Page 94 of Harbinger

Because I wasn’t there to stop my brother.

I must have walked right past him in the hall when we arrived, so wrapped up in my own bullshit that I didn’t even see him standing there.

I want to run to him, to scream at him for letting Broderic do this, or cry, or maybe both.

But my heart is in my throat, and I can’t move.

Bishop’s fist closes around the list, knuckles white as he fumes over his newest conscript. He doesn’t look at me as he barks a single name.

My best friend looks right at him. At me. And his face doesn’t change. There’s not even a flicker of recognition. But I see him, and he sees me, and I already know how this ends.

Someone’s getting hurt.

NINETEEN

Kieren doesn’t move at the sound of his name, just stares Bishop down from the middle of the muddy courtyard. It takes a second for the rest of the pack to realize he’s the one being called out. The others shuffle aside, their faces a mix of confusion, envy, and the kind of wary respect reserved for people who might lift themselves past the dregs.

Bishop speaks again, but I’m already moving. I cut straight through the line, boots squelching in the muck, tunnel vision blurring out everything except the idiot in the conscript uniform.

There’s an ugly bruise on Kieren’s cheek that wasn’t there when we said goodbye. But his eyes—the same warm brown as always—find me, and the entire world shrinks to the space between us.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss, grabbing his arm and tugging him to the side. “Did my brother …?” I can’t even finish the sentence. If Broderic forced him out—made him sign up—then my brother should be glad it’s not safe for me to leave Vennaro.

He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he looks … relieved. Like the hard part was getting here, and now he can finally breathe. “Arden.” He shakes his head. “No one forced me. It’s a long story, but I chose to come here.”

Bullshit. Unless … he came because of me. My stomach pitches as it hits me.

“You’re here because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.” I want to shake him until his teeth rattle. “You’re supposed to be in Damalis, taking care of Andry and Isidore. What the void are you thinking?”

One of us should be there.

“There wasn’t much for me to do back home. Not after … everything.”

“Not after what?” I demand. I want to punch something. Preferably Broderic, for letting him leave. Although maybe Kieren could do with having some sense knocked into him.

His mouth twists, like he’s chewing the words before spitting them out. “Your brother said things were handled once the troops arrived. No need for a guard when you have a personal army, right? I figured I could do more good here.”

“Here?” I repeat. “You don’t belong in Order Marius.”

“I don’t belong anywhere,” he says bitterly.

The ache in my chest deepens because I know exactly how he feels. I want to say something—anything—that will fix this. That will make him see it isn’t true. “Neither do I.”

“That’s why I’m here. I can’t just let you face this alone.”

Part of me wants to send him away. Tell Bishop to cross his name off the list. Order Kieren to go make a real life somewhere. Because he’s not one of the Bellatorum’s orphans. He signed up as an adult. He’ll be expected to fight, and if Bishop is wrong, if we can’t stop war from coming, if the other orders get their way and vote to invade the Lost Continent … There are a dozen reasons that this is the worst decision of his life. But I know why he made it, so I pull him into a hug so tight I might crack a rib.

He grunts in surprise but doesn’t fight it. Instead, his arms circle me, warm and solid, and for a second, I’m home again. We stand like that, the rain slowly soaking us through, our audience forgotten.

When I finally let go, my hands are shaking. “You’re a fool, but you’re my favorite foolish, foolish man.”

He grins, and the sight is so familiar it nearly guts me. “I missed you, too.”

Behind us, Bishop clears his throat. A gruff reminder that we’re not alone. I round on him, still gripping Kieren’s sleeve like he might slip away. “Did you know about this?”

Bishop’s face is stony. “Not until I saw his name on the roster.”

The men exchange wary looks, appraising each other in this new setting. Bishop is half a foot taller, and in his fitted officer’s uniform he looks like he could chew Kieren up and spit him out. But my best friend doesn’t back down. It’s a good, old-fashioned pissing contest, and neither wants to lose.