Page 156 of Harbinger

That’s not what I was expecting him to say.

“What?” It doesn’t make sense for the heart collector responsible to not collect them. “Is it possible for a scion to kill another scion without collecting their vestiges?”

“It shouldn’t be. The power usually just … transfers. The patterns disappear from the vanquished and write themselves onto the winner’s skin. The body still had its vestiges.”

Something tells me that he’s trying to protect me from how the process works. Since it involves carving out hearts, I don’t push for more details.

He leans back, whipping off his glasses to rub the space between his brows. “But it’s the second time the vestiges have been left unclaimed.”

“Second?” My voice pitches up.

“It happened in Damalis, too,” he says grimly. “We thought it was a fluke. Maybe unrelated. Just …”

“Some bastard carving people’s hearts out for fun?” That doesn’t seem likely. “Or do you think this is a mortal hunting scions? Maybe someone from Order Marius?”

Hadrian peeks out from under the hand he’s using to massage his forehead. “You are not helping my headache.”

“You aren’t helping mine,” I say sourly. Except it’s not my head that’s hurting.

“Yes, but I am trying to figure out why it’s happening.” He jabs his index finger at the nearest of his research papers. “Because if this were just a rogue scion or even mortal, the pattern would make sense. But it doesn’t. Only knights and higher know about scions, so Bishop is sure it’s not one of his people.” He taps the page again as if he knows the answers are on it somewhere. “Which is why I’m back to this.”

“And this is?” I ask, eyeing the mess.

“The Ars Astra.” He sounds as if he’s naming an old enemy. “Ravenell’s corrupted nochtimetry. Their dark work. Unfinished, but still a pain in my ass.”

The skin over my birthright prickles. “Dark work?”

He nods once. “There’s a passage that keeps resurfacing.” He flips a page and reads in a tired voice. “‘Our dark work forged by fire to rival the Stars. A vessel of fire to liberate eternal flame and form a crown of rooted magic.’”

I wait for him to continue, to tell me what it means, but he doesn’t. “Well, that doesn’t explain anything.”

His mouth twists. “No. It does not.”

“Liberate it from what?” No wonder he’s in a mood if all he’s been doing is trying to find the answers to shitty riddles.

“That’s the problem. I have no idea.” He shifts back in his seat to wipe his glasses before reaching for one of the thickly bound journals. “But this text calls the vessel the revello.”

“Revello,” I repeat, more for moral support, which he obviously needs, than understanding. “What’s that?”

Blowing out a long breath, he shrugs. “It could be an object. A ritual. Maybe even a person.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Ravenell loved riddles and hated conclusions.” He curses the name again under his breath before he remembers himself. He winces. “Forgive me.”

“I should be asking you that.” I sigh. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

He waves it off. “Just having someone to talk through it while Bishop is out trying to find the damn thing, whatever it is, is useful.”

My stomach flips over. “He’s trying to find it?”

“Of course.” Hadrian glances up. “It may be what ends the cycle. I believe it was a tool meant to prevent the fury, to liberate the scions from it.”

Bishop believes this revello can stop the cycle … and he’s trying to find it. A bubble of hope forms in my chest. If there’s a way to stop the cycle, then what does it matter if I’m some mythical harbinger? Maybe I can go home? But another thought occurs to me …

I narrow my eyes. “If that’s what Ravenell was doing, why would the Stars destroy them for it?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I think we’ll understand when we find the revello.”

“But you don’t know what it is?”

“No,” he says grimly, pointing to an illustration in one of the open books. “I keep hoping I’ll find a depiction of it.”