Page 41 of Harbinger

“It’s not polite to point,” I say through gritted teeth. This earns me everyone’s attention. Broderic clears his throat, but I ignore the warning. “Why are you so worried about an omen? People think they see them all the time.”

But Patron Calix is unruffled, his beady eyes squinting at me. “They must not teach history in Damalis.”

“I guess I skipped the day we studied ancient superstitions.” If I’m going to be condemned, it’s not going to be by a man like him.

Bishop hesitates, then says, “A harbinger foretold the coming of the Last War.”

“And there hasn’t been one for five hundred years,” Patron Leontia says calmly. She reaches over and pats the queen’s hand. “The rumors can be squashed before this reaches a head. What happened tonight is a tragedy, but we do not have to allow more violence.”

“An execution is hardly violence,” Patron Velesont says, stroking his thumb over his cane’s rounded handle.

Execution. My mouth goes dry as I suddenly understand what we’re really debating.

Patron Calix nods in agreement, a rabid gleam in his dark eyes. “If we do nothing, that sends a message.”

They both want me dead. I clutch my armrests to stay upright. Two of the patrons will vote to execute. Even if Bishop sides with Broderic … I shake away the thought. I won’t fear two greedy old men suffering a bout of irrationality.

“And what message will executing her send?” Bishop leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his blue eyes stony.

This time, Patron Velesont doesn’t shrink from him. Instead, he whacks the handle of his cane on the table. “That we take security seriously. I should think that’s a message you would be eager to send.”

The certainty I’ve been clinging to cracks, and something inside me wavers—just for a second, but it’s enough.

“What are you implying?” Bishop arches a brow.

“Perhaps being patron and bishop is too much responsibility. If Order Marius isn’t up to the task of protecting our king, even …” He taps his cane again, smiling like he’s already won.

The little snake waited to strike, but Bishop shrugs a shoulder. “Your concern is noted. Perhaps we could alleviate some of the strain on my troops by removing the ones stationed in Isoldoro.”

The older patron stills, the strike landing. Velesont’s province is a cluster of wealthy islands that oversees all trade in Antares. If enemies from the Lost Continent or beyond attack, they’ll likely be hit first.

“Not with a war about to begin, if it hasn’t already,” Patron Velesont backtracks, clearly realizing the same thing. He looks toward the queen, his knuckles going white around his cane, but his gaze travels past her to the high vesper. “What do the Stars say?”

The high vesper places his hands on the back of the queen’s chair and meets my eyes. My pulse stutters as he measures me. Wisdom reflects back at me, ancient and patient despite his age, as though the years spent in that spiraling tower with the Stars have prepared him for this precise moment. “No cycle has begun.”

“But she is marked a Ravenell. She will cause another war,” Patron Calix says, lifting his bushy eyebrows.

The high vesper looks down his long nose at him. “That remains to be seen.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing up there?” Patron Calix needles him. “Seeing these things? You’re saying that you didn’t see that star in the Night’s Scar?”

Queen Selestina flinches, wincing slightly like the words sting. “Enough.” Her chin quivers. “The high vesper has spoken.”

Relief leaks through me.

And apparently, that’s that—until Patron Velesont taps his cane loudly on the floor. I really hate that fucking cane. “Her magic hasn’t manifested yet. That is precisely why we act now. A Ravenell with fully awakened magic …” He pauses like he’s giving us time to remember every terrifying story we’ve ever heard about the witches. “Executing her may be the only way to stop the cycle from beginning. Are you willing to risk that?”

The words land like a punch to my gut. I should have known it wouldn’t be as simple as one person’s verdict. I glance around the table at Patrons Calix and Leontia, even the queen, and for the first time, all of them look nervous. Fear floods through me, and I turn toward Broderic.

The panic in his eyes is somehow worse than anything on their faces. As if he’s watching someone slam a door he can’t reach in time.

Something inside me gives way, threatening to drag my body down with it. My shoulders sag as it hits me.

I’m not leaving Wintour with my family.

Not alive, anyway.

“Harbinger or not, the Stars chose her,” Bishop counters, then hesitates before adding, “and executing her might begin the cycle.”