SEVENTY
RUNE
IT WAS AS THE train was pulling away from the platform that Rune saw him out there in the railyard: Gideon, dressed in a fancy riding suit, the brim of a wool cap shadowing his face …
And a gun pressed between his shoulder blades. Something ferocious roared to life inside her.
But the train was leaving the station, and with it, her last chance to get out. Rune knew what it would cost her to get off. And suddenly, it didn’t matter.
None of it mattered except this.
She had to shove past the passengers blocking her way down the aisle, and then screamed like a lunatic until the staff opened the door for her.
And then she jumped. From a moving train. Onto the platform.
She felt her world collapsing in on itself as the train left the station and she ran across the rail yard, not knowing if she’d get to him in time. She’d run harder than she’d ever run in her life. Ran until her lungs burned and her legs screamed, and then ran even harder.
And now here he was: sprawled across the train tracks, his hands in the dirt, that ridiculous wool cap knocked from his head.
Alive.
It made Rune want to fall to her knees and weep with relief.
If she hadn’t glanced out the train window one more time before the platform disappeared, he’d be dead. And she would be riding away from the station, oblivious.
A fist squeezed her heart.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, gripping the pistol in her hand, anger spiking through her. She’d stolen it off a soldier in the station.
“Me?” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “What are you doing here?” Rune pointed to the dead witch at her feet. “Saving your life!”
She glanced at the distant train. The one she was supposed to be on.
“You’ve ruined everything!” She threw down the pistol. With its empty chamber, the gun was useless to her. “That was my last chance to escape!”
His face darkened. “Then you should have taken it!” “And let her kill you?”
“That’s why I came: to make sure you were safely on board when it left.”
A dog barked in the distance, interrupting them. Gideon looked over Rune’s shoulder. Whatever he saw there made his face blanch. He grabbed the pistol she’d thrown to the ground and shoved it into his belt. “We have to go. Now.”
Rune glanced back to see a group of soldiers and several hunting hounds cross the rail yard, moving swiftly toward them. Guns drawn.
Damn it.
Gideon grabbed her hand, pulling her after him, further out into the yard. But there was nowhere to go. Just tracks for miles, and every so often, parked train cars.
Barking and gunshots drowned out a distant train’s rumble. Luckily for Rune and Gideon, the soldiers were a good ways behind and were firing as they ran, making their aim unsteady.
Another rumble—like thunder—followed by a loud whistle made Rune glance down the tracks.
It wasn’t her train making that sound. It was another train coming through, traveling down the furthest set of tracks in the yard.
And Gideon was heading straight for it.
“You’re kidding,” Rune wheezed, pumping her legs as hard as she could.
“It has to decrease its speed.” He spoke through labored breaths. “Once it enters the yard, it won’t stop … but it’ll slow.”
Rune glanced back. The dogs were gaining on them. It wasn’t a choice. They would have to jump on.
Long before she was ready, the train pulled up beside them, engine chugging. Its wheels screeched on the tracks as it braked, slowing only barely. The sound was so loud, it drowned out the dogs and the gunshots.
Rune and Gideon pumped their legs faster.
Most of the cars had windows, meaning this wasn’t a supply train. But there were no people aboard either. Not that she could see, anyway.
Gideon’s hand tightened on hers, as if to say, Ready?
Rune wasn’t ready. The train was going way too fast. What if she jumped and missed? What if she fell under the wheels?
But the dogs were right there, snarling behind them. And Rune’s legs were tiring. Slowing.
And already, the train was passing them by. Only three more cars, and it would be gone.
“I thought you said it has to slow down!”
Gideon didn’t answer. Just let go of her hand, preparing to jump. He sped up beside her. She watched him time it just right: waiting until the second-to-last car was beside him and launching himself at the platform’s rail.
He grabbed hold, the toes of his boots landing on the platform’s edge.
He pulled himself over the rail. “Show-off,” she growled.
Gideon turned back to wait for her.
But it was too late—the car passed her by. She lost sight of Gideon as the next car—the end of the train—pulled up beside her.
This was it.
Her last chance.
She had to jump, or she’d be left behind.
The dogs snapped at her heels. Bullets whizzed past her head. She should give in. Give up. It was useless to try.
