Page 147 of Harbinger

I’m not talking about training. How do I put myself back together? I’m not even sure I’ve earned the right to ask that question. Maybe I never will.

But he gives me the answer anyway. “One day at a time.” He offers me his hand. I hesitate a moment before letting him help me up.

When I’m on my feet, he brushes a strand of hair from my face, the touch so gentle after days trapped in a cage of pain and guilt that I lean a little closer to him. “Starting tomorrow.”

The days grow shorter as the end of the year approaches. During the long evening hours, I split my time. Some of it I spend in the library, poring over old books with Hadrian, trying to learn more about Icaros magic in preparation for spring. Hadrian assures me my gifts will eventually manifest. And when they do … if I only know Icaros magic, maybe this will all stop. Maybe I can go home.

So, I study. I also help Lenora with the mountain of baking she’s taken on in preparation for the coming Twelvetide party.

But during the day, I’m always here, training, with Bishop.

That is, when he’s at Miradores, which has been less and less recently.

And every time he leaves, I fight the urge to beg him to stay, not to leave the security of Vennaro, not when there have been so many recent heart collector attacks.

“There’s really no other way to kill a scion?” I grind my jaw, throwing all my strength behind my block. Our blades lock with a shriek of metal that makes my teeth clench, but I surge into him, shoulders burning as I try to muscle his sword aside.

Bishop regains his footing far too fucking easily. He raises his sword again, beckoning for me to attack with his free hand.

“Was that a question?” he asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I defended, didn’t I?” I toss an actual smirk at him.

“Looking for other ways to take me out?” His foot shifts back, and my heart leaps in anticipation of his next attack.

He could go high, come at me from over his shoulder. Or simply thrust. Or throw some other fuckery at me.

Make a choice.

Stars know that it will be the wrong one. After weeks, I’m no better at anticipating his next strike. But I grip the hilt tightly with both hands and swing the sword into first position.

He lifts a brow at my decision. “Interesting.”

Shit.

But he’s already coming at me, sword arcing over his head and slicing down in a diagonal aimed at the opposite side of my body. Adrenaline seizes me, and I drop my blade lower to counter, but as usual, he’s too fucking fast. The tip of my sword narrowly misses the block as his blade stops a fraction of an inch from my leather cuirass. I stare down at it, heart still pounding.

He steps away, bringing his sword to his side. “You left yourself open.”

But I can’t stop staring at how close his sword came. If this were a real fight, I would be dead.

Again.

I’ve yet to save myself even once.

He gestures for us to reset, and I shake it off. This is why we’re doing this.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I press, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to give me some clue at what he’s going to attempt next before I try to defend. “What if you explode?”

“Explode?” he repeats, blinking. “Is that your plan? To blow me up?”

He actually sounds disturbed.

“Yes,” I say flatly, giving up and moving into second position. I roll my eyes but keep my sword level between us. “You’ve figured out my devious plot. There are only a few more steps before I can enact it. I just have to learn forbidden magic and figure out who I’ll ask to scrape the bits of you off the floor.”

Bishop snorts. “Blowing me up would work. No chest … no heart,” he admits with a wink. “Add it to your list.”

Something entirely unhelpful flickers low in my core. I swallow and tip my head, trying to maintain my balance. “I will.”