Page 87 of Hexbound

At that her shoulders slumped. "You sound remarkably like your brother at times."

Hope flared. "Lucien thinks you should do this too?"

Ianthe rubbed at her temples, her skirts swishing as she rested her hip against the balcony. "He thinks everything we risked our lives to achieve last month will be destroyed if I don't."

"Then you have Drake on your side, your husband, Lady Eberhardt... and me."

Ianthe smiled sadly. "Thank you."

"But...?" He could sense that she still held reservations.

"If I do this," she whispered, "then a great deal of scrutiny will fall upon me and my past. Upon Louisa."

Ah. That was what was holding her back. Louisa might have been Lucien's, but there would always be whispers about her birth. "Your husband has formally adopted her as his own. She has both of you to fight at her side. And we're sorcerers, Ianthe. Her illegitimacy is never going to go away, but we accept all as equal within the Order. After all, I'm a bastard too. It's never stopped me."

"That's not all. If I do this," she continued, and he realized that this last confession was the true crux of the problem, "then I'm going to end up facing my father head-on."

Bishop racked his brain. Nothing came to mind. "And your father is—?"

"Sir Grant Martin."

Hell.He suddenly understood her reluctance. "The Head of the Vigilance Against Sorcery Committee."

"The very same."

They stared at each other.

"He despises me for what I am," Ianthe pointed out. "If I do this, then VASC will come after us with everything they have. He won't rest until the Order—and I—are destroyed."

Sir Grant Martin had been lobbying parliament for over a decade to see sorcery declared illegal, and in the past few years had taken his cause to the streets to rouse the common people. Parliament held firm. After all, the sorcerers who served as Servants to the Empire were too important to the crown and its expansion plans. But the people....

When things went wrong in the lives of the poor and uneducated—mysterious accidents, illnesses, houses catching fire—most people needed to point the finger somewhere. Martin had been very successful in using that superstition and ill will to make headway among the populace. Some even suspected his handful of loyal followers set fires themselves.

Bishop frowned. Itwasa problem. One that might affect them all. "He's already working against us."

"If I become Prime, I can guarantee that those efforts will triple, at the very least."

"Do you want me to take care of the situation?" It wasn't an option lightly offered.

Ianthe stared at him, hunger lighting her blue eyes momentarily before she shook her head. "Good God, listen to us. Plotting murder. I'm not even in the chair yet."

"Yet."

Ianthe pushed away from the balcony. "That's enough. The Sicarii were formed to protect the Order, mostly from threats within. Not to annihilate those whomightbecome a problem. If we take that step, then where does it end?"

Bishop scrubbed at his mouth. She was right. And he wasn't entirely certain if the offer had come from pure cold-blooded practicality, or from that never-ending itch that shifted beneath his skin.Death, themaladroisewhispered.Power. He could practically feel the rush of that assassination whispering at him, like some devil breathing temptation.

"I'll consider what you've said, and... think about the VASC problem,” Ianthe finally said. “I don't think it needs to—"

Something slammed into the house wards.

Bishop stepped in front of Ianthe, his etheric blades springing to life in his hands.

A flicker, then a woman fell onto the lawn. A tumble of skirts. Chestnut hair. Pale skin. His heart kicked inside his chest. "Verity?"

He vanished the blades as he sprinted toward her. She moved with a groggy groan, and relief flowed through him. Why was she here? What had happened? He glanced around, but nothing seemed to have followed her.

And what was wrong with her? Why wasn't she getting up?