Page 92 of Harbinger

The bastard knows how to distract me.

“I’ll walk.” He gives me an incredulous look, but I shrug. “I know the way. Through the haunted garden, over the death-trap bridge, and head straight into the heart of your childhood trauma.”

He snorts, which is probably the closest to a laugh that I’m getting out of him today. “If we walk, we’ll both be soaked, and the paper will be ruined.”

And we’ll have to endure each other’s presence after the embarrassing finale to last night’s bonding exercises. Somehow, that idea sounds even worse than the postern.

“Fine,” I say, tucking the writing supplies into my jacket to protect them. “Torture me.”

“Your sacrifice is noted,” he says, leading me into the great room.

“We’re allowed to use this one today?” I ask as he walks toward the wall we came through the first day we arrived.

He sketches a pattern, and an arch shimmers to life. “Consider it a perk of spending time with me.”

“This isn’t the way to bribe me,” I warn him as I approach it.

He rolls his eyes, grabs my hand, and drags me through. When he doesn’t let go, the full-body shiver that crests over my skin has nothing to do with the cold.

The postern delivers us directly into the corridor of the Commons, which is teeming with people wearing stiffly starched uniforms. Most of them look anxious or, at the very least, curious. Bishop drops my hand and quickly puts distance between us as he tugs on a pair of gloves.

“New conscripts coming in for orientation,” he explains, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I should, uh …”

“Don’t worry about me.” I cross my arms and force a smile despite the lingering thud in my forehead. At least the hangover is a reminder why I should ignore any and all full-body sensations this man produces in me.

His forehead creases as he gazes down at me. “Arden.” He hesitates before continuing gruffly. “We can walk back after … since you won’t have paper to keep dry.”

But I’ve learned my lesson. Now I just have to pass the follow-up test.

“Whatever.” I wave him away. “Go play soldier.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but I walk away before he can.

Breccan is in one of the study rooms, huddled at the edge of a table too big for his small body. He’s surrounded by older kids, most of them ignoring him, but his eyes are fixed on a battered notebook so full of scribbles that he’s drawing in the margins. The moment he spots me, he jumps up, knocking it onto the ground, and rushes over.

“You came back,” he whispers like my arrival is a big secret.

I can’t help smiling. “I told you I would.”

“Did you bring …?” He squirms like he’s nervous to ask.

I hand him the writing supplies. He takes them with reverence.

“Holy Stars.” His eyes round as he hugs them to his chest. “There’s so much of it. I can write forever.”

I wish I had half his optimism. “Use it up. I can always bring more.”

He grins. “Thank you, Lady Icaros.”

I flinch. “Just Arden,” I remind him as Shea joins us.

“I told him to use your title.” She scrunches her nose at him. “I’m trying to teach him manners.”

Breccan holds out the ink bottle to her. “Can you open this?”

Her sleeve rides up as she reaches for it, revealing a slender silver line on her wrist. She hurriedly pulls it down and breaks the wax seal. So, the marks are some Marius trade secret.

And just another reminder that I don’t belong here.