GIDEON
THE MOON WAS RISING as Gideon strode through the cemetery, its pale light making the gravestones around him gleam. Four white stones stood in a line, a little away from the rest, beckoning him.
Sun Sharpe. Beloved wife and mother. Levi Sharpe. Doting husband and father.
Tessa Sharpe. A bright light extinguished too soon.
His fingers trailed the stones until he came to the fourth.
Alexander Sharpe. Dearest brother and friend.
Everyone he’d ever loved was right here. Several feet underground.
Dropping to his knees in the upturned soil, Gideon pressed his hand to the cold stone of Alex’s grave. Despite having dug this grave himself only two months ago, it was still a shock finding his brother here.
“I know you’re not happy with me,” he said. “And I’m sorry about that.
Everything I’ve done, I did because I thought it was the right choice.” Well, except for Rune. He’d been utterly selfish when it came to Rune. Which was why he was here.
Gideon ran his free hand roughly over his stubbled jaw. His breath shuddered out of him. “I know you loved her, Alex.”
Gideon closed his eyes.
“I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Behind him, the crunch of boots on pine needles broke the silence. Gideon tensed, listening. As his hand reached for his pistol—the last one left in his apartment after Rune and Aurelia stole the others—a voice spoke from behind him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Comrade.”
Harrow.
He stood and turned to face her. Light and shadow flickered across her as the wind blew through the graveyard, shaking the trees and scattering moonlight everywhere. “I got your telegram. Laila gave the order to double security along the waterfront. Nothing is getting out of Republic waters tonight.”
Gideon nodded. “Good. And the soldiers?”
“They’re waiting for you at the Crow’s Nest, per your request.” “Perfect.”
He waited for her to leave so he could return to paying his respects, but Harrow only stood there. Her face was hard to read on any given day, but tonight, the shadows made her impenetrable.
Gideon arched a brow. “Is there something else?” She kept silent a moment, as if deliberating.
“The Commander has, let’s say, a lack of affection for you, Comrade.
He will happily kill you if she escapes again.”
He was well aware of Noah’s resentment. “Those were the terms I agreed to.”
More silence filled the gap between them. But still, she didn’t turn to leave.
Gideon studied her more closely until he figured out the problem.
Harrow—who barely spoke to him these days unless it was to snap, who barely looked at him unless it was to scowl—was worried about him.
“There was a slight hitch in my plans,” he told her. “But everything is on track. I’ll handle this. Don’t worry.”
Despite not looking reassured, she gave a quick nod and moved to leave, heading for the path. As she turned, the moonlight spotlighted the side of her head, illuminating the scar from her missing ear.
“Harrow? You’ve never told me your story.”
She glanced back. He nodded toward her missing ear. “What happened?” he asked. “Before the revolution.” “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”
“You should tell me tonight, in case your fears come true and Noah has the reason he needs to dispose of me.”
This made her pause. Instead of walking away, she pulled herself up onto a bigger gravestone, perching there and letting her legs hang down, obscuring the name of the deceased.
“My parents were poor as dirt,” she said, gripping the edge. “They had too many debts, and too many children to feed. I was the youngest and most useless of seven, so they sold me.”
Gideon frowned, wanting to contradict this: Harrow was nothing if not resourceful. He stayed quiet, though, coming to lean against the gravestone next to her.
“They indentured me to a wealthy witch family, who treated me fine, I suppose. At least, at first.”
Harrow’s voice, which was only ever biting and sarcastic, suddenly softened.
“Their daughter, Juniper, taught me to read and write. She even shared her favorite books with me: novels, operas, plays. The more fanciful, the better.” A strange glow lit up her face as she spoke. Gideon had never seen her look like that. “She would read to me in the evenings, and sometimes in the afternoons, if the weather was nice and if I could abandon my chores without being noticed. We would sit in the trees and recite poetry and plays to each other.”
Isn’t that the point of art—to tame the monsters in us?
It was something Harrow said to him not so long ago. He’d assumed she was quoting some book at him, to mock him, and hadn’t given it a second thought.
“You loved her,” he realized.
Harrow flinched, ashamed to be caught out. As if loving a witch was a criminal offense.
“When her family realized, they did this.” She pointed to the spot where an ear should be. “They hoped to make me unpalatable to her. Maybe I should be thankful they didn’t have the stomach to take my eyes, or my nose. That probably would have done the trick.”
Her jaw clenched, but she continued.
“They threw me in the cellar and locked the door. They probably hoped I’d bleed to death.” Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she picked at her
fingernails, already bitten to the quick. “I thought Juniper would rescue me. She’d never spoken her feelings outright. Hadn’t made any declarations of love. But I’d hoped…”
She fisted her hands.
“I kept waiting for her to come, but the door never opened. I stayed alive by catching drops of water from a leaking pipe, waiting to die of starvation.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “When the door finally opened, I thought I was hallucinating. It wasn’t my mistress; it was a soldier in a red uniform. He said the Sister Queens were dead, and the Reign of Witches was over. He said I was free.”
Uncurling her fists, she stared down at her open palms. “Strange thing was, I didn’t feel free.”
Gideon touched her shoulder. “Harrow. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged, and his hand fell back to his side. “We all have our scars, Comrade.” Glancing up at him, she held his gaze. “But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?”
She slipped down from the gravestone and returned to the path.
“Don’t forget whose side you’re on tonight.” Her voice echoed back to him. “Or there will be worse scars to come.”
