Page 46 of Harbinger

“What was that?” I demand, trying to shake off what just happened.

“I’d think it obvious. Those men are planning to kill you.”

Not pulling any punches today.

I scowl at him. “Yes. I figured that out. What did you think you were doing?”

“Saving you again,” he grits out. “Some people might say thank you.”

“Saving me? You’re leading me right to them. If people are planning to kill me at the funeral—”

“Yes, I’ve been keeping you alive for days simply because I was waiting to deliver you to just the right assassin,” he deadpans.

“You’re an ass,” I say, glancing around us. “What happened to the queen’s protection?”

He pauses, eying me sidelong. “She’s young. Some of the patrons are … not. They see that mark on your skin as a threat. I hate to ruin your day, but you aren’t safe in Wintour, even with her protection.”

Day officially ruined. Not that it had been going that well before. “Then tell me what the fuck we’re doing.”

“Well, we’re obviously not going to a funeral,” he says, and my eyes widen.

My gaze travels to the collection of coaches. Some are from visiting nobles desperate to add a little pomp and circumstance to today’s morbid pageantry. Others look like they’ve been collecting dust for the better part of this century. “We’re leaving.”

“She gets there eventually,” he says and moves toward a coach in the royal collection. It looks like it’s been cleaned up recently. “People will be in and out all day.”

Coming and going, everyone too busy making a show of their grief to realize that neither of us is in attendance.

Opening the door, he pushes back the velvet curtain and offers his hand. “I’ll go see what’s taking Taliesin so long with the horses. Wait in here.”

I don’t move. My heart is still racing in my chest.

“I can’t leave,” I blurt out. “My family …”

I need to say goodbye. Even if I can’t admit the truth. Even if I can’t take back what I said that night. They need to know I might not ever see them again.

“Your family knows.” His tone is measured but filled with unmistakable pity.

It’s worse than if he’d kissed me.

“How?” My voice shakes.

He raises one brow. Of course Bishop told them. That almost hurts more.

My family knows I’m leaving, possibly forever, to Stars know where, and they don’t care. Aren’t coming to say goodbye. And I can’t even blame them.

I grab hold of the coach’s handle, ignoring his offered hand, and climb inside, blinking back tears. I refuse to cry in front of him. Again. The last thing I need is Bishop Marius feeling obliged to take care of me. He’s a means to escape this shitty situation so I can figure out what I’m going to do next. Nothing more.

Bishop closes the door and nods toward the curtains. “Draw those. Don’t come out until I return.”

I yank them swiftly shut before the tears begin to fall. Hot and angry. Fat and sorrowful. Each one an accusation aimed directly at myself. I did this. It’s what I chose. Knowing I had to do it does nothing to soothe the jagged ache growing inside me. Maybe it was to protect them, but now I’m imagining what Broderic told Isidore. Told Andry. He might not have told Kieren anything, given how things were between them the last time we were all together. I did it for them, but I’m the one who has to survive this pit of despair—and I haven’t even stopped falling into it yet.

The coach door opens again, and I quickly swipe my eyes, turning to hide the evidence of my weakness from Bishop.

But it’s Kieren’s relieved voice that says, “Thank the Stars.”

He drops into the seat next to me.

“Oh.” The word is too small for what I’m feeling, so I throw myself at him, not bothering to hold back a fresh wave of sobs as I bury my face into his broad shoulder.