Page 95 of Harbinger

“Well,” I say, refusing to let either off the hook, “Kieren’s coming to dinner tonight.”

Bishop blinks, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “He has orientation.”

“Obviously, he’ll come after he’s done.”

He pauses, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s looking for a way out. “Lenora isn’t expecting guests.”

“She’ll be thrilled,” I counter. “Kieren has better table manners than your friends. He’s coming to dinner.”

Kieren looks between us like he’s just realized that what he signed up for by agreeing might be worse than actual warfare. “That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” I cut him off. “You’re not getting out of this just because Bishop is allergic to company.”

I’m still deciding how to make this all work when boots splash behind us, and Taliesin appears, eyes lit up like he’s won a bet. “Is this private drama, or can anyone watch?”

“We’re just discussing dinner plans,” Bishop says tersely. “Tell Vessica that we’re having dinner with an old friend of Lady Arden’s.” He glances at me. “If that’s okay with you.”

Bishop needs reinforcements? Fine. “The more the merrier.”

“An old friend, huh?” He claps Kieren on the shoulder, sizing him up like he’s a fresh slab at the meat market. “You look like you might survive dinner with us. I give you even odds.”

“I’ll take those odds,” Kieren deadpans, and Taliesin cackles.

Bishop looks ready to murder them both. “Orientation,” he calls out, earning the attention of every new recruit in the courtyard. “Line up and follow Sir Procrax.” He tips his head at Kieren. “We’ll see you this evening.”

He sounds absolutely thrilled about it.

Kieren gives my hand a squeeze. “We can catch up tonight,” he promises. “Don’t worry.”

There’s little to no chance of that, but I nod anyway.

The other conscripts file into line, shoulders squared despite being half soaked through. Kieren takes his place at the rear, ignoring the curious looks most of the others give him. Watching him fall in with them feels wrong, like I’m letting go of something I won’t get back. Taliesin leads them toward the barracks, already shouting information.

Bishop doesn’t say anything. He just starts walking, expecting me to follow him.

I do—but this time, my steps are light. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel adrift, don’t feel as though I’m slowly drowning. Kieren is here, and while I don’t approve of the circumstances, that’s all that matters.

We walk back to Miradores in silence. Bishop doesn’t try to fill it, which feels like a mercy. At first. But by the time we reach the gates, I’m painfully aware that he still isn’t talking.

He waits until the back door closes behind us to finally speak.

“This wasn’t in his letter?” Bishop asks. The question sounds bitter after the quiet that preceded it.

“You read it,” I remind him. And he threw it into the ocean. Not that it matters now. “I’m as surprised as you are.”

“But you’re happier about it.”

So, that’s how he’s measuring the situation.

He drags his tongue over his lower lip, and something deep inside me clenches. “I can’t give him preferential treatment.”

I pull my gaze up to his again. “Why not? You let the orphans decide—”

“He’s not a child. He’s a grown man. He signed up for a reason.” He pauses and gives me an expectant look.

“Things were tense back home,” I say, but he lifts a brow. “What? I didn’t sign him up.”

Bishop closes his eyes and draws a deep breath. “Sure.”