GIDEON
GIDEON RETURNED TO THE table where Antonio and Bart were whispering, their expressions serious. Bart was not convinced of this fledgling plan, but with Antonio’s encouragement, he began making a list of potential allies, scratching down names of aristocrats who might be sympathetic to their cause.
Gideon sat quiet, unable to focus on the task at hand. His heart remained in the hallway, watching Rune stomp away.
Something was wrong with her, and it was eating him up. She didn’t want to talk about it—she’d made that clear by the distance she kept. She flinched at his touch. Avoided his gaze. Walked out halfway through the conversation as if she were weary of his ideas.
Weary of him.
He’d seen her torn bodice, leaving her lace shift exposed for anyone to see. Soren had done it—he was certain. But how far had he gone? How badly had he hurt her?
Gideon’s mind went to the darkest places—he’d been there himself. He knew those places intimately. The idea of Rune at someone’s mercy made his body harden with rage.
I killed him, she’d said. I took your advice and didn’t hesitate.
But it was no consolation, because Rune was still carrying it with her. He saw it in her eyes whenever he looked at her: anguish and pain and barely controlled fury. She looked like she might break apart at any moment from the effort of holding it all in.
They were in unfamiliar territory, and Gideon had no map to navigate the rocky terrain.
Antonio reached over, touching him lightly on the wrist. Gideon looked up to find Bart gone, taking the list of names with him.
“Where did he go?”
“To bed. I’m heading there in a moment, but I wanted to ask if everything is all right?”
Gideon glanced down, staring at a wet stain on the table from the bottom of Bart’s whiskey glass. “I was too harsh with her tonight.”
Antonio withdrew his hand, waiting for the rest. “I think someone broke her.”
“Ah,” said Antonio, leaning back and folding his hands on the table. “Anything else?”
Gideon glanced up. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to put her back together.”
“You can’t put her back together. Only she can do that.”
It wasn’t at all what Gideon wanted to hear. He frowned at Antonio’s shadowed face. “And if I lose her in the meantime?”
Antonio’s eyes softened. “Love is patient, Gideon.”
He clenched his fists. “So I should stand back and do nothing?”
Taking the bottle of whiskey, Antonio uncorked it and poured some into the empty glass in front of him. “Not nothing.” Taking a sip, he said: “You could start by being less afraid.”
It was what Gideon had accused Rune of: being afraid.
“You could try trust instead. Trusting not only her, but yourself.”
Gideon stared at the former acolyte. “This conversation isn’t making me feel better.”
Antonio laughed. “Perhaps a sleeping draught, then? We have the ingredients in the kitchen. I can make one for you. It will help ease the pain, at least for tonight.”
He meant the pain of Gideon’s wounds, but he could easily have meant the ache of Gideon’s heart.
“I find a good night’s sleep makes me clear-sighted in the morning.”
Gideon sighed and pushed out his chair. His tired body groaned in protest as he forced himself to his feet. “Fine. I’ll take your sleeping potion.”
If he was going to pit himself against two armies—Cressida’s and the Good Commander’s—he would need all the clear-sightedness he could get.
 |
THE NEXT MORNING, GIDEON woke to warm sunlight on his face and the smell of Rune on the pillows. He opened his eyes, reaching for her.
But the bed was empty. And cold.
He glanced at the armchair pulled up to the bedside, but it, too, was vacant.
It was just a dream.
Antonio’s draught had worked a little too well. Gideon had slept like a stone, but all night long, his dreams were full of Rune.
They were so vivid, he’d been certain they were real: Rune slipping into his room in the dark and closing the door behind her. Rune sinking into the armchair and leaning forward to brush his hair off his face. He’d woken at her touch—or at least, he had in the dream—and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Pulled her under the covers. Curled his body around hers like a protective shell, running his palms over her chilled skin to warm her.
He remembered the softness of her thigh beneath his palm. The salt taste of her skin on his lips.
But no. He couldn’t. It had been nothing more than a dream. Gideon couldn’t touch Rune; Cressida’s curse prevented it.
He banished the images from his mind and got out of bed. After dressing, he descended the stairs to the salon. Halfway down, he heard a familiar voice growl, “I know he’s here.”
Harrow?
“Tell him I need to speak with him.”
Gideon continued down the stairs, stopping at the bottom. Harrow stood at the entrance to the salon—a large open space punctuated by scattered pillars and a massive fireplace. Standing across from her was Antonio.
“If you don’t fetch him, I’ll…” Her golden eyes lit on Gideon.
“Finally.”
“Come to turn me in?” He leaned his uninjured hip against the rail and crossed his arms. “Should I expect a platoon of officers breaking down the doors any moment?”
Harrow flinched at the question. She opened her mouth as if to answer, then changed her mind.
