RUNE
SOREN’S ARMY SECURED THE capital. Soldiers swarmed like ants down every street, kicking in doors that wouldn’t open for them and dragging the inhabitants out. Those who made oaths of loyalty to the queen of Cascadia were spared; those who refused were shot in front of their families.
Most took the oath.
Anyone connected to the old regime who hadn’t escaped the city was brought in and interrogated. Those who refused to talk were tortured. If they still refused, they were executed. Those who talked spared themselves an extra night or two, but once they ran out of information to extract, they were executed, too.
Many witches were happy to hunt down the very people who once hunted them. But at the fringes, Rune detected a growing unease.
“They’re afraid,” said Seraphine one night, her voice cloaked by a silencing spell, preventing the two witches posted outside Rune’s bedroom from listening to their conversation.
Rune was trapped here. Every door and window was sealed with Cressida’s magic, and they had encased Rune’s hands in witch restraints, taking them off only to let her eat or relieve herself.
All day and night, two witches were posted outside her door, and when Rune was let out—for a single hour, at dinner—these guards were her escorts, reporting her every word and action to Cressida.
Rune was like an expensive jewel, locked up tight. If something happened to her, Cressida would lose her only chance of resurrecting Elowyn and Analise.
The only reason Cressida let Seraphine visit was because Seraphine was powerless to help Rune. Everyone was.
“There’s a growing number of witches who don’t support her but will never stand against her so long as she has an army at her disposal.”
Rune couldn’t exactly blame them. She was terrified of Cressida.
“As long as she has Soren’s army, and as long as she succeeds in raising her sisters, no one will speak against her.”
“So nothing can be done,” said Rune. Her palms itched beneath the iron restraints that fully encased her hands.
“Not nothing,” said Seraphine, her eyes glittering in the dim light. “If Cressida could be compromised—if she lost Soren’s support, or were weakened in some other way—it would be easier to draw out dissidents.”
Rune remembered Gideon’s plan: to hunt down and kill the last living Roseblood. It would be a serious blow to Cressida.
“You could dispose of me.”
Seraphine made a face. “That’s not what I meant.” But it would work.
“I could tell Soren the truth: Cressida is planning to kill me and therefore has no intention of letting me become his wife.”
The problem was, she hadn’t seen Soren since she and Gideon escaped aboard the Arcadia. She knew he was on the island; Cressida had requested he take his soldiers and do a sweep of the countryside surrounding the city, setting up encampments there to ensure the Blood Guard didn’t hit them with a surprise attack.
Rune suspected he didn’t know his fiancée was here, imprisoned. That Cressida had made him believe Rune was still kidnapped by witch hunters.
“Cressida would only retaliate,” said Seraphine, forcing Rune to recall the whip. The lashes. The blood.
Sweat beaded her hairline. Her chains clinked in her lap as she shifted uncomfortably.
“A better plan would be to destroy Elowyn and Analise’s bodies.” “Except no one knows where they are,” said Rune.
It was one of Cressida’s tightly guarded secrets.
“A spell like that needs constant renewal. Cressida’s been away from the island for months; she needs to either replenish it or finally resurrect them. I believe she’ll go to them soon. And when she does, she’ll take you with her.”
Rune nodded. She knew her days were numbered. Cressida wanted her sisters at her side, and Rune was the key to raising them back to life.
She would have tried to escape before now, but the restraints, the spells, the constant watch of her guards made it impossible.
“Soren is due back any day. When he returns, I’ll tell him the truth.”
If I’m still alive.
Once the prince learned Cressida intended to kill Rune, he would get her to safety.
“And if she’s keeping him away to prevent exactly that?” asked Seraphine.
Rune looked to the windows, blackened by the night. She felt close to despairing. Of course that was why Cressida sent him away.
“We can’t wait for Soren,” said Seraphine.
“Do you have a better plan?” Rune lifted her restraints in the air to demonstrate her prisoner status. “I’m always exactly where she wants me to be. She has two witches following my every move, not to mention spells locking me into my rooms.”
“Actually,” said Seraphine, “I do have a better plan.”
CHANDELIERS TWINKLED OVERHEAD AS servants uncorked bottles of wine and poured them into goblets. The banquet hall was awash in golden light as Cressida’s court laughed and gossiped at tables, waiting for the show trials to start.
Every evening at dinner, Cressida’s enemies were brought before her to beg for their lives.
As Rune glanced around the lavish room, she found witches dressed in finery, eating off gold-rimmed plates. As if Cressida had already won. As if she’d never not been queen.
Was it really this easy? Or is this an elaborate show?
If the Blood Guard rallied and came marching in tomorrow, would they stand a chance against her? Or would they be defeated?
Rune didn’t want to find out. Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she waited for the sign from Seraphine, ready to set their plan in motion. She tried not to think about the price of getting caught. All she had to do was touch the scars marring her back.
Soon, soldiers brought in their daily captures: Tribunal members, Blood Guard soldiers, anyone who’d worked for the Good Commander or one of his ministries. Each one was forced to their knees before Cressida’s table, awaiting their sentence.
Some witches put their forks down to watch; others continued their conversations. They’d barely been here a week, and many were already bored of the nightly entertainment.
