Page 191 of Harbinger

Fuck him.

Except … he’s not wrong, and I know it. If there’s a sword in my hand, I can’t let Bishop linger in my head. The trouble is that I don’t know how to get him out of there.

“That looks like it went well,” Shea says as I reach her.

“I think his lecture hurt worse than your ass-kicking,” I admit.

“It sounds like you need to go to the baths,” she prods, jerking her head toward the door. “It’ll help with the bruises. I know you’re self-conscious about the mark, but I promise to kill anyone who says something.”

The offer twists into a now-familiar discomfort. The thought of people seeing me, of going back into the place where Bishop told me …

I shake the thought away. I can’t keep hiding, and there’s only one way to stop.

“Sure,” I say.

Shea blinks in surprise before a grin bursts onto her face.

“Yeah, yeah. You win again,” I admit as she leads me inside.

“It’s probably not even busy today,” she says when we find the dressing room empty.

A faint hiss of steam drifts toward us through the archway that leads to the pools, followed by the faint echo of dozens of voices from the main chamber beyond.

“Or I could be wrong about that,” she says with a frown.

“I don’t mind.” It’s a lie, but maybe if I try hard enough, I’ll start believing it.

Shea continues on, then stops in her tracks.

“Let’s come back later,” she suggests, trying to steer me back outside.

“I’ll be fine,” I promise, tugging her toward the lockers. But I only make it one more step before I see why she’s stopped. Bishop is standing in the infirmary, speaking with Vessica. For a second, I consider turning around.

Then Taliesin’s voice rings through my head again.

You need to decide if it’s worth dying for.

Coward. I’m not the one running from this thing between us, and maybe Bishop needs to see that.

I square my shoulders before Shea can protest again and walk straight past the little office. Bishop looks up just as I pass the doorway, and our eyes meet for half a heartbeat.

I keep walking.

Let him watch.

Behind me, Shea mutters something under her breath and hurries to catch up. “Well done,” she says when she reaches me. “He looks like you ran him through.”

I flinch at the thought but quickly arrange my face into disinterest and shrug.

She studies me for a moment before she shucks off her training vest. Laughter and conversation float toward us, and suddenly I’m relieved there will be plenty of people to distract me inside. We strip quickly in the changing area, both of us moving faster than usual.

Steam curls around the doorway as we enter the bathing chamber. Every conversation falters almost immediately.

And I haven’t even dropped my towel yet.

“Let’s use this one,” Shea suggests, acting like she doesn’t notice that all eyes in the room are on me. It’s the pool closest to the door, which is probably why it’s empty.

I force a smile, trying to remember how to breathe with the sudden weight sitting on my chest. I can feel them watching, but I know they aren’t looking at me. They’re staring at the raven-mark. I lift my chin as I descend the steps, refusing to let their curiosity chase me away. Hiding the mark didn’t stop someone from poisoning me. I’m through with living like they succeeded. But when the water welcomes me with a rush of heat, I still sink under it to the neck.