Page 222 of Harbinger

There’s no relief. Only a hollow pang like the bell echoing through the night.

Three figures break through the trees. Bishop leads, sword out, Broderic and Laurel behind him. She’s breathing hard, the perfect picture of a woman who’s just run to fetch help.

Bishop’s eyes lock on me. He goes rigid for a heartbeat. Then he’s at my side, hand reaching for my arm, helping me to stand. I let him take my weight. “You’re bleeding.”

But I don’t feel it.

He looks over at Stefan’s body, and his mouth twists as his gaze snags on the vestiges visible on the man’s arm now. Then his focus shifts to the wolves beside me. The pup burrows into his mother, still howling, but each cry is softer than the last.

Laurel gasps. “Oh, Stars. Arden, I thought—”

She cuts off when I point at her.

“Enough with the lies.” I spit the words at her feet. “This was you.”

Broderic stills.

“What?” he says after a long moment.

“It was her. Patron Velesont sent her. She poisoned the sauce. The whole table.” I stumble over to the grass, my palms sweeping the ground until I find the bottle. “This is the antidote. She offered me a trade. My life for this.”

Laurel takes a small step backward, and more lies begin spewing out of her. “Broderic, she’s hysterical. She ran into the trees. I tried to stop her.”

Broderic looks at me. Then at her. And something sinks inside me. He’s actually deciding.

“Broderic,” I say to my brother, too tired to raise my voice. “It’s me.”

That has to matter. Even after everything.

His mouth opens as Laurel turns her hand. She doesn’t wait to see which side he lands on.

The postern flares in her palm. She drops it, leaping into the shimmering blue puddle. It winks shut behind her with a snuff of air.

Broderic stares at the empty space beside him.

And keeps staring.

Forcing myself back to my feet, I push the antidote into his hands. My mouth opens and closes, my heart searching for the right words to reach him. I settle on his own.

“You’re an Icaros,” I say. “Act like it. Go save our family.”

He blinks down at the glass. Then he’s moving.

But he pauses a few steps away and looks at us. “Bishop … Arden …”

“Go,” Bishop orders, reaching for me again.

Broderic dashes in the direction of the cottage. I watch him for a few seconds before I collapse against Bishop.

“Wait.” I pull back, panicked. “The antidote. You need it.”

He snorts. “I didn’t eat much, either. I’m fine.”

His eyes do a slow inventory of me—my arm, the loose collar at my throat, the dried blood on my hands. Then they flick past me to the guard.

“I have to,” he says quietly.

“I know.”