Page 83 of Harbinger

The song isn’t exactly a pick-me-up. But it’s the possibility of a lecture, even a well-intended one, that sends me ducking into a small parlor near the front door. A room I’ve never been in nor seen another soul enter. Lenora’s voice fades in the opposite direction, but I linger in my new hideout.

The furniture is formal, all gilded wood and ornate silk upholstery. Nothing about it seems to fit with the rest of the estate, especially the polished black piano that looms like a phantom in one corner. But there’s not a speck of dust to be found—the only proof that anyone’s been here in years. I take up residence on a built-in bench under the bay window, safely tucked out of sight thanks to the heavy curtains hanging on either side. It’s the perfect place to hide from the world.

I curl up on the cushion, knees to my chest, and sip the wine. Slowly at first, then faster. Eventually, I stop bothering to pour it into the mug and drink directly from the bottle, watching raindrops race down the windowpane’s warped glass until the world outside is painted in deep blues and blacks. Overhead, the Night’s Scar is empty save for one bright dot. I sink back, nestling into the cushions like the new star will see me.

I drink half the bottle before heavy footsteps that don’t belong to the housekeeper interrupt my sulking. Bishop is home. Yesterday, I might have been excited, might have been hopeful that he would have news. But I have no home to return to, so I take another drink.

He walks right up to me, his arms folded and his mouth flattened into a thin line.

“Celebrating something?” he asks.

I glare up at him, cradling the bottle like it’s as precious as a child. “Your glorious return. I thought you’d left for good.”

He ignores the gibe at his absence and eyes the label. “You know Lenora will flay you alive if you finish that whole thing.”

“She’s not my mother.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “No. She’s worse.”

“Find anything in Wintour?” I dare to ask him.

He pauses, and my heart leaps, only to plummet when he shakes his head. “Dead end.”

I’m not sure it really matters if he catches the king’s assassin anymore. My family has obviously disowned me, which is even more effective than clearing our family name.

“The queen kept you there long enough,” I say, changing the topic before I get even more depressed.

He hesitates as if he doesn’t want to tell me the real reason he was gone so long. Probably something to do with his unwanted houseguest.

So, I swig again, practically daring him to take it from me. He does, but instead of scolding me, he raises it to his own lips and takes a long swallow before he hands it back. “You shouldn’t drink alone.”

There isn’t a single light on in the room, and in the dark, he’s more a shadow than a man. If this house is haunted, maybe Bishop is its ghost.

“Not much else to do,” I say with a shrug.

He sits on the window seat, the wood creaking under his weight.

“There’s always something to do,” he says.

I snort. “Like what? No one will let me lift a finger.”

“That’s not true.” He shakes his head. “You could train. Learn how to fight.”

“For what?” I ask, voice sharper than any sword he might hand me. “Oh, wait, I remember. All the times people try to kill me, including your friends.”

He doesn’t even blink. “We have a saying at the Bellatorum: Wolves will bite.”

“Yeah? No shit.” I sip again, the wine warming my stomach, and pass the bottle to him. “What else do you say? The sky is blue?”

“It means …” His forehead creases as he considers how to explain it. “… no one hunts what can hurt them back.”

Somehow, it doesn’t feel that easy. “And if they still do?”

His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Then the wolf chooses to live.”

“Profound.” He continues to stare. I sigh and swipe the wine. I’m going to need to be a little drunker for this conversation. “You really want me to learn to fight?”

“Vessica told me what happened in Wolf’s Keep. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you carried a sword.”