No.
Something sparked inside her. An old feeling. A familiar feeling. Like she was back in the midst of a heist, outwitting a certain Blood Guard
captain, risking everything for the possibility of saving one more witch from the purge.
She’d forgotten the thrill of it. How it made her feel untouchable. Invincible.
I am the Crimson Moth.
It was the answer to her oldest question.
You are the kindest, cleverest, bravest girl I’ve ever met. This was Rune Winters. This girl. In this moment.
Rune fixed her gaze on the last car’s platform, knowing it was now or never.
And then she jumped, soaring toward it.
Seconds before the train pulled out of reach, her fingers caught the railing and locked around it. Her knees banged against the cold steel, sending pain flickering through her.
Rune held on.
Ignoring the bullets bouncing off the train car and the snarling dogs below, she pulled herself up and over the rail.
This is what I’ve been running from. Not Cressida. Not the Blood Guard.
Rune was running from herself. From what she wanted most deeply, and feared she couldn’t have.
The door of the car swung open. Gideon stepped out, pistol raised, shooting at the soldiers. Firing until he was out of bullets, then reloading and firing again. Never lowering the gun until the train left the rail yard, picking up speed and carrying them out of range.
SEVENTY-ONE
RUNE
TOGETHER, THEY STUMBLED INTO the dark car, windswept and breathing hard. The train rattled and clinked. Rune pressed her palm to the wall of the cramped hallway as it lurched on its tracks, trying to keep her balance. Trying to catch her breath.
When she glanced at Gideon, she found him leaning against the opposite wall, staring at her. Through the windows, the sun was almost below the horizon.
Rune gazed at this mountain of a boy. The one who’d risked his life alongside her. A boy who’d proven, again and again, they were better together than apart.
Why in the world had she left him?
Because I’m afraid of losing him.
Except running away meant losing him. Voluntarily. What had she been thinking?
Rune never should have asked him to leave with her. In doing so, she’d asked him to go against his conscience. His goodness. She knew perfectly well what it would have cost Gideon to accept her offer. And she’d asked him anyway.
It was like Rune had changed places with Alex, who’d begged her to run away, and in doing so, proven he hadn’t really known her at all.
“Are you all right?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Rune barely heard his question. She was remembering the other train pulling out of the station, remembering her reflection in the glass.
“You asked me once if I wanted children,” she said.
He tilted his head, as if this was the last thing he’d expected her to say.
“I want three.”
Rune had seen them that day in the yellow house, while bullets whizzed over her and Gideon’s heads: three little ones laughing as they ran through a field of wildflowers.
She had known immediately they were Gideon’s. But this evening, while studying her reflection in the train window, she realized they were also hers. She’d seen their features in her face.
Rune was scared to even hope for it: a family of her own. People to belong to. She didn’t know if it was a true vision, or fanciful thinking. All she knew was she wanted it. Wanted them.
But in order to have them, she had to stay.
Gideon ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing to the window.
“This train is going south,” he said. “That means the next station is a few hours away. We can get off in that yard, and I can help you hop another one. Or we can find a harbor that hasn’t been infiltrated and get you on a boat.”
She frowned.
That wasn’t exactly the response she’d hoped for. “Gideon, I just said—”
“You want a family one day.” He dragged his attention away from the window, fixing it on her. The look on his face seemed … sad. “I understand. It’s why you want to escape.”
“No.” Rune stepped toward him, shaking her head. “I mean, yes. But…” She reached for his lapels, gripping them with both hands, anchoring herself to him against the train’s jolt. “I’m offering you terms, Gideon.”
He frowned at her, confused. “Do you still want me to stay?”
Lifting a hand to her hair, he tucked a wild strand behind her ear. “More than anything.”
“There’s something I want, too. Something that would make me stay.” He was watching her closely now. “I’m listening.”
She lowered her gaze to his throat, suddenly feeling uncertain. What if he didn’t want the same thing?
“Sometimes,” she said, staring hard at the collar of his jacket, “I fantasize about being your wife.”
His eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Really?” He grinned, clearly pleased. “Your fantasies are a lot more wholesome than…” The grin slid away. “Wait. What are you saying?”
