Page 143 of Harbinger

“What is this for?” I stare at it like the stone might actually answer me.

“Swords are heavy.”

“No shit.” I roll my eyes.

His forehead inches up, but he doesn’t lecture me. “Hold it over your head, smart-ass.”

That’s what I get for asking a simple question. I swallow a whimper as I raise it over my head. Thanks to the gardening, I make it about twenty seconds before my arms start to tremble, just long enough to manage a smug smile. “Now what?” I grit out.

He blinks back at me like it’s obvious. “Keep going.”

A minute later, I’m regretting that I wasted energy on a smile or words or even breathing.

“Okay,” he says, but before I can drop my arms, he continues. “Now walk, one foot in front of the other, to the door and back.”

Even my ankles are wobbling by the time I make it to the door and turn, one wolf looming above me on either side. I make it two more steps, and he calls out, “Close your eyes.”

I bite back a retort, but only because I don’t have the strength with every ounce of me focused on keeping the rock from falling and smashing me in the face. Clenching my eyes closed, I focus on two things: steadying my feet and imagining throwing the rock at him. If I could even hurl it that far.

“You’re holding your breath,” he says when I finally make it to him.

“I’m still doing it,” I grunt, arms quivering so hard that my whole body starts to sway. “Isn’t that the point?”

You sadistic prick.

Bishop takes the stone from me. “No, it’s the problem.”

My arms sag instantly, dead weights attached to my body only by circumstance. “You think I’m weak, don’t you?”

That’s why he’s doing this. To show me that I can’t do this. To make me believe I need other people to protect me.

But he shakes his head. “No, I think you’re afraid. When your magic finally manifests, it won’t be good or evil. It will be yours. A blade isn’t wicked because of what some men do with it. Neither is that mark on your chest or Ravenell magic. The only thing that matters is what you decide to do with it.”

His words snap the very thin thread tethering my sanity.

“Of course I’m fucking afraid! They tried to kill me.” The men in the woods. The other patrons. Even Taliesin put a sword to my throat. My legs start to tremble, knees threatening to buckle, but the shaking isn’t because of my overtaxed muscles. It’s coming from somewhere deeper, a place beyond my bones and blood and pounding heart. Somewhere that can’t be touched but that I still feel everywhere.

“They did,” he confirms with a nod that’s all business.

“I suppose that doesn’t mean anything to you.” I spit the words at him. “People kill you all the time.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Actually, he looks bored. “They try to kill me, and do you want to know how I survive?”

I press my palms to my knees, still struggling to catch my breath, and glare up at him. “Enlighten me.”

He points toward the sloping trail. “I keep going.”

Motherfucker.

The sun is low on the horizon when Bishop calls training and tells me to hit the healing baths at the Bellatorum. I stalk back to Miradores without waiting for him, not bothering to stop.

After today, the last thing I need is a bunch of people staring at me. But when I reach the estate, soaked through with sweat and rain, I see Lenora moving in the kitchen, likely making dinner. The whole house probably smells like bread. My stomach growls as I imagine the scent of butter and yeast, but I ignore it. I’m wound too tightly to face her—to face anyone. She’ll ask questions. Innocuous ones like how it went and when am I going back.

I know she means well. They all do. Maybe not Bishop. One day in, and I’m certain that he’s no longer protecting me. He’s finally decided to kill me.

My entire body hurts. I should want to take a private bath or collapse in bed, but Bishop was right about one thing.

I feel alive.