“The Blood Guard are rudderless,” she said instead. “With your defection, there’s no chance of them making a strong stand against Cressida’s forces. We’re all sitting ducks.”
Gideon frowned. “So you want me to do … what, exactly?” “Come back with me.”
As she stepped toward him, he noticed her bruised wrists and the welt on her cheek. His eyes narrowed.
“Soldiers need their captain.”
“If I return, Noah will kill me this time. And even if he doesn’t…” Gideon shook his head. “I’m no longer in the business of slaughtering witches.”
Her eyes flashed. “If you don’t return, we will be slaughtered by the very witches you’re suddenly so fond of.”
There was a sudden flurry in the hall, coming from the front entrance.
Harrow tensed, looking in the direction of the noise. Had soldiers followed her here? Was this a trap?
Stepping past her, Gideon touched the gun holstered at his hip, ready to draw it if necessary.
“Her spell told me to come here,” came a feminine voice. “To this house. Is she all right?”
Gideon watched as Seraphine Oakes entered the salon. At the sight of each other, both witch and witch hunter froze.
Rune did as I asked.
She’d summoned Seraphine.
He dropped his hand from his gun.
“You.” Harrow spat the word from beside him. Before he realized what was happening, she’d grabbed his gun and pointed it at Seraphine.
No. Not Seraphine.
There was another girl on Seraphine’s heels. One he hadn’t seen until now.
“Wait…” He stepped toward Harrow. This was the last thing he needed here, where he’d planned to broker peace between enemies, not spark a bloodbath.
“Do you know who this is?” Harrow hissed, darting out of Gideon’s reach. She spoke to him without taking her eyes off the girl. “Juniper Huynh. Her parents locked me in their cellar and left me to starve. Juniper let them. She left me to die.”
Gideon glanced from Harrow to the witch at Seraphine’s side. The girl’s long dark hair was braided over one shoulder and her brown eyes shone at Harrow.
Juniper. The girl Harrow loved.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you right here,” Harrow demanded.
Juniper didn’t even try to defend herself.
“Harrow.” Gideon stepped closer, reaching for his gun.
Harrow drew a knife from her belt and swiped it at him, forcing him to step back, never lowering the gun, or her gaze, from the quiet witch across the salon. “If Cressida Roseblood were standing across the room, you would take the shot. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”
She was right. He would. But …
Someone stepped in front of Juniper, cutting her off from Harrow’s line of fire. She wore tan riding leathers, and her cheeks were bright pink from the cold. Her strawberry blonde hair was wild, tugged free of its messy braid, as if she’d been galloping straight into the wind.
Rune.
Harrow narrowed her eyes. “Step aside, Crimson Moth.”
But Rune stood firm, chin held high, keeping Juniper behind her.
Seeing her on the wrong side of a gun made Gideon’s pulse spike. He moved to intervene.
But Rune lifted her hand, silently telling him to stop as she stared Harrow down.
“If it wasn’t for Juniper, you’d be dead right now. She all but forced me to break you out of that prison cell.”
Gideon raised a brow, glancing to his friend. Harrow had been captured? And Rune had rescued her?
An interesting twist.
“You owe Juniper your life.”
“You’re lying,” said Harrow, still holding her knife aloft and pointed at Gideon with one hand while the other aimed the gun at the witches.
“I wish I were.” Rune narrowed her eyes. “Clearly you didn’t deserve
it.”
To Gideon’s surprise, Harrow lowered both weapons. But whether it
was because she believed Rune or because she was indebted to her, Gideon couldn’t tell.
“Well, isn’t this pleasant,” said Bart, who must have entered during the tense exchange. He stood in a baby blue robe with the crest of his house stitched in silver on the breast pocket. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast? Antonio, can we accommodate a few more this morning?”
Antonio was calmly scanning the salon, taking in each person—natural enemies, all—when his gaze fell on Seraphine. At the sight of her, he frowned and tilted his head ever so slightly, as if asking a silent question.
In answer, Seraphine dipped her head. Almost imperceptibly.
“That won’t be a problem,” said Antonio, tearing his eyes from Seraphine and glancing to Bart. “Why don’t you show everyone to the terrace while Bess and I prepare the food.” He stepped in front of Harrow and held out both hands, palms up. “No weapons at breakfast, I’m afraid.”
Harrow eyed him, then slammed both the gun and the knife hilt into his open hands before following Bart toward the gardens. She didn’t look at Juniper.
Gideon hung back, trying to catch Rune’s eye as the witches passed, but she was already in conversation with Seraphine, and if she noticed him, she didn’t show it. As he took his place behind her, following this strange entourage into the gardens, he noticed a red mark on the back of her neck, peeking up above her leather collar. Like a freshly healed scar.
He frowned, wondering how she’d come by it.