He pressed his thumb to her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. “I want to be your wife, Gideon.”
The pulse in his throat kicked. “And these children you also want … they’re our children?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s how it works, yes.” More quietly, she said: “Is that all right?”
Gideon plunged his fingers into her hair. “All right?” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Rune. Being married to you would be the honor of my life. You’re saying you’ll stay and fight, if I marry you?”
“More or less.” She ran a hand up his chest to rest against his heart. “Is that extortion?”
His mouth curved. “I’ll happily be extorted by you.”
Tugging off his riding gloves, he dropped them one by one to the floor. Lifting his bare hands to her face, he slid his palms along her jaw, tender but firm. The feel of his bare skin against hers filled Rune with a yearning so powerful, she feared she might die of its absence.
His eyes were downcast, staring at her mouth.
“Do you remember on the Arcadia, when I woke you from that dream?” A blush crept up her neck.
Merciful Ancients. He couldn’t just forget about that? “You never told me what it was about.”
Her entire body prickled with embarrassment. “You really can’t drop this?”
He shook his head and bent to press his lips against her neck. “Maybe we can talk about it later?” she said.
“It’ll be hours until we reach the next station,” he murmured, his lips a soft graze.
Rune clenched her fists as he kissed down her throat, remembering the dream all too vividly. The steam from the boilers. The heat of their growing
anger. The press of his— “We were…”
She swallowed.
“You were … touching me.”
“Touching you?” Gideon glanced up with a sly smile. “Like this?” He ran a hand slowly down her arm, raising the hairs there. Rune shivered, but shook her head.
“Show me.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“The way you said my name that night…” He ran the backs of his fingers up the buttons of her blouse. Rune’s stomach pinched with desire as he stopped to undo the uppermost one. “I want to hear you say it like that again.”
The words made her flush. “Gideon—”
His fingers undid the next button while his dark eyes locked with hers, like a dare. She knew what those hands could do, and that mouth. He’d shown her before.
And because she couldn’t resist him—or a challenge—Rune stared him down as she untucked her blouse from her pants.
She felt the pulse in his wrist quicken as she took his hand in hers, sliding it under the silk, pressing his calloused palm against her stomach. His pupils dilated as she showed him exactly what she wanted: guiding his hand to her breast and cupping the soft curve with his palm, the way he did in her dream.
His thumb stroked, making her hum with pleasure.
“What else?” His voice was low as he nudged her temple with his.
Rune glanced around. But there was no one on this train except them— and, presumably, the conductor at the other end.
She undid the buttons of her pants, and took his other hand. Pressing his palm between her hip bones, she guided his fingers down between her thighs. His breath shuddered. The air crackled between them as his hand pressed into her soft warmth.
She did not take her eyes away from his face.
Gideon needed no instruction this time. They stared at each other as his hand moved against her, fingers stroking, warming. He slid one inside her and Rune clenched around him, gasping.
“This is what you dreamed of that night?” He sounded breathless. “This?”
She nodded, her body temperature rising along with the pleasure he was stoking. Her hands slid up the hard planes of his chest. Looping her arms around his neck, she pushed up on her toes and dug her fingers into his hair, sealing his mouth with hers.
Kissing Gideon was like coming home. A steadying force, reminding her of who she was, and where she belonged.
“Rune…”
The way he breathed her name set her blood on fire.
His fingers plunged inside her, deep and insistent. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Rune arched against his hand.
“Gideon.”
But instead of finishing, he pulled away.
The loss of him unbalanced Rune. “Wh-what are you doing?”
Glancing to the doors in this hallway, he stepped toward one and opened it, revealing an empty storage room. “This is a passenger train.”
“So?” Annoyed by his lack of attention, of devotion, Rune tried to drag his eyes back to her by tugging off her blouse and dropping it on the floor.
Gideon’s gaze zipped to the strap of her bralette.
“So…” he said, stepping toward her. “Passenger trains have sleeper cars.”
His arms locked around her waist as he pulled her against him. Rune tugged his mouth back to hers, kissing him as he walked her backward, toward the door between this car and the next. He opened it, still kissing her, and a rush of icy wind came howling in.
