“WE’LL REINSTATE A CURFEW,” said Nicolas Creed, rising from his desk. “Put more Blood Guard soldiers on the streets. Recommence the raids and interrogate anyone who so much as seems suspicious, even if you have no proof. We must ensure people understand the severity of this situation. If they’re fearful enough, they’ll comply.”
Gideon, who’d just delivered his report on Cressida, glanced up into the Good Commander’s face. “Normally I’d agree, sir.”
Nicolas raised a brow. “You don’t?”
“The curfews and raids were unpopular during the Red Peace. Not only will these measures make witch sympathizers more supportive of Cressida’s cause, they may turn more citizens against us. People don’t like their rights infringed upon, sir.”
Nicolas stepped out from behind his desk. For a moment, Gideon noticed how much the man had aged. The lines creasing his mentor’s face weren’t there two years ago; nor was the gray streaking his hair.
“Walk with me? I have a Tribunal meeting in a few minutes.”
Gideon nodded, and fell in line beside him, remembering the Nicolas from two years ago: someone who’d gotten into the ring with Gideon long after the boxing club closed and stayed there until dawn, never letting him quit. Believing in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.
Back then, Cressida had broken Gideon so completely, there was nothing good left. He was at the bottom of a well, with no way to climb out. And though Nicolas tried again and again to lower a rope, it never seemed long enough.
After a particularly bad night, when Gideon refused to get up from the floor of the ring, Nicolas got down next to him.
I’m not going to give up. Nicolas’s eyes shone as they stared into Gideon’s. I’m not going to walk away. I’m going to stay right here for as long as it takes. Do you hear me?
Why? he asked.
Nicolas Creed was a stranger. He didn’t have to care about some dead tailor’s son.
Get up and find out.
Gideon didn’t believe he was worth saving—he was too far gone for that. But as he stared back at Nicolas, he wondered if it was possible to believe in this man. To trust whatever Nicolas saw when he peered beyond the broken mess other people couldn’t see past as they looked at Gideon.
Maybe he could replace the voice in his head—the one that said he was
worthless, disgusting, better off dead—with Nicolas’s voice.
So that’s what he did.
He used this man’s belief in him like a crutch. It took months. But, little by little, Nicolas’s faith in Gideon became indistinct from his own. Soon, Gideon stopped letting his opponents beat him into oblivion. He started getting back up and hitting back harder and better. He started believing that just maybe there was something worth fighting for.
“I take your point about infringing on their liberties,” said Nicolas, breaking through Gideon’s thoughts as they strode through the west wing of the palace, down its gaslit halls, and toward the throne room. Soldiers strode ahead and behind them, guarding the Commander. “A good leader cares deeply about those he’s responsible for. Again and again, you’ve shown yourself to be that kind of leader.”
Surprised by the praise, Gideon’s chest swelled.
“Sadly, though, people don’t always know what’s best for them.
Sometimes they need us to step in and protect them from themselves.”
Gideon couldn’t exactly disagree with this. If Nicolas hadn’t intervened in his own life two years ago, he’d still be lying on the floor of the boxing ring wishing he were dead.
Maybe he’d even be dead.
“A good leader is brave enough to make the hard choices others don’t want to make,” continued Nicolas. “He does it for the sake of the good. He does it to protect the innocent. This is his duty.”
“I agree.”
But Gideon also remembered Rune allowing Penitents to use her footpaths. In a choice between mercy and punishment, Rune chose mercy. What if Gideon could do the same? Perhaps there was a way to find and arrest Cressida without violating the rights of everyday citizens. Without making them live in fear of the Blood Guard.
Heading for the Commons, where the Tribunal met, Nicolas exited the hall and entered the throne room.
Gideon followed him in.
The throne room was darker than the lamplit halls, and their footsteps boomed through the empty space. Night darkened the stained-glass windows. The gilded pillars cast long shadows over the agate floors.
