Page 71 of Harbinger

FIFTEEN

Idon’t want to die.

Somehow, I doubt that will qualify as a strong enough reason for Taliesin.

“Can’t think of anything?” His breath is hot against my skin. The metal blade is cold.

A shadow circles overhead, drawing my eyes to the stormy sky. Maybe I released my own death into the world. Maybe that’s why I keep seeing omens.

And I am so fucking over it.

A raindrop hits my forehead with a splat, and something snaps inside me. “You want a reason?”

“I believe that’s been established,” he taunts me.

“Fine. You don’t have to kill me.” The words tumble out as the rain picks up. The sounds of sparring continue in the distance. If the conscripts won’t stop for rain, I doubt they’ll notice what’s happening to me. “Maybe you’ve spent so much time taking orders from wealthy assholes, you’ve forgotten that. But it’s up to you. Not them. Not me. You. Maybe you want to kill me. Maybe you don’t. But you sure as fuck don’t have to do it. So, give me one good reason why you should kill me.”

I wait, ready this time for pain or pity or whatever unpleasant thing happens next. Instead, the sword vanishes. Taliesin backs away, but I don’t budge. It’s a trick. I know it. He’ll wait for me to move and then finish the job. Call it an accident. Self-defense. I don’t know how he’ll explain how I wound up with a sword in my back, but he’s charismatic enough to get away with it.

“Not bad,” he mutters.

Metal on metal clashes behind me like a clap of distant thunder, but all I hear is what he doesn’t say: Not bad … but not enough.

When he doesn’t strike, I turn to face him—and find Bishop standing behind him, his sword at Taliesin’s throat. I choke back a gasp as silence falls over the proving grounds. Bishop’s presence is enough to command the attention of every soul present. Even the sparring match behind us grinds to a halt.

“Why don’t you give me a reason, Sir Procrax?” Bishop glides the blade across Taliesin’s skin, drawing a thin line of blood like his knight is the one here with something to prove.

“If you kill your only friend, who will put up with your shit?” Taliesin’s voice is a little too breezy for someone one spasm away from being headless, but he lowers his own weapon slowly before letting it fall to the broken stones beneath him.

Bishop doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps between us, his weapon still aimed at Taliesin. For a moment, they just stare at each other.

“Bishop.” Taliesin raises his palms, but he doesn’t offer any more reasons. No explanation. Just those empty hands and a single, pointed look.

“Her reason was better.” Bishop takes a deep breath and sheathes his sword. “This isn’t a game. You should be more careful when someone suggests playing like it is.”

His eyes are glued to Taliesin, so it takes me a second to realize he’s speaking to me.

I swallow. “I wanted to know what he would do.”

“What did I say about trouble?” He glances at me. “You can’t avoid it for one afternoon?”

I scowl. “He’s the one who gave me a sword.”

Taliesin’s eyes flick briefly to me, like he wants to say something. Maybe sorry. Or something thoroughly arrogant like better luck next time. But he only grins.

Bishop takes a step closer to me, and I realize every soul on the proving grounds is still watching us.

His expression could be carved from marble. “Enough for today,” he says over his shoulder to the gawking crowd. “Anyone who didn’t finish their drills will start again at dawn. Hit the baths.”

A few groans ripple through the conscripts, but they scatter toward the bathhouse.

When he turns his attention back to me, somehow his expression is even colder. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Me?” How am I the one in more trouble? I hitch a thumb toward Taliesin. “You left him to babysit. He was showing me around.”

“How friendly.” Bishop is back to glaring at him.

“Except for the trying-to-assassinate-me part.” A tremble rolls through my body, and I cross my arms to hide it.