Rune yelped in surprise. Gideon ran his hands down her bare arms, which had erupted in goose bumps. Trying to warm her.
The wind whipped through their hair and clothes. It was twilight, and the stars were freckling the black sky overhead.
“Ready?” he called over the howling wind and rattling train, holding out his hand to her.
“This is madness!” she laughed, grabbing his hand and following him from one platform to the next.
When he opened the next door, Rune stepped inside another storage car. “Let’s just stay here,” she said, pushing him up against the wall and
peeling off his jacket.
“Tempting,” he said as the train lurched. “But no.”
He started toward the next door, kissing and caressing and coaxing her along with him. Rune unbuttoned his shirt as they went, pushing it off and pressing her mouth to the scar on his chest. Exploring him with her lips, tasting him with her tongue.
Gideon pressed a hand to the wall, his breath hitching. For a moment, he seemed about to give in to her. But he rallied and pulled open the door, dragging her to the next car.
Several more cars strewn with several more pieces of clothing later, they found what they were looking for: the sleeper car.
It was full night by then, and only the moon’s light flooded in through the windows. Gideon chose a room and pulled her inside, stripping off their undergarments as he guided her to the bunk.
“Tell me what you like,” she whispered in the darkness, her hands wandering over him as he laid her down in the crisp sheets.
“I like you,” he murmured into her hair, kneeling between her legs.
About to finish what he’d started several train cars ago.
She shook her head. That wasn’t good enough.
The last time they’d done this, Gideon had known exactly how to please her. As if Rune was a locked door and he had the only key to open her.
Rune wanted to be that for him.
He lowered himself on top of her—gently, so as not to aggravate the fresh scars on her back—and started tracing a line down her body with his mouth.
“When you’re alone,” she said, undeterred, pushing herself up on her elbows, “and you think about us, together, what are we doing?”
He glanced up from where his lips were pressed to her thigh. “Do you
think about that?”
She looked away, smiling. “Answer the question, Gideon.”
He seemed about to protest, but instead reached up into her hair, still bound in a messy braid.
“I think about doing this.”
He tugged it loose, so it fell over her shoulder. “And this.”
He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Rune laughed as she straddled his hips.
“And … this.”
Sitting up, he cupped her neck, bringing her mouth to his. Rune hummed low in her throat as he kissed her hungrily. His arm slid around her waist, sealing them together as he slowly rocked against her. Showing her what he wanted.
The fire in her belly grew hotter and brighter with every rocking thrust. Grabbing hold of the bunk overhead, Rune rolled her hips to meet him.
Paying attention to his breath, his pulse, the way he groaned when she did something he really liked, and then did more of that. Until they found their perfect rhythm.
She marveled at the magic of it. Like there was something far bigger than themselves binding them together. Working like a fiery spell.
“Rune.” He spoke her name like an incantation. “Rune.” His fingers plunged into her hair. “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to—”
She cradled his face in her hands. “I want you to, my love.”
His eyes gazed up at her, tender, defiant. Trying to resist. To hold off and wait for her.
Rune narrowed her eyes at him, determined to win, until he laughed aloud. It was his laugh that did her in—the sound of his love and delight. She lost herself in it. Pressing her forehead to his, she let the fire overtake her, too.
They made love like it was the last time. Like they wouldn’t survive tomorrow.
Just in case they didn’t.
SEVENTY-TWO
GIDEON
WHEN THE TRAIN SLOWED at the next rail yard, they retrieved their clothes, dressed, and jumped off. The yard was deep in the countryside, wheat fields on one side, rye on the other. They found two horses grazing in a pasture close by and borrowed them. Rune left her pouch full of coins behind to compensate the owners before they returned them.
They rode for the Wentholt cottage, keeping to the woods and following the rivers as much as possible to avoid the main roads. When Wintersea came into view, they ventured close to see if it was abandoned. The horses were gone. No guards patrolled. The house appeared to be empty.
Carefully, they ventured inside so Rune could fetch the spell books she’d failed to steal last time, which might come in useful in their stand against Cressida and the Good Commander. The empty marble halls echoed with their footsteps. Paintings had been smashed and tables overturned, but whether it was the Blood Guard who’d done it, or bandits, or Cressida’s hired soldiers, they couldn’t tell.
