Page 39 of Harbinger

I find myself nodding. Broderic steps away, his arms falling to his sides, and I resist the urge to rush at him like I’m ten again. Like he’ll catch me, lift me, make me fly. Like he’ll always keep me safe.

“I’ll see you inside.” He nods quickly to Bishop, some silent understanding passing between them, before continuing down the hallway.

This is what Bishop meant. I have at least one ally in there. If Broderic can sway only a few of the other patrons to his side … Hope flutters in my chest, its fragile wings tickling my rib cage.

My brother won’t let anything happen to me. That fact is enough to help me face this.

Bishop escorts me the rest of the way, and for one horrifying moment, I think we’re walking toward the throne room. We bypass it, turning into another large room across the hall instead. Broderic’s already taken a seat at the round table along with the rest of the patrons. He glances at the others, all of whom are decades older. My stomach sinks again. Icaros is the least influential order. If my father were here, we might have stood a chance. If we had money, we could buy some clout. But we have nothing to bargain with.

Bishop points me toward an empty chair next to my brother before settling into the one closest to the door.

An old man leans toward him, his face and hands creased with age. “I trust the palace is secure.”

Bishop doesn’t bother to look at him as he answers, “I have it under control, Patron Velesont.”

“Do you, heirless one? I wonder if you should be here after—” He shuts up when Bishop finally glares at him.

I have the same question. I’m not sure having Bishop here works in my favor. Although he’s had ample opportunities to kill me in the last twenty-four hours, so maybe he’ll take my side.

Before anyone else can question Bishop’s methods, a retinue of guards marches into the room. They part to reveal the newly minted queen.

She looks smaller than she did at dinner, as if the weight of everything that’s transpired is already starting to chip away at her. The chamber’s dim light catches on the deep brown tone of her skin, and her coiled curls are pulled tightly back. A few have come loose, feathering her temples, but there’s nothing but grim determination on her face.

The man accompanying her has a nose nearly as long as his pallid face, with brown hair shorn closely as if he can’t be bothered with it. A few lines crease the corners of his eyes, but otherwise, he seems too young to be accompanying the queen. The sash draped across his shoulders is embroidered with stars, his robe marking him as a vesper. Most of the patrons gasp, bowing their heads like somehow he’s more important than the queen. I shoot a puzzled look at Broderic, but he’s too busy gawking.

Velesont’s patron rises to his feet and bows deeply. “It’s a privilege, High Vesper.”

He’s not what I expected. Then again, nothing in Wintour has been what I expected.

“What’s going on?” I nudge Broderic beneath the table.

My brother leans closer and whispers under his breath, “The high vesper only leaves the Royal Astrolatory if the Stars demand it. He must have noted a sign.”

I guess the king getting his heart carved out would qualify under that heading.

He can’t be here because of me.

The high vesper gives us a gentle smile before placing one hand on the queen’s shoulder. “I’m only here to support Selestina during this difficult time.”

Her throat slides, but she maintains her poise. The high vesper guides her to the large armchair positioned on the other side of the table, lingering behind her once she’s seated.

“Thank you for coming.” Squaring her shoulders, she glances at each of us in turn. She pauses when she gets to me, and I drop my head dutifully.

Better to save the recklessness for later.

“Has the culprit been caught?” a man with salt-and-pepper hair but smooth, light-brown skin demands like he’s speaking to a child. A silver chalice glimmers on the back of his hand. Order Calix. Naturally. Control enough things people depend on, and you think you control them, too.

Queen Selestina shakes her head. “The grounds have been swept. There are guards at every entrance. It’s unclear how the assassin escaped or how they got in at all.”

Patron Calix glances toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Isn’t it, though?”

“What are you saying?” Broderic asks, planting his hands on the polished tabletop.

Patron Calix’s thin lips curl into a vicious smile, revealing large, uneven front teeth. “Do you mean to claim the witch?”

“If you mean my sister—” Broderic stops himself. He drags in a deep breath before continuing with a more measured tone. “What does my sister have to do with the king’s assassination?”

“He was killed with the dagger from the Kindling.” Patron Velesont draws out each word, his eyes narrowing on me. Dread coils tightly beneath my ribs. “Your sister was the last one to use it.”