Page 96 of Harbinger

“What are you implying?”

“Look, clearly you’re in love—”

“What?” It bursts out of me, more laughter than question.

“And you’re planning to run away together,” he continues, ignoring me. “You should know that if he deserts, it’s considered treason.”

Ice filters into my veins. Treason is punishable by death. It’s the only crime nearly as serious as practicing forbidden magic. “First, there is no plan. Second, he’s my best friend. Nothing more. I’m not going to let him do anything that could get him killed.” I poke him in the chest. “And you are going to make sure he’s safe.”

“Nothing more?” he repeats, like this is somehow his sticking point.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Maybe. Most women might be moved by such a selfless gesture.”

“You know me,” I say. “I’m just wandering around hoping anyone with a penis will sweep me off my feet.”

He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates.

“Anything else?” I snap, tired of defending myself.

His nostrils flare slightly. “I’ll make sure Lenora knows he’s coming for dinner.”

“Thank you,” I force through gritted teeth.

Bishop nods like this settles the matter, but as he disappears into the house, the word treason echoes uncomfortably in my head.

Isidore kept all my gowns, so I’m forced to resort to one Lenora dug up. It’s at least a size too small, and I’ve never thought of blue as my color, but tonight feels momentous enough to make an effort. Especially since Lenora has been scrambling around the house all afternoon to prepare for Kieren’s arrival.

Pausing at the mirror, I rake a comb through my windswept hair before dusting a little bit of color onto my cheeks and lips. The effect can best be described as presentable, if nothing else. If things go well, this might be the first of many dinners. If they go poorly, I might as well be dressed up for our final supper together.

A quick glance at the clock on the mantel informs me I’m already five minutes late, so I leave it at that. I gulp down a steadying breath, say a silent prayer to the Stars that we avoid bloodshed, and head toward the main floor.

I make it to the stairs only to find Bishop waiting at the foot of them, his back to me. He turns at the sound of my approach, his eyes lifting slowly like he’s still caught in his thoughts. But when he sees me, he stiffens. His nostrils flare slightly, and a muscle works in his jaw like he’s biting back commentary on my tardiness.

I smooth a hand over the tight waist of my borrowed dress. Clearly, it was made for someone with less appreciation for bread than me. He tracks the movement, his mouth flattening into a grim line.

“Should I change?” I ask, grabbing the railing like I might need to haul myself back in the opposite direction.

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “No.” It comes out so softly that he coughs before he adds, “I didn’t expect you to … dress up.”

Something in his voice summons heat to my cheeks, but I shrug.

It’s a good thing that I did, because he’s out of uniform. He’s traded it in for something simpler that, for once, doesn’t include a sword. The jacket he wears is dark and fitted, buttoned high at his throat. It molds to his body, showcasing his muscular form like a subtle reminder that he doesn’t need to carry a weapon to be deadly. He looks less like a bishop tonight and more like the man the title was built around.

His gloves are nowhere to be seen. The strange markings on his hands lie exposed and unapologetic—and the realization that he’s stopped hiding them from me sends a dangerous flutter through my chest.

It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself firmly, and cling to the thought like a rule I can’t afford to break.

Bishop meets me at the base of the stairs and offers his arm. When I don’t take it, something tight flickers across his face before he turns away. What did he expect after last night?

“Follow me.” He strides forward without waiting.

He leads me past the great room and into the formal dining room instead. The long table is set with polished silver and starched linen, candles guttering in wall sconces that haven’t seen this much use in years.

Kieren is already there, flanked by Taliesin and Vessica, and whatever mood Bishop was in darkens more the moment he sees them.

“Thank you for having me,” Kieren says to us. He’s washed the mud off his boots and slicked his hair back, but he looks nervous to be in the presence of his commanding officer.