As they walked the vandalized halls, Gideon was transported to the first time he’d ever set foot in this house: the night Blood Guard soldiers dragged Kestrel Winters away to be purged while he kept a close eye on the old witch’s granddaughter.
He remembered Rune standing there, letting it happen, her face stoic as a statue. Gideon took her hand and squeezed it firmly, hating that he’d played a part in the most horrible night of her life.
I can’t change the past, he thought as they walked, taking in the damage. But together, maybe we can change the future.
When they started up the staircase, Rune rested her free hand on the mahogany railing. Her voice rang with certainty as she said, “One day, this will be my home again.”
Gideon stood watch outside her bedroom while she collected the things she needed. He paced quietly, listening for any sound of danger, stopping at the window near the end of the hall and scanning the grounds to look for signs of intruders.
But all was still at Wintersea. No one was out there.
He was about to turn away from the window when he heard a sound.
Like metal striking metal.
It was so faint, he assumed it was coming from outside. But then he heard it again.
Clang!
He looked to the floor at his feet.
Clang! Clang!
He frowned.
It’s coming from beneath us.
“Do you hear that?” whispered Rune, poking her head outside the bedroom. She held a dusty leather-bound spell book in her hands, and her hair was a tangle of red-gold in the candelight.
Unholstering his gun, he headed for the stairs. “Shut yourself into the casting room, and don’t come out until I return.”
Gideon didn’t wait for her to do as he said, knowing she would listen to him only if she wanted to. Instead, he descended to the main floor. By the time he reached the servants’ quarters, the sound had stopped. Rune hadn’t followed. He waited, listening.
It came again.
Clang! Clang!
It wasn’t mechanical, and the silence between each clang seemed sporadic. Sometimes the sound was harsher, sometimes softer, as if someone was striking something angrily, then despairingly.
It was louder now. Coming from directly below him.
The basement.
Gideon searched the servant quarters until he found a set of cramped stairs in the kitchen, leading down. He took them.
The basement was damp as a cellar. The walls and floors were made of rough-hewn stone. And with no windows to let the light in, it was too dark to see. He had to go back for a lamp.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
His footsteps quickened until he arrived at a door, certain the sound was coming from behind it.
CLANG!
Gideon took the safety off his pistol.
CLANG!
He turned the doorknob.
CLANG!
He opened the door.
The room was pitch-dark. The moment the door swung in, the sound abruptly stopped. Lifting his lamp, Gideon shone the light inside.
It was the boiler room. Warmer than the hall beyond, the space was full of iron pipes pumping water to the house’s upper levels.
Inside the room, wearing her red uniform, stood Laila.
Her wrists were manacled to the pipe beside her, and in her grip was a wrench—which she was striking against the pipe.
“Gideon?” Her dark hair curled in the humidity, and her eyes were ringed with shadows.
“Laila?” He stepped into the room, staring at her. “You’re supposed to be at the Rookery. What are you doing … here?” He glanced around the boiler room.
“I’m being punished for letting you and Rune escape.”
He stared at her, not comprehending. It was one thing for Noah to be angry at his sister’s defiance, but leaving her for dead?
“Noah demanded I hunt you down and bring you back—to prove my loyalty. When I refused, he locked me in here for Cressida’s mercenaries to find.”
A tide of anger swept through Gideon.
“Does he not know what soldiers do to women in wartime?” he said through gritted teeth.
“On the contrary,” said Laila, glancing away. “That’s why he left me here.” She stared at the wrench in her hands. “I had to decide: starve to death, or be discovered by the wrong type of soldier.” Her gaze lifted to Gideon. “Luckily, the right one walked in.”
He heard the relief in her voice. She’d been expecting a very different fate.
Gideon crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. She leaned her head against his shoulder, a shaky breath escaping.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
For the briefest of moments, he was thankful they were at war. In war, rules of civility were altered. If Gideon ever came face-to-face with Noah, he could shoot him with a clean conscience.
“And the other soldiers? They left you here, like this?”
She shook her head. “They didn’t know. Noah sent them ahead before ordering his guards to lock me up. They likely arrived at the Rookery thinking I was a day behind them.”
