Page 183 of Harbinger

But Taliesin shakes his head. “I’ve seen Shea drink. This is different.”

He has to be wrong. She’s so young, and then there’s her brother …

When we reach the party, an unnatural hush has fallen over the guests. They’re clustered so tightly together that the mixture of sweat and wine and perfume makes my head throb. Every eye is turned toward a corner of the room as people jostle for a better view. Taliesin grabs my arm as we push our way through the onlookers, but I stop in my tracks when I see her.

She’s on the floor, her body unnervingly still except for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. Her face is pale apart from the rouge she borrowed earlier, its pink tint standing in garish contrast to her now waxen skin. Hadrian hovers over her, whispering rapidly to Bishop. I’m close enough to catch one word.

Bellanotte.

Taliesin curses like he heard it, too. He turns and urges the people crowding behind us back a few steps. I start to help, but my attention snags on the little boy peeking from the front of the group. Breccan’s face is ashen as he clutches the hem of his tunic, his knuckles bone white. He looks so small against the tide of onlookers as they start to shift that, for a terrible second, I think he’s going to be trampled. I break from Taliesin and dart over to grab him.

“I’m here,” I say, trying to sound calm even as my pulse ratchets up.

“Is she okay?” he asks with a shaky voice.

The truth is too heavy, so I swallow it.

“She’s resting,” I lie, hoping I can find a gentle way to break his heart later. “She’ll be fine.”

He clings to me as I search the room until I find Lenora wringing her hands by the window. Waving her closer, I nudge Breccan toward her. “Get him out of here,” I say in a low voice. “He shouldn’t see this.”

She gives me a curt nod and gathers him into her arms. “Come on, love. I have a few treats in the kitchen.”

But before she can whisk him away, the little boy turns shining eyes on me. “I should stay until she wakes up.”

Lenora doesn’t hesitate as she pats his back. “Bishop will take care of her,” she promises. “You’ll stay here tonight, and we’ll make butter cakes in the morning.” She continues her promises, cradling his head as he sobs into her shoulder. She casts a quick look at me, her face lined with worry. “Everything will be fine.”

I don’t know which one of us she’s trying to reassure.

She carries him quickly from the chaos, and I turn back to catch Bishop nodding at Taliesin. The knight leans down and lifts Shea into his arms as if she weighs nothing. Her head lolls against his shoulder, her arms slack at her sides.

But Bishop addresses his guests in an even voice. “She’s only fainted. There’s no cause for concern.”

Several of his cousins exchange disappointed glances, like a corpse would have livened up the festivities. The nearest onlookers part to grant Taliesin just enough room to carry her away, still crowding close to get a good look, their curiosity outweighing concern.

Even I can’t help gawking. It’s clearly a lie.

Bishop pauses to whisper something to Vessica. She listens, her shrewd eyes never leaving the faces in the room. When he finishes, she sweeps through the crowd with the calculating grace of a predator. Bishop catches my attention and tilts his head toward Taliesin’s fading form. I nod in understanding as he stops to redirect his overly nosy relations back toward the party.

I hurry to catch up with Taliesin, and Hadrian trails beside me, clutching a book and a vial of something I hope is useful. “We can take her to my room,” I say when I reach him.

But Shea arches in his arms, something foamy frothing on her lips.

“There’s no time,” Hadrian says, rushing to open the library doors.

Taliesin hurries inside before anyone sees the truth about what’s happening.

“You said it’s bellanotte,” Taliesin says, laying Shea on a chaise near the fireplace. “What can we do?”

Hadrian shakes his head, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “Not much. If it’s a heavy dose, she’ll keep seizing until her heart stops.”

My stomach drops with a sickening jolt. An hour ago, she was laughing with her brother as the year turned. She can’t die. The fire dances in the hearth behind her, and suddenly I’m back in the woods. Darkness presses in on the corners of my vision, the slight pulse in my head beginning to throb like my mind wants to shut down. Something warm stirs under my skin before fizzling away.

As if my head can’t bear this any more than my heart can. But I can’t bring myself to budge from the doors. Instead, I fall against them, unsure what to do but be a human barricade. We should send everyone home. Bishop should have done that. How can he let the party continue like nothing’s happened?

Someone pushes open the door behind me. I glance quickly over my shoulder and find Bishop peering through the crack. I move to let him inside. But as soon as he’s through the door, his gaze lands on Shea before it flicks to me and lingers for a heartbeat.

I force myself to ignore the tingle that follows that look and say, “We should send the guests home.”