RUNE
THE KING OF UMBRIA’S son fell dead at her feet.
Rune stared at him, her entire body quaking with shock.
Good girl, she could almost hear Gideon say.
She was about to turn and walk away, when the sight of Soren’s blood stopped her.
Crouching, she pressed two fingers to the blood dripping from his temple, then used it to draw the symbols for Ghost Walker on her forearm. Normally, she’d worry about corruption. But she hadn’t killed Soren to cast an Arcana spell; she’d killed him in self-defense, and her magic knew the difference.
It flared inside her. The feel of it, like a current coursing through her, comforted Rune. Her breath came easier, even if her hands still shook.
By the time soldiers came running in their direction, Rune was passing beneath the prison’s entrance, undetected beneath the cloak of her spell. Overhead, images of the seven Ancients were impressed into the steel archway.
Up ahead walked Harrow, her hands in manacles, accompanied by two witches.
An iron gate blocked their entry into the prison’s first section. Its thick black bars were forged to look like doves in flight, all soaring to the top of the entryway where the engraved words Mercy Gate loomed above. At their approach, the gate clinked slowly open.
Noticing a casting knife sheathed at each witch’s hip, Rune stepped as close as she dared and carefully slid one out. The witch tilted her head, as if sensing Rune’s presence—or perhaps scenting her magic—but the gate
swung open, and she immediately turned her attention within, stepping through it with Harrow and the other witch.
Rune’s grip tightened on the stolen knife as she slipped in behind them, invisible beneath her spell.
The sour smell hit her first. Sweat. And mold. Decades of it, probably.
The dampness clung to the cold air.
Normally, interrogations happened at Blood Guard headquarters. But Cressida had blown those up months ago. Now, prisoners brought in to be interrogated were held here, inside the prison’s first section.
Two wide bays spanned out from this corridor, curving like wings, out of sight. A prison guard led them down the nearest bay, where doors lined each wall.
Rune followed, her footsteps silent on the stone.
At the end of the cell bay, the guard unlocked a door and held it open. The witches shoved Harrow inside, where she would stay until the interrogator finished her other examinations.
Before the guard shut the door, Rune slipped into the cell. The door locked behind her, plunging her into darkness. It enclosed Rune like a tomb, heavy and suffocating, making her think of Nan awaiting her death in a cell like this one. Imprisoned in total darkness.
“Fuck,” said Harrow.
The word was followed by the sound of her sliding down the wall as she collapsed to the floor.
Rune’s absence had likely been noticed by now. And it was only a matter of minutes before news of Soren’s murder reached Cressida. Once it did, she would put two and two together.
Soon, every witch and soldier in the palace would be hunting for Rune. She needed to get Harrow out quickly.
Rune smudged the spellmark on her arm, then used the stolen casting knife to draw enough blood to cast Torch. A white flame flared above her open palm, forcing Harrow to glance up.
Surprise flashed across her face, but she hid it almost immediately, smoothing her expression to one as blank as stone.
“Looks like someone tried to have their way with you.”
Rune looked down to discover her bodice torn almost to her waist and the shift beneath showing through.
“He tried,” said Rune. “Now he’s dead.”
Harrow’s head tilted, studying Rune. As if impressed and trying not to show it. The chains of her manacles clinked as she stretched like a cat. Like this was a totally normal conversation under totally normal circumstances, instead of one she was having while imprisoned in a dark cell. “I assume you want something from me. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Rune stepped forward. Harrow flinched.
“I won’t hurt you.” Rune crouched, wetting her fingers with blood from the cut she’d made. Taking hold of Harrow’s manacles, she drew the spellmark for Picklock. “I’m going to get you out of here, but we need to be quick. You won’t slow me down, will you?”
“No, ma’am,” said Harrow, studying her beneath the light of that eerie flame.
“Good,” said Rune as the magic rushed out of her, humming in the air. The manacles fell open, clanking to the stone floor.
Harrow rubbed at her wrists. Rune rose to her feet.
“Let’s go.”
