GIDEON
RUNE WASN’T IN THEIR cabin. Gideon could only assume she’d used her invisibility spell to elude him. If she didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t find her.
He turned to the mirror on the clapboard wall, its surface cloudy with age. Pulling off his shirt, he stared at the brand on his chest. The scar still flared ember-red and was hot to the touch.
Gideon remembered the tiny sound Rune had made when his fingers stroked down her throat. Every muscle in his body tightened at the thought of that sound. Of her throat. Of her.
He could never be with Rune, even if he wanted to be. Cressida had made sure of it.
He wanted to put his fist through the glass. To take a jagged piece and cut the brand out of his skin. He was about to search the room for Rune’s casting knife to do just that when a knock on the door stopped him.
Hoping it might be Rune, he swung it open. It was Abbie.
Her auburn curls were loose around her shoulders, and her white blouse was half tucked into her pants.
This wasn’t great timing. But it had been Abbie he’d initially gone to find after the argument with Rune. Now that she was here, he might as well use the opportunity to ask if she was Harrow’s spy.
Abbie stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her, forcing Gideon to back up a step.
“We need to talk,” she said.
He nodded, wishing—not for the first time—that the room was far bigger. “Agreed.”
“This must be more than a coincidence, right? You and me. On the Arcadia. The last week before I transfer out of here, and you show up. Isn’t that strange?”
This was good. They could finally be clear with each other. But before he could ask her if she was working for Harrow, Abbie continued: “There are things I need to say, Gideon. And if I don’t say them now, I’ll always regret it.”
He frowned. “Huh?”
“I don’t care what your reasons were for marrying her—to get out of trouble, to rectify some scandal—I can help you. I’ll get you out of it. I’ve been saving up for years now, and … I have means. I can settle whatever debts got you into this mess.”
Gideon’s frown deepened. Debts? “What are you talking about?”
Abbie closed the space between them and took his hand. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
He glanced down to find her fingers interlaced with his. “Abbie, what
—”
Suddenly, she was pushing up on her toes. And pressing her lips to his.
Whoa. Okay. This was not where Gideon had thought this was going.
He was about to pull away and apologize for whatever he’d done to lead
her on—but there was a question burning in the back of his mind.
Would the curse activate?
Is it only Rune who triggers it? Or can anyone?
He cupped Abbie’s neck and kissed her back.
The seconds ticked by. Old memories from after the revolt seeped up. The two of them, together. But the images were hazy. Like a book he’d once read and all but forgotten.
Gideon felt nothing: no flaring scar; no excruciating pain.
It should have brought relief, but it didn’t. Because neither did he feel anything else. No unquenchable thirst. No fusing of two souls. Kissing
Abbie was nothing like kissing Rune. The former only made him want the latter.
Is this how it’s going to be? Had Rune utterly ruined him? Enough.
Gideon took hold of Abbie’s arms and thrust her back a step. She opened her eyes, looking dazed.
“Are you the spy Harrow planted on this ship?” Abbie’s brows knit. “What?”
“There’s a spy on board, searching for a witch named Rune Winters.
They’re working for Harrow.”
“I…” She shook her head. “I told you: I ran away from all that.”
She seemed too stunned to be lying. But if it wasn’t her, who else could it be?
“Do you have any idea who the spy is? You said you spoke with Harrow the last time the Arcadia was in port.”
“She and I didn’t talk about work.” Abbie stepped away from him. “Did you not hear anything I just said? About you and me?”
Gideon pulled in a breath. He was being rude.
“Abbie. Whatever you and I once had, it’s in the past.” “Then why kiss me back?”
Gideon touched his scar. “I’m sorry. I needed to answer a question.”
Her voice trembled. “But … why would you marry her, unless you had to?”
It’s not a real marriage.
It’s what he should have said. But he was thinking of Rune in the boiler room, pouring out her heart to him.
“Why indeed,” he murmured.
Stricken, she took another step back before turning and fleeing the room.
Gideon ran both hands over his face. Merciful Ancients. How had he gotten himself into this mess?
Oh, right.
Rune.
Rune had gotten him into this mess. Rune, who was still missing. So long as her invisibility spell hid her, she’d be safe. But her earlier illusion had worn off. This one might, too. And if her crimson moth signature was found …
He paced the limited floor space in their cramped cabin, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. If he were a spy closing in on a witch, would he keep his distance, waiting to strike? Or would he get in close, perhaps be friendly, and lower her defenses?
He halted, recalling the young man who’d been circling Rune like a hawk ever since they boarded.
William.
What if Gideon was wrong about him?
It might not have been Rune who lured William down to the boilers. It might have been the other way around. Gideon hadn’t asked her; he’d assumed.
What if William was circling her not because he was a cad who wanted her in his bed, but because he was an assassin who wanted her in a grave?
