Page 196 of Harbinger

A question for a question … That’s always a bad sign.

I hesitate, feeling something familiar but unwanted creeping over my skin. “A bookshop in Wintour.” I fail to add exactly what I was doing in that bookshop or who I was hiding from. “That illustration was on the cover.”

Hadrian is on his feet before I finish speaking.

“Was there anything else on the cover?” he asks, already gathering the papers. “Every detail you can remember.”

“The raven,” I say, heart beginning to race now. “Fire. And beneath it—this. Exactly this.”

The color drains from his face.

“We need to find Bishop,” he says, “now.” He heads straight out the door.

Whatever this is must be dire if he’s leaving the library.

I follow behind him, racing to keep up with his longer legs. “What is it?”

“The Ars Astra.” Each word lands more seriously than the last.

Ravenell’s dark work.

Hadrian glances at me, his face still stricken. “If I’m right, the book you’re describing … It might contain information about the revello.”

The thing they’ve been chasing after for all this time, and I had it in my hands. Maybe someday I’ll stop being surprised at these little taunts from fate.

He turns right when we reach the landing, heading toward the western wing. I guess there is one person who hasn’t noticed us sneaking around after all.

I pause, scrounging up my courage, before I call out, “He’s not there.”

“Where is he?” Hadrian whirls toward me, looking even more panicked. “We need to reach him. He needs to go after the book tonight.”

“He’s in my room,” I admit, heat flooding my cheeks. Which is a sure indicator of exactly why Bishop is there, in case Hadrian hasn’t figured it out.

But judging by his deeply unimpressed stare, he has now. “Go.” He sighs, calling after me, “And for the love of Stars, make sure he puts his clothes on before he comes out.”

I’m already halfway down the opposite corridor, spurred faster by my need to escape Hadrian’s fatherly disapproval. The man should reconsider being a vesper.

I burst into the room, the door banging into the wall so hard that Bishop jerks awake. He’s on his feet and halfway across the room, stark naked and sword in hand, before he realizes the intruder is just me.

I’m too breathless to laugh.

“Hadrian needs you,” I say, panting around the words.

He drops the sword on my bed and reaches for his clothes. “Why?”

I repeat everything that happened in the library as he dresses. When I’m done, I sit on the bed and begin pulling on my own boots.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he buckles his baldric over his shoulder.

“I’m going with you.”

He pauses, his red cloak still in his hands. “If you enter Wintour, the palace will know within the hour. And if the queen learns you’re there, she’ll summon you for an audience.”

I grimace. That’s the last thing we need.

“She could keep you there for days,” he adds.

But he doesn’t tell me I can’t go. “I could sneak in. If we’re quick—”