Page 185 of Harbinger

Hadrian checks her pulse and frowns. “She’s fading.”

I turn away, unable to watch her die, even if she is immortal. Grabbing the arm of the nearest chair, I sink into it, and Bishop’s hand finds my shoulder again, squeezing just hard enough to keep me tethered.

No one speaks for a moment, the room quiet apart from the ticking clock on the mantel, her rattling breath, and the muffled sounds of the celebration happening just outside, life and death divided by the library doors.

Eventually, Bishop releases me and begins to pace the length of the rug, hands clasped behind his back and eyes distant. Taliesin keeps hold of Shea’s arms while Hadrian retrieves a blanket and tucks it around her.

I’m the only one rooted in place, listening as her breathing slows. My own pulse does the same as the adrenaline pumping through my blood begins to ebb. I still can’t decide if being a scion is a blessing or a curse.

“None of her rivals would do this,” Taliesin says. “Maybe it was an accident.”

People don’t accidentally get poisoned at Twelvetide, but I’m too tired to tell him that.

“Bellanotte is expensive,” Hadrian says, adding, “and hard to get. Someone wanted her dead. Or they meant to kill someone else.”

We all know he means me. I’m the only target that makes sense. I wait for the old fear to hit, but I’m too tired. Tired of waiting for magic that doesn’t come. Tired of being a pawn in other people’s games. Whatever happens on this side of the Turning needs to be up to me.

Hadrian is still thumbing through a book like the answer is hidden inside, but his gaze flicks to Bishop for a fraction of a second before returning to the pages. “Lord Perran is here.”

“He doesn’t have the imagination,” Bishop says.

I laugh, but it catches in my throat, my mouth suddenly dry as if I’ve been breathing cold air for too long. When I stand to get a drink, the room sways beneath my feet. I grab hold of the chair as an icy prickle crawls across my skin.

“Arden?” Bishop’s voice is oddly distant.

“I’m fine,” I say, but the words come out slurred. “Just … tired.”

“Did you drink anything at the party?” Hadrian’s eyes narrow. At least I think they do. The room is full of fog.

“Not really,” I mumble, flopping back into the chair. “Just a sip of wine … during the toast.” Before Breccan knocked it from my hand. “I didn’t even finish it.”

Bishop is at my side in two strides, kneeling in front of me, his hands bracketing my face. “Tell me exactly how you feel.”

“Tired. Dizzy.” The words tangle together, slipping away before I can catch them. I flex my fingers, realizing they feel funny, too. But I can’t remember the word for it. I hold my hand out like maybe Bishop can see what’s wrong with it.

“Her pupils are dilated,” Bishop says quietly. He sounds like he’s standing at the end of a tunnel.

I want to ask what that means, but my body answers for me. My arms go slack, the room tilting in a way that makes my head swim. Bishop cradles it against his shoulder.

Someone is moving. I don’t know if it’s me.

“Stay with me, Arden,” Bishop murmurs, the words stretching and blurring.

“I’m here,” I manage, though I’m not sure that’s true. The world softens at the edges, becoming nothing more than sounds. Shouting. Footsteps. Doors opening and closing.

Someone presses a cloth to my forehead. Another voice tells me to breathe. I do, but it doesn’t seem to help. My mind drifts away from the party to memories of Wintour. Shopping with Kieren. Watching eyes and footsteps. Someone following. Always following.

A connection sparks and fizzles as the darkness crowds in, erasing all but one word.

Harbinger.

“Get everyone the fuck out of my house.” Bishop’s snarl cuts through the haze. I latch on to it like an anchor. “I don’t care if it’s midnight. Empty it.”

“Bit of an ask, boss,” Taliesin says. “The posterns won’t hold up if you try to send a hundred drunk relatives through them at once.”

“Start pushing,” Bishop growls.

The last things I hear before I black out are the distant, rhythmic clang of the estate’s bell and Bishop’s heart pounding under my ear.