Gideon reached for the chains of her manacles, looking for the lock. “Noah took the key with him.”
He dropped the chains and studied the pipes. They were welded together. He doubted an axe—should he even be able to find one—would do much damage.
How was he going to get her out of here? “I can help.”
The voice came from behind them. Gideon spun as Laila’s gaze sliced toward the open doorway, where Rune stood in the shadows. A pale white flame flickered in the air above her outstretched hand. Slung over her shoulder was a leather satchel stuffed with books.
“As I’m sure you remember”—the corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile—“I have a spell for picking locks.”
SEVENTY-THREE
RUNE
AFTER FREEING LAILA, THEY all rode for the Wentholt cottage, arriving shortly before sundown. They had to split two horses between the three of them, so Rune rode with Gideon.
It was Rune who sighted the red uniforms through the trees—Blood Guard officers. A dozen or so, patrolling the grounds.
They halted their horses.
How many more were inside?
It doesn’t matter, thought Rune, her eyes narrowing on the red coats. She’d gotten out of stickier situations. And her friends were inside that cottage.
She dismounted the horse, leaving Gideon in the saddle, and headed straight for it.
“Rune,” Gideon whispered. But before he could stop her, six soldiers emerged from the trees, guns pointed right at them.
Gideon and Laila immediately raised their hands while Rune contemplated grabbing Gideon’s holstered pistol— or the knife sheathed at her calf—when a surprised voice called out.
“Hold!”
A young soldier with copper hair lowered his rifle, motioning for the others to do the same.
“It’s Sharpe and Creed.”
Rune frowned, glancing to Gideon and Laila, who looked relieved as they dismounted their horses.
“Felix? What are you doing here?” Gideon strode toward the red-haired soldier, and they clasped hands.
“The Commander sent us to hunt you down,” said Felix.
Gideon froze, his hand falling to his side. “You’re here to arrest us?” “No, sir.” Felix glanced at his comrades, who all stood at attention.
“We’re here for our orders.”
Gideon cocked an eyebrow. “Orders?” “Yes, sir.”
He looked to Laila, as if hoping she’d explain it.
“Well, Captain?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are your orders?”
 |
WHILE GIDEON, LAILA, ASH, Abbie, and a platoon of Blood Guard soldiers filled Bart Wentholt’s parlor, strategizing about what to do next, a message arrived from Harrow. She and Juniper had acquired the information they needed.
Gideon—
The bodies of Analise and Elowyn are hidden at the Crossroads. Cressida is planning to travel there before the new moon. The spell preserving them is fading, and if it fades entirely, their bodies will decay. She needs to strengthen it before that happens.
—Harrow
The Crossroads was the meeting place of three major rivers, all colliding in a dangerous gorge. The force of its crashing currents created a deadly whirlpool.
“She says nothing else?” asked Gideon, taking the note from Rune and turning it over, looking for more. There was nothing about Juniper’s attempt to recruit witches to their cause. Nor did Harrow say if they planned to remain in the capital, or return.
“It’s a renewal spell,” said Seraphine, who’d been reading over Rune’s shoulder. “It must be performed on a new moon. If it isn’t, she’ll have to
wait until the next one.”
“It sounds like that will be too late,” said Rune. Cressida wouldn’t miss her window.
“Do you have a map of the island?”
Bart produced one for him. They spread it out across the table, measuring the distance from their location to the Crossroads.
“Looks like a three-day ride to the Crossroads from here,” said Gideon. “The new moon is four days away,” said Seraphine.
“If we get there before her,” said Rune, “we could find and destroy the bodies, eliminating any chance of resurrecting them.” This would— hopefully—embolden more witches to turn against the witch queen.
Her gaze met Gideon’s. They had to try.
It was decided that Rune, Gideon, and Seraphine would travel to the Crossroads ahead of Cressida. Bart and Antonio would remain behind to wait for Harrow and Juniper, along with any other witches they recruited. Meanwhile Laila, Ash, Abbie, and the other soldiers would head for the Rookery—to take it from Noah by force, with help from allies inside.
