Page 81 of Harbinger

I reach to adjust the collar of my coat, eyes darting around like I might catch people gawking in every nearby window. “How? Did Bishop send out announcements?”

“Of course not.” She looks offended on his behalf. “The whole kingdom knows. The Quincentennial was a matter of public interest.”

For so many reasons, it’s hard to believe that I’m one of them. But the thought that people know what’s hidden under my shirt …

Vessica grabs my elbow. “We should go.”

I follow, ducking my head as we weave our way through the clogged street. Vessica doesn’t break stride, but she keeps her hand on her sword like she expects trouble.

My eyes stray to the Civicus as we pass, and I stop in my tracks when I see the headline.

ANOTHER MURDER IN DAMALIS

I stare, the shouts around me fading, the people forgotten as the world stops spinning and recenters on that single word. Damalis? How? Thoughts crowd my brain until my head hurts and my eyes strain from staring at the headline. Who? A jolt of adrenaline startles me out of my stupor. I move without thinking, pushing through the crowd to get a closer look, two words practically screaming at me even from a distance: heart removed. Like the king. When I don’t recognize the victim’s name, I nearly collapse with relief. But a murder this close to home? Things like that don’t happen in Damalis. Maybe that’s why Kieren finally wrote to me. I reach into my pocket for the letter as someone shouts from behind me. They’re too far away for me to catch what was said, but it sets off a ripple and people turn.

In my direction.

A woman next to me jabs my shoulder with her finger. “It’s her! That’s the one from the palace!”

“The harbinger,” another voice yells, loud enough to carry.

The word bounces from mouth to mouth—harbinger, harbinger, harbinger.

I try to back up, but someone shoves me, and I stumble into another stranger, dropping my package on the ground. They shove me until I’m being pushed around from person to person like I’m nothing more than that rising chant on their lips. Hands rip at my coat, my hair—each person trying to take a piece of me. Someone yanks hard enough that my neck snaps back. Another fist catches my ribs. I taste copper and realize I’ve bitten my tongue. The chant swells until it’s the only thing I can hear.

Suddenly, the hands and fists vanish, and I crash, my knees hitting the street with a jarring crunch that rattles me all the way to my teeth. Vessica steps in front of me and draws her sword with a deliberate slowness, allowing each inch of the metal to catch the watery afternoon light.

“Back off,” she says, voice flat as a gravestone.

The mob hesitates. No one wants to be the first to test her.

Finally, a man spits at my feet, a gold tooth flashing when he sneers at me. “Go back to where you came from, witch.”

I flinch, but Vessica simply whips the sword toward him—and taps its point on his nose. “What was that?” she asks. He stammers something, eyes crossed as they focus on the tip of her blade, but she shakes her head. “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“N-Nothing,” he finally manages.

She presses the flat of the sword’s tip to the base of his nose, forcing his head up. “No. I distinctly heard you,” she says. “You said: I’m sorry, my lady. Now, try again. Louder this time so everyone can hear you.”

The man’s throat slides, red creeping up his neck, but he opens his mouth and shouts the words.

Vessica withdraws the sword as a half dozen guards jostle their way toward us. The crowd begins to disperse, most splintering off in the face of more weapons.

“Make sure that no one follows us,” she orders the men. They pull their swords and form a shield around us. I scramble for the package, relieved that only the paper is torn. Vessica grabs my arm, still holding her sword with the other, and drags me down the closest alley.

The crowd gets louder behind us, people shouting and arguing, but we don’t stop to see if they’ve broken past the guards. She doesn’t let me go until we reach the postern, and then it’s only to slam her hand against it, tracing the pattern with lightning speed.

“Get in,” she barks as soon as it begins to glow.

I don’t argue, and this time, the cold of the portal is a relief.

We stumble out into the garden at Miradores, breathless, the world suddenly eerily quiet.

Vessica sheathes her sword and leans against the garden wall, closing her eyes.

I hover. What do I say first? An apology for nearly getting us killed? Do I ask about what I read? In the end, I settle for: “Thanks.”

Even if she was only following Bishop’s orders—and I’m certain she was—she could have left me at the crowd’s mercy.