Three black thrones loomed in the distance. At the sight of them, a chill gripped the back of Gideon’s neck, squeezing like an icy hand.
That they were empty should have relieved him. The sight should have felt like a triumph over evil. Instead, it felt more like an absence longing to be filled. As if this room—those thrones—were waiting for their queens to return.
Gideon wanted to quicken his pace, to put the feeling behind him. But Nicolas stopped before the three seats of power, staring directly at them.
“The curfews, the raids, the interrogations—these are emergency measures. In an emergency, individual rights must sometimes be set aside until the danger has passed. You need to balance both things on the scales, Gideon: on one side is the temporary violation of rights to keep people safe; on the other is the very permanent possibility that Cressida Roseblood retakes her throne and exacts her revenge on us all.”
He turned to face Gideon. “Which is worse, in the long run?” It wasn’t a question. Of course Cressida was worse.
Gideon studied his mentor. They were roughly the same height, and though Nicolas had a leaner build than Gideon, he was muscular. A fighter. Gideon wasn’t sure who would win in a boxing match these days.
Nicolas gripped Gideon’s shoulder. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, and I trust your judgment. The choice is yours to make. Just remember: a great leader weighs the consequences of every decision, and must bear the weight of those consequences. So ask yourself: which consequences can you live with?”
Letting go, Nicolas rolled his shoulders as he glanced back at the thrones. As if the same icy hand gripped him, too, and he wanted to shake it off.
“Think it through,” he said, turning to leave. “Then let me know your decision.”
Gideon stared at the empty thrones.
They were a stark reminder of all he had fought for. If he didn’t act swiftly, if he couldn’t find Cressida and put down her uprising before it grew wings, he would lose everything that mattered: his freedom, along with his ability to protect the vulnerable.
People would suffer worse than before, because Cressida was a vengeful creature, and her vengeance on the Republic would be ruthless. Laila and Harrow. Alex. Rune. They were all at risk.
Rune isn’t bound by the same duty I am, he thought, remembering her kindness to the Penitents. She can afford to show mercy.
Gideon couldn’t. Gideon needed to keep people safe from evil. He had to stop Cressida at all costs.
“I’ve already made my decision,” he called out to Nicolas, who was halfway across the room. The Good Commander turned back. “We’ll reinstate the curfew, and the raids. And we’ll triple the Blood Guard presence on the streets.”
Now was not the time for mercy.
 |
AFTER BRINGING HIS NEW orders to Blood Guard headquarters, Gideon set out for Old Town. It was early evening when he arrived home and found a telegram slipped under his door. Thinking it was from Rune, he picked it up and tore it open.
But it was from Thornwood Hall.
GIDEON SHARPE
113 PRUDENCE ST, OLD TOWN
BROTHER: I LEAVE FOR CAELIS AT THE END OF THE WEEK TO RESUME MY STUDIES. I’M SELLING MY ESTATE AND WILL BE HOSTING A SMALL GOODBYE PARTY TONIGHT. NOTHING FANCY. JUST CARDS AMONG A FEW FRIENDS. I WOULD DEARLY LOVE FOR YOU TO JOIN US.
ALEX
It had been two years since Gideon had set foot in Thornwood Hall, but his nightmares frequently brought him back. He hated that house and the memories it held. The thought of Alex selling it was a relief.
But Caelis was across the Barrow Strait. Gideon had little reason to travel to the mainland, and he couldn’t afford to take time off—especially with Cressida on the prowl. When would he ever see his brother?
Gideon rubbed his jaw, remembering the punch Alex had thrown in the boxing ring.
If Alex was leaving, Gideon owed it to him to face his demons and go to this party. To patch things up between them as much as he could. Especially if they might never see each other again.
Most important of all: Alex needed to know that Cressida was alive.
That he hadn’t killed her. He would have to watch his back going forward.
Gideon grabbed his coat.
Thornwood Hall was only a house. And he was sick of cowering.
