Page 7 of Harbinger

But the oscen climbs onto my wrist, claws scraping my skin. Not the behavior of a wild animal, but one that’s been tamed.

Broken.

Something cracks inside me as I draw it out of the cage. I tighten my hold on the dagger’s hilt, feeling every unnecessary jewel dig like teeth into my palm. Such a beautiful weapon for such an ugly deed. No wonder the man from Leontia kept wiping his hands. Some stains aren’t visible outside one’s own soul.

The Petition demands evidence I’m ready to step into my new life. Apparently, by taking another life.

Do what needs to be done.

The vesper’s words echo in my head. Instructions that feel like a curse.

Resolve blazes through me until I’m sure I’ll combust, and I move my arm, drawing the bird closer, looking into its curious eyes.

There’s no other choice.

I know what’s expected of me.

I know what I must do.

I move on instinct.

“Fly,” I whisper and fling my arm up.

Wings stretch. Beat. Soar.

I drop the dagger on the altar with a clang as the oscen surges toward the stars overhead and disappears through the opening. Relief washes through me.

One of the knights makes a choked noise that I’d almost swear was a laugh, but my gaze stays on the clouds drifting over the constellations above. I don’t look away until I’m certain the creature is gone, and then I look at him.

At the twin swords strapped to his back and peeking over his broad shoulders. A shiver races down my spine. His hood still shadows his face, but the smirk from before flattens into a grim line.

“You were expected to kill it.” His voice is low and raspy, each word drawn out like an executioner delivering a slow death.

Fear climbs up my throat, but I swallow it back. Lifting my chin, I shrug, the movement braver than I feel. “I decided not to.”

I brace for punishment. For refusing to make the sacrifice. For speaking like that to a man like him.

But the bishop turns his face away from me, and my cheeks flame. It’s a subtle dismissal, and it cuts to my core. I’m not even worth the effort of a reprimand.

I don’t hear the vesper approach, and I startle when her hand rests gently on my arm. “You’re done here.”

Yes, I probably am.

We descend the stairs in silence, our feet carrying us more quickly than before. Part of me wants to slow down. Nothing good awaits me on the other side of tonight. But I also need to put distance between him and me. The thought of the bishop chases me down the stairs until my head is spinning. The vesper matches my pace, clearly ready to be rid of me. She doesn’t look at me once as we wind our way to the exit.

I botched my ritual, but there’s no blood on my hands. Apart from my own. Still, something unspoken and oily churns inside me. It spills out when we reach the door.

“I know I failed, but—”

“The Petition isn’t a test,” she cuts me off. Finally, she looks at me, but she might as well be wearing a mask. “You can’t fail it. You only had to make a choice.”

Maybe it’s meant to soothe me. It doesn’t.

I glance at the stairs. “Is that why he let me leave without making the sacrifice?”

She doesn’t need to ask who I mean. “You aren’t the only one capable of mercy.”

A pit hollows in my stomach, any lingering relief leaking away as her fingers close over the door handle. She yanks it open, blasting us both with cold night air. It whips my cheeks raw as I step out to find the other initiates gathered at the edge of the colonnade, shouting and gesturing to the sky.