Page 14 of Harbinger

“Maybe in two or three hundred years.” Because that’s how long it would take me to save the money for it, but he just laughs.

“There’s Icaros.” Kieren jabs the glass, pointing at a model tucked in the window and shooting me a wide smile. “Just think, by this time tomorrow, you’ll bear that mark.”

The words dig a pit in my stomach. The models are three-dimensional versions of the constellations I saw etched into the Royal Astrolatory’s alcoves last night. My mark will look more like those engravings, the Stars choosing where to brand it into my flesh. If I didn’t fuck up my chances of receiving it last night. What if the Stars refuse to endow me like I refused to kill the oscen? I shake the thought off. No sense dwelling on what’s done.

“Let’s keep going.” I tug his sleeve, wanting to fill the hole my nerves have carved into my stomach. “I’m hungry.”

His eyes widen. “You can’t possibly be hungry already.”

“I’m gastronomically ambitious.” And a total stress eater.

He snorts, then scans the street before grabbing my hand and dragging me toward a nearby coffee shop. We get into the short line of customers waiting to place an order. The man in front of me shifts on his feet, twisting his hands like he might panic before he gets a chance to order. His partner brushes a soothing hand down his arm, then laces his fingers through his. The others in line seem equally on edge.

I look up at the menu and balk. It’s not simply coffee. They’re using nochtimetry to infuse each drink with a slight dose of magic. And the price reflects it. No wonder we’re required to send our entire crop for distribution.

“Is this legal?” I whisper to Kieren, watching the woman behind the bar spoon grounds into a muslin-lined pot. Its ceramic exterior is painted with intersecting lines and shapes in a beautiful, intricate pattern.

He shrugs, still studying the options on the menu. “It is if they have a license from Order Calix. If there’s money to be made off magic, they’ll approve it.”

It seems a trifle extravagant to use magic to make coffee, but the shop is brimming with people willing to pay. Someone chooses a brew infused with clarity. Another, a drink that claims it calms the nerves.

I shake my head. “This is a waste of money.”

Kieren raises a brow. “You sure you don’t need something to calm your nerves?”

Leave it to Kieren to know me well enough to spot that something is off today.

“I’m just anxious.” It’s a bit of an understatement. “Why did I have the bad luck of coming of age during the Quincentennial?”

“It must be your destiny,” he teases, but his smile slips when I don’t grin back. “Hey, don’t worry. The chances you fall on your face in front of every noble in Antares are nearly zero.”

“Nearly?” I widen my eyes, suddenly queasy. “I wasn’t worried about falling.”

Until now.

My stomach rumbles from that fresh hit to my nerves. “Let’s go. I’d rather spend my money on food. Regular food. Please.”

“Fine.” He holds up his hand in surrender. “We’ll find food and try to fill that bottomless pit you call a stomach.”

As soon as we step out the door, my panic settles to a low hum.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Kieren leads me away from the High Street.

“You’ll see.”

I poke him in the ribs. “I better see food.”

He starts to walk faster. My best friend is well-versed in what happens when I don’t get fed quickly enough.

I glance over to offer a quick smile, but he’s too focused on steering us through the crowd. His jaw is tight, his eyebrows drawn together as he sweeps an arm out to keep someone from bumping into me. A beautiful woman in a high-necked dress offers him an interested look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and her face falls a little as she passes.

She’s not the first, but Kieren has only ever had eyes for Isidore.

He guides us deeper into the heart of Wintour, where the buildings start to shrink. The storefronts and businesses sit closer together on streets half the width of the High Street. There are more people here and even more Marius guards.

Kieren hurries us along, unconcerned as we walk toward a glass-domed market that looks like it takes up several city blocks.

“What is that?”