But even if Rune located the bodies of her half sisters, she’d need the counterspell to break the enchantment protecting them. The magic preserving Analise and Elowyn might be weakened, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still strong enough to repel Rune’s attempts to burn the bodies.
Determined, she went to search the spell books she’d brought back from Wintersea, hoping an answer to her problem lay within their pages.
|
RUNE SAT ON THE floor of the study encircled by candles, their flames dancing in the darkness. Spell books were scattered across the floorboards around her.
She’d searched each one and hadn’t found a counterspell.
When the floorboards creaked, Rune glanced up. Antonio stood framed in the doorway, holding a lamp.
“Everything all right?” he asked, shining light into the room.
Rune sighed, pulling her toes toward her and hugging her knees to her chest.
“I need a spell to break the one protecting Analise and Elowyn,” she said, glancing to the spellmarks on the pages before her. “But it’s not in any of these books.”
Perhaps she could create such a spell. She’d done it before. Ghost Walker was her invention.
But it took me months to get that casting right.
She didn’t have months.
Hopefully Cressida’s preservation spell had weakened enough for them to destroy the bodies without interference—that’s why the witch queen was traveling to the Crossroads. The fading magic made her sisters’ corpses vulnerable.
And if not …
We could take them with us to destroy later.
The idea of kidnapping corpses made her feel ill. But Rune would do whatever was necessary to strike a blow against Cressida.
Antonio entered the room and lowered himself to the floor beside her, sitting cross-legged inside her ring of candles. The smell of sugar and cinnamon came with him, likely fused to his hair and clothes from a day spent with Bess in the kitchens.
He opened a spell book. As he leaned over it, studying the marks on its pages, a tiny medallion swung out from beneath his collar, catching the light. Etched in its surface was a spectacled woman with an owl perched on her shoulder.
Wisdom.
The Ancient.
“Is that who you were consecrated to?” asked Rune, reaching to touch the silver oval dangling in the air. It was no bigger than the pad of her thumb.
Seeing what she meant, Antonio tugged the loop of cord over his head, and handed her the medallion. “Wisdom. Yes.”
Studying the face impressed into the silver, Rune remembered the spell she’d come across while gathering spell books in her casting room: a spell for summoning an Ancient.
Absently, she said, “You don’t think it’s really possible to summon one, do you?”
Antonio went quiet. “Queen Althea did.”
She glanced up into his face. “You believe that?”
It was from the stories Nan used to tell her as a child: Wisdom was Queen Althea’s closest advisor, and this was why Cascadia flourished for decades under her rule.
“It’s a fact,” he said, taking back the cord and medallion and pulling it over his head. “Near the end of Althea’s reign, shifting loyalties resulted in strong support for her cousin, Winoa Roseblood. Althea refused to enforce what Winoa and her followers believed to be true: that given the lack of magic in their blood, non-witches were subservient to witches. But Winoa’s propaganda had already infected the court, and a plot to dethrone Althea was gaining traction.”
Rune had never been given this history lesson. She listened with rapt attention.
“Althea called on the Ancients to advise her,” Antonio continued. “This was centuries after the Resurrection Wars, when the Seven Sisters had sworn never again to intervene in mortal affairs. But Wisdom took pity on Althea and allowed herself to be summoned.
“Althea wanted to denounce Winoa’s dangerous ideology, declare her a traitor to Cascadia, strip her of her titles, and exile her. This, Wisdom knew, would lead to a civil war that would tear the country apart and leave many dead. She advised Althea to call a council, one that would draw Winoa’s supporters and their idea of witch supremacy out of the darkness, bringing it into the light, where everyone could see it for what it was: a heresy.”
Rune frowned. “Did it work?”
He shook his head. “No. Winoa, with the backing of Althea’s advisors, betrayed her cousin in the very chamber where Althea hoped to root out her court’s corruption. Instead of a council, there was a slaughter: Althea and her supporters were stabbed to death, and from their blood, Winoa forged a new rule—the Roseblood Dynasty—ushering in a reign of tyranny and bloodshed that would last for decades.”
The candle flames flickered as Antonio fell silent. Rune stared at him, stunned.
This was not in any of the stories Nan had told her. Though Rune could understand why: it would have given her nightmares.
