappointed if you don’t try.”

Probably because it’s his best excuse to off me. Still, I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why?”

“You let the oscen go.” His voice drops so low that it’s almost lost in the wind. “No one does that.”

No one except the girl Bishop dragged halfway across Antares and dumped in his lap.

“That’s what my brother said, too,” I grumble, and Taliesin laughs. But thinking of Broderic—even in passing—makes my chest tighten. “If I’d known how much trouble it would cause …”

“You wouldn’t have released it?”

For a second, I feel the weight of the dagger in my hand. My fingers close reflexively but find only air. There is no knife. No bird. No second chance. I shrug. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Taliesin pauses, his forehead wrinkling. “Yes, it does. Would you let it go again?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I hadn’t expected today to include exercises in personal morality. Especially considering my companion. But I mull over the question as we walk. I could have made it quick. Painless. I can only imagine how the other initiates botched their sacrifices. And maybe if I had killed the oscen, I wouldn’t be here now, having this pointless conversation. Maybe the symbol of Order Icaros would be seared into my skin somewhere far less conspicuous than the mark I bear now. Maybe King Ophelian would even be alive.

The trouble is that dwelling on my choices won’t change anything.

And I know with certainty that my hands would have never felt clean again. I would have spent my life like that initiate from Leontia, trying to wipe off blood no one else could see.

“Yes,” I answer finally.

Taliesin doesn’t press the issue, but something that looks suspiciously like approval glints in his eyes.

We continue in silence, each lost in our own thoughts, but as we reach the point where the road crests, the Bellatorum comes into view.

There is no fortified wall. No heads on iron spikes. It’s actually … elegant.

Somehow, the Bellatorum is larger than the royal palace in Wintour. It sprawls across the foothills of the Stygia Mountains in a curious mix of old and new, half built from the ruins of something that feels ancient.

The gates are open and unguarded apart from a pair of enormous stone wolves, mottled by moss and time. A black bird perches on one of their horns, wings tucked tightly against its body. Its beady black eyes don’t blink as we approach.

Taliesin doesn’t seem to notice, but I look down as we pass through the gates. It can’t be the same bird. I’m just seeing signs where there are none. Another victim of Antares’s deeply rooted superstition.

Ivy strangles the walls of dormitories and various structures, so thick in places that it looks like the building is being pulled back into the ground. Some of them are situated around a grassy knoll, although most are built on the fringes of a collection of stone arenas that seems much older than anything else around. We pause at a postbox so I can drop my letters before Taliesin leads me to the closest building.

“Home sweet home,” he says.