Page 89 of Harbinger

I flush, feeling caught, even though my hands are empty. I have no idea how long he’s been watching me. “I was looking for a book.”

Please don’t ask which one.

He moves closer, his steps soundless on the thick rug. “Yes, that’s usually what one does in a library. Just don’t disturb the order.” He gestures to the books with a curt nod. “They are arranged by subject and author. If you move one, put it back. If you dog-ear one, I’ll notice.”

He winces like the idea physically pains him.

I nod, fighting the urge to apologize. It’s not like he’s angry, more resigned to the inevitability of chaos in what’s clearly his domain.

“Lenora warned me that Bishop is particular about his books,” I say instead. “I didn’t mess anything up.”

Why didn’t she warn me about this guy?

He considers for a moment. “Hadrian. I’m a friend of the family.”

That ghosts around the library?

“Arden,” I reply, forcing myself to add, “Icaros.”

His eyebrows lift a fraction higher. “The initiate from Damalis. Bishop mentioned you were with us.”

I wait for him to call me harbinger, or Ravenell, or monster. But he just moves to check that I have, in fact, left the books in order.

“If you’re looking for something specific,” Hadrian says, already turning back to the shelves as if the conversation is an inconvenience, “ask.”

I glance at the shelves, weighing his offer. “Are there any books in here about what happened to Ravenell during the Last War?” It’s a slightly dangerous request, but one that might prove personally useful to warrant the risk. “Or the original patron families?”

“Plenty.” But he doesn’t elaborate.

I hesitate. “I was hoping there would be something … I don’t know.” I reach for the most convincing reason of all. “Maybe a way to break a harbinger’s curse?”

If I can’t figure out what Bishop is hiding, getting rid of this fucking mark might be equally useful.

His eyes narrow. “That’s what you think it is?”

For weeks, I’ve pictured the faces of the people in the throne room and replayed the conversation I overheard between the men casually planning to kill me.

“If it was a curse, you’d already be dead,” he adds. “A harbinger is only something people attach fears and hopes to—there’s no true power in it.”

“So, it’s not a curse?” It sure feels like one to me.

His mouth tightens. “It’s a challenge. Maybe a reminder.”

“And who is being reminded?”

“Everyone,” he says darkly, but then he shrugs. “Or no one. Sometimes the Stars just like to stir the pot.”

I scowl. “I wish they’d stirred a different pot.”

“Yes.” He manages a tired laugh. “Most people do.”

“I haven’t felt any magic yet,” I confess. “Maybe the magic skipped me.”

Maybe it was all a mistake.

He stares over his glasses at me. “The Kindling can take some time to manifest a single magic. If the Stars have chosen you as a Ravenell, you have access to all magic. I imagine that might take longer.”

So much for wishful thinking.