Page 75 of Harbinger

“Thanks.” She would probably be a less homicidal teacher than Taliesin, and Bishop has better things to do.

“You never offer to teach me how to fight,” Breccan whines at our feet.

“Because you are too smart to fight. Mom wouldn’t have wanted you to join the army,” she adds, but he’s already digging in the dirt again.

“Won’t he have to?” I ask her in a low voice. “Once he’s old enough to attend classes, I mean.”

Her eyes shine as she watches him. “Not if I become a knight,” she says fiercely. “He stays with the other children now, but knights get their own lodgings. They can have families there. I promised my mom I’d keep him safe.”

I know a thing or two about family responsibility.

For a heartbeat, it isn’t Breccan sitting in the dirt. It’s a younger Andry. If we weren’t patrons, this could have been my family’s fate when Dad died. How many people’s futures hinge on Bishop, because they have nowhere else to go?

“What about you?” I ask. “Is this what your mom would want?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “It’s safe here.”

Something in her voice twists my stomach. “You weren’t safe at home?”

“Not anymore. Not after Mom died. Not after …” She shakes her head like she’s clearing out cobwebs, then smiles brightly. “We didn’t have anywhere to go. We had to leave our village. Thankfully, we made it here.”

“But Bishop won’t make him join?” My eyes stray toward the stairs to see if he’s coming.

Her brows knit together. “He doesn’t make any of us join.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure preying on children without other options constitutes much of a choice.

“Really,” she insists. “Half the kids who show up here leave with only an education. I guess that doesn’t sound like much.”

Taliesin said they needed to be literate, to know why they were fighting before they joined the ranks. He failed to mention they’re given a choice.

“Actually, it seems like a lot … I’m just surprised.” I can admit it, even if I don’t quite understand the economics behind it. “And knights get to learn magic.”

She grins. “There’s that, too.”

And that’s the real difference between us. Shea wants magic. I’m dreading the day mine finally stirs in my blood.

The bathhouse door slams open, and Bishop storms out, eyes sweeping across the grounds. They stop on me, his forehead creasing when he spots who I’m with. I brace for whatever sin I’ve committed now. But when he makes his way over, he kneels down to look at Breccan’s handiwork.

“Not bad, but you’re missing the tail on that G.” He points to the letter, and Breccan bends to fix it hastily.

“I’m sorry that—” Shea begins apologizing again, but Bishop waves it off.

“It’s not a problem. I’ve been meaning to check up on you. Things have been busy. I’ve had my hands full.”

With assassinations and omens of war—and dealing with me in general.

“Arden helped me,” Breccan pipes up. He glances down at my name in the mud. “Will you come back if I learn to write your name?”

I can’t help smiling as I nod. “Yes, but only if you keep working on all your letters.”

“I will.” He chews on his lip, eyes darting between Bishop and me. “If I do, will you bring me a real book next time?”

Before I can answer, Bishop tousles his hair. “You learn all of your letters, and I’ll bring you a whole stack.”

Breccan beams, and even Shea looks grateful. For a second, I see Bishop as they do: not as a patron or a commanding officer but as a hero.

Bishop stands, brushing mud off his knees.