Page 90 of Harbinger

“So, they just doomed me to this fate on a whim?” That’s less comforting than thinking they did it for a reason.

He murmurs something in the ancient tongue, then translates when he sees my confusion. “The Stars incline us. They do not bind us.”

When I raise a brow, he shrugs, adding, “You’ll figure it out.”

Well, that’s helpful.

“If I find the right book,” I say with a heavy sigh. There are a lot of books in here.

Hadrian snorts. “Knowledge is a dangerous weapon. Wield it wisely.” He glances at me over the rim of his glasses. “And try not to turn it on yourself.”

I came for a book. Now I’m getting a lecture. I might have preferred finding a ghost in the library.

Fuck it. I can’t keep avoiding answers, even if it means asking his grumpy ass, and there is one subject left that might give me an explanation for all of this. “Do you have any books about scions?”

Hadrian freezes. “What do you know about scions?”

“Nothing,” I admit.

He pins me with a look. “That’s not a word you stumble upon.”

I swallow so hard my eyes feel like they’re going to explode.

Must drink less wine during future pity parties.

“Someone mentioned scions. It sounded … important.”

He blinks before shrugging. “No one has written about scions since the Last War.”

“Half these books must be older than that.” I’ve picked up at least six that are in the ancient tongue, and no one’s writing in that dead language these days.

He’s quiet for a beat. “The subject is forbidden. That should tell you enough.”

More forbidden than Ravenell? I can’t quite screw up the courage to ask.

He takes off his glasses and wipes them on his robe. “Who mentioned it?”

“I don’t remember,” I lie. “Probably just gossip in the village. People mixing up fact and fiction.”

“And you believed them,” he scoffs, slightly shaking his head. “That’s all history is: gossip and lies mixed up with facts. We’re just stuck sorting out which is which.”

If anyone even bothers. And why would they, when gossip is currency in Antares and lies are easier than facing the truth? “I feel like no one cares about the facts.”

“Are we still talking about history?” he asks evenly.

“Maybe not,” I admit. “I just wish I knew where I fit in all of this.”

“You think a book will tell you who you are?” he asks.

“I don’t know where else to look.”

“You’re looking in the wrong—” Hadrian cuts off as the library doors swing open and Bishop strides in, boots heavy on the marble, coat buttoned up like armor, hair pulled back but wet as if he’s just stepped through a storm. There’s stubble shadowing his jaw like he didn’t bother shaving after a late night. My heart kicks at my ribs as I recall exactly why he was up late. It’s annoying how good he looks even slightly disheveled.

Bishop stops cold at the sight of me with Hadrian. For a second, I see something in his face—surprise or disapproval, or maybe just his special knack for being perpetually unimpressed. It stings a little after last night.

Although that might just be my wounded pride.

“For the record, your visitor has not destroyed any of the collection today,” Hadrian offers with a meaningful glance in my direction. “That’s more than I can say about whoever was in the Florentia section.”