Page 61 of Hexbound
"How do you do?" Louisa peered directly at Bishop. "What is wrong with his aura?"
Both Ianthe and her husband looked sharply at the little girl. "Louisa," Ianthe admonished, crossing to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Remember your manners," she whispered, then gestured to the door. "And why don't you run upstairs and see what Thea is doing?"
Louisa's shoulders slumped. "But Father promised we could have tea."
"Tea, and all the biscuits you can eat," Ianthe murmured, ruffling her hair. "But upstairs. Your father and I have business with Mr. Bishop."
Verity picked up a biscuit, as the little girl darted upstairs. "Aura?" she mouthed.
He shook his head. Not something he wanted to discuss. Ever.
"Louisa didn't mean anything by it," Lucien assured him, sinking into the chair directly opposite him. "She experienced her Awakening last month, and since then her powers have been coming in."
"I understand." Bishop stared at his brother, at the way they both sat with their hands curled over the ends of the armchair. "Let us cut to the chase; I'm here because I have a problem, and I need help."
"And you helped us last month when Louisa was kidnapped," Lucien murmured, tipping his chin up with a steely gleam in his eyes. "So you want the favor returned."
"It's not a favor for me, so much as...." He looked toward Ianthe, who was the more receptive of the two. Lucien had been working with Drake in the last month on healing some aspects of his sorcery-scarred soul, but they'd had their problems before then. There was no reason to believe his brother would care if Drake died or not. "It's Drake. I have reason to believe that one of the Sicariimightmake an attempt on his life."
Ianthe paled, and her teacup chinked as she set it on its saucer. "Might? Or will?"
"Might," he emphasized, because as Drake's seneschal and right hand all these years, she knew what he was. "They've decided to let him live. For now."
"But nothing is certain," Lucien said, in his soft, gravelly voice. "You know them. I presume you could fend off an attack?"
"I could," Bishop replied, feeling the tension ease out of him. At least he had some allies in this. "But I need to find the Chalice. Whoever stole it is using it to raise flesh constructs, and I cannot afford to split my concentration."
"Constructs?" Ianthe's voice hardened. "Bloody hell, what kind of fool thinks they can control them forever? They might be able to raise them with the Chalice, but London doesn't exactly need another case of flesh constructs running amok. The Vigilance Against Sorcery Committee would have a field day with such a disaster, and relationships with the Queen and the government are already tentative."
"Hence my concern," he agreed. It wasn't the first time a necromancer had lost control. It would be the last, however, if the VASC had anything to do with it. The last of sorcery and the Order, too. "Can you protect him?"
The pair of them shared a look, and for a moment it felt as though he and Verity existed outside a bubble, looking in. Something was communicated, because Ianthe arched a brow, but let her husband speak. Clearly telepathy was at play.
"Ianthe can," Lucien said. "As Drake's apprentice, she's more than a match for one of the Sicarii. We'll go visit with Drake, and I can look after Louisa and Thea should an attack appear."
"I assume, since you're here, that Drake is unaware of what's going on?" Ianthe took up her teacup again.
"Aware, but unconcerned," Bishop replied, and this time he let his frustration show. "He's still grieving the loss of Sebastian."
Silence fell. Rathbourne looked ill, but then it had been his life that Drake had spared at the cost of Sebastian's. "One brother down," Rathbourne murmured.
"Two to go," Bishop replied, feeling the shivering grasp of prophecy lock its chill fingers around his spine.
Their eyes met.
"That's enough of such talk," Ianthe said with a scowl. "Prophecy predicted disastermightbefall the Order and Drake, not that it will. Prophecies are twisty words. And if you think"—Ianthe met his gaze with a firm tilt of her chin—"for one second that I'm going to let my husband go so easily, then you might think again. The demon will have to go through me first. The prophecy will have to go through me first. Hell and ashes, I will deal with the plague itself if it rears a head."
"Ianthe." Rathbourne rested his hand on her knee.
"No," she replied, peering down her nose at her husband. "We are not discussing this. I will not just stand aside if danger comes lurking. No matter what happens."
The room fell into a strained silence.
Ianthe broke it, pouring herself another cup of tea. "Well. Now that we've shelved that discussion, we should move on to other matters. Bishop, concentrate on the Chalice. The Order cannot afford to have Britain—or the Queen—turn against it, and who knows just what precisely the Chalice is capable of. Lucien and I will handle Drake, and perhaps pull him out of this melancholy. Ascension is coming and like it or not, someone has to deal with this mess that Drake has left us in. We cannot just allow anyone to become Prime."
"Any potential candidates we could back?" Bishop was grateful for the change in topic, though fully aware that Verity remained all ears.
Rathbourne exchanged a glance with his wife, who stared back at him over the top of the teacup. Another conversation that Bishop felt like he was on the verge of understanding.