It reminded Rune of private purgings, rare events when witches were brought out at dinner parties and killed while the guests enjoyed their after- dinner coffees.
We’re still in hell, she thought. It just has different trappings.
As prisoners begged for their lives, or the lives of spouses and children, witches sipped their wine and ate their desserts. Unbothered.
Or at least, that’s how it appeared.
Like Seraphine, Rune suspected some, maybe even most, were bothered
—but too scared to show it.
Their theory was substantiated when the next prisoner was dragged in. The Commander’s spymaster.
As they dragged her before Cressida’s table, Juniper’s hands clenched the tablecloth. Rune looked from Juniper’s tight-knuckled grip to her face, which had gone whiter than bone, her gaze fixed on the girl who’d been forced to her knees.
She seemed to recognize the prisoner—whose dark hair was up in a topknot, her left ear missing. Juniper’s chair scraped the floor as she shoved it back.
“Excuse me,” she said, stumbling away from the table and rushing from the room.
Rune stared after her until a soft snore drew her gaze to the guards seated across the table. Both were asleep. One with her head on her arms, the other with her chin resting on her hand.
Seraphine cleared her throat. “Juniper seems upset, Rune. Perhaps you should go check on her.”
Rune glanced at the witch beside her.
Leave your guards to me, Seraphine had told her earlier. Had she enchanted their drinks?
Was Juniper in on this scheme, too? Her heart skipped.
Folding her napkin with a calmness she didn’t feel, Rune glanced across the room to where Cressida sat at a table with her inner circle of witches. The queen wore a navy blue gown that shone like midnight, and her white hair was braided tightly back. Her attention was fixed on the spymaster kneeling before her. The girl glared at the witch queen, refusing to grovel or beg.
There was something familiar about her.
Rune shook it off, rose from the table, and slipped into the hall.
Without her casting knife, she needed something to draw blood so she could cast Ghost Walker. She planned to escape through the kitchens, grab a sharp knife, and then steal a horse from the stable. From there, she would take a train to the northwest side of the island, where she was less likely to be recognized and no one would be on the lookout for witches. Sparsely populated due to its high winds and barren landscape, that part of the island consisted mainly of small fishing towns. She’d find someone to sail her away—or steal a boat and sail herself. And all the while, she’d be hidden by Seraphine’s spell, unable to be Seen by any sibyl.
Her plan was cut short by Juniper.
The girl had one hand pressed to the wall and the other pressed to her stomach. From the way her chest heaved, she looked like she was about to throw up.
“Juniper?”
The witch jumped, spinning to face her. Her black hair was braided into a tight crown atop her head, and her dark brown eyes were wide.
She looked like she’d seen a ghost. “Are you all right?” asked Rune.
“I … I know that girl. The one they’re calling the spymaster.”
Rune frowned. Maybe Juniper wasn’t in on Seraphine’s scheme.
Juniper looked to the banquet hall doors. “My parents said they sold her. They told me she was on the Continent, and that I’d never find her. I followed every lead. I looked everywhere.”
Rune followed her gaze to the doors she’d just come through, still shut.
She could not be standing here the next time those doors opened.
She needed to go.
Now.
She turned to head for the kitchens, when Juniper whispered: “I thought Harrow was dead.”
Harrow.
The name jolted Rune. It wasn’t a common name. What were the chances the Harrow kneeling before Cressida was Gideon’s friend?
“Then the soldiers brought her in, and I … Rune, I have to save her.”
If Harrow was the Commander’s spymaster, she would be sent to the interrogation rooms for sure. They would try to break her. She was too valuable for them not to.
Go! Now! Every second you remain here is a risk!
Rune clenched and unclenched her hands, still staring down the hall toward the kitchens.
“I wish I could help you, Juniper. But I can’t.”
Rune wasn’t about to risk her life trying to rescue an enemy who wouldn’t do the same if their positions were reversed. Besides: Harrow was as good as dead. There was nothing Rune could do to change that.
An old fear had woken up in her. Like a serpent, it coiled around her heart. Choking off anything that might prevent her survival.
She turned on her heel and started walking away, heading for a door she knew led to the servant quarters.
“You’re the Crimson Moth,” Juniper called after her. “Saving people is what you do.”
Not anymore.
“She’s friends with the Blood Guard captain,” said Juniper, more quietly. “She’ll know where Gideon is. If Cressida finds out his location…”
That made Rune stop.
Because of course that’s what Cressida would use Harrow for.
You think you can protect him from me? Cressida had told her. Once I have my throne, the first thing I intend to do is hunt Gideon down.
Rune knew what would happen if Gideon fell into Cressida’s hands.
If he’s even still alive.
The thought squeezed her heart.
And if he is alive?
“Fine,” she growled, spinning to face Juniper. A plan—a stupid, dangerous plan—was forming in her mind. This would be her last rescue. After that, no more.
“I’ll save this girl for you.” And for Gideon. “But I need something from you in exchange.”
Juniper palmed the tears from her cheeks. “Anything.”
“When they ask you where I am, you tell them you haven’t seen me.
You have no idea where I went. Got it?”
Juniper nodded. “Yes,” she breathed. “Of course.” Rune stepped back. “Leave the rest to me.”