“And Wisdom just let it happen?”
“The Ancient found Althea lying in a pool of her own blood, her body as cold as the stones beneath her. Realizing her advice had caused a terrible tragedy, Wisdom bound herself in human form to Cascadia, until she corrected her error. Only then would she rejoin her sisters in the world beyond this one.”
Rune studied Antonio, who obviously believed the historical account. It was a nice idea: Wisdom as a kind of sentinel, waiting for the right moment to set the world to rights. But obviously it was a myth.
If it were true, it would mean she’s still here. Walking among us.
It made more sense that Althea had come up with the idea to hold a council on her own, and historians wrote Wisdom in later.
Antonio nodded to the book lying open in his lap. “Arcana spells were outlawed. Why would your grandmother have a spell book full of them?”
“I don’t know,” said Rune, glancing down at the spell in question.
RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD, the inscription read.
Rune had come across it in her search and set it aside to study later. But Antonio was poring over it now in the glow of his lamp.
RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD
CLASSIFICATION: ARCANA
A close kin must be sacrificed in the casting of this spell. Nothing less than a parent, child, or sibling will suffice. To resurrect the dead, the following steps must be taken:
To begin, cut the sacrifice and use their fresh blood to draw the required spellmarks on the bodies of the dead. Once all the spellmarks are complete, use your casting knife to pierce the heart of your sacrifice. The magic in the marks will draw the life force from the victim, infusing the deceased, resulting in their resurrection. For this reason, the sacrifice must be living when the
spell begins, and only after the spellmarks are drawn can they be killed. A dead victim will not work, even if the blood is fresh. The victim’s life must be taken in the process of casting the spell, or it will fail.
An addendum had been written near the bottom of the page:
This spell is forbidden under the laws of Cascadia. If for some terrible reason it must be used, be warned: the sacrifice will die, and the witch who undertakes it will corrupt herself beyond redemption. Proceed at your own risk.
Rune shivered.
If people knew she was Analise and Elowyn’s sister, it would be in everyone’s best interest to kill her, permanently preventing Cressida from using her to bring their sisters back.
Antonio closed the book and shoved it away from him.
“What changed your mind?” he said. “You seemed so set on leaving.”
Rune thought of Gideon’s belief in a better world, and his willingness to die for it. She thought of their future children running through a field, full of laughter and joy.
“I realized he’s right,” she said. “You get the world you’re willing to fight for.”
She glanced at the medallion hanging from Antonio’s neck. “Can acolytes officiate weddings?”
“In certain circumstances, yes.” Antonio cocked his head at her. “Why do you ask?”
“Could you marry us, when this is over?”
If he noticed she said when, not if, he didn’t point it out. Only smiled. “It would be an honor.”
Stringed instruments hummed from beneath the floorboards, breaking her concentration. Rune and Antonio frowned at each other, confusion etched into their foreheads at the sound.
Music?
They went to investigate, the music growing louder the closer they came to the ground floor. In the room where they’d left Gideon, Laila, and
the others to finish their strategizing, they found what could only be described as a revel.
The furniture had been pushed against the walls, and two fiddlers, still in Blood Guard uniforms, stood in the middle of the room, furiously slashing their bows against their strings. Everyone else danced around them. As if they weren’t in the midst of a war, but an after-party.
Several more people had arrived while Rune was upstairs searching through spell books. She recognized a good number of them: aristocrats who’d run in her social circles when she was still pretending to be a vapid socialite and hiding her witchy nature.
Bart danced up to them with flushed cheeks.
“Is that Charlotte Gong?” Rune asked him, catching sight of the girl. Charlotte was talking with a group of soldiers at the outskirts of the dancing while her fiancé embraced Laila. “And … Elias Creed?”
The brother of Noah and Laila, he worked for the Ministry of Public Safety—the bureaucratic office that oversaw witch purges, among other things.
Rune had always suspected Charlotte of secretly sympathizing with witches. Perhaps that explained his change of heart?
Or perhaps Elias had been a sympathizer all along.
“They had nowhere else to go,” said Bart, turning to watch the revelry. “Cressida’s soldiers have seized or ransacked every home within fifty miles of the capital. Those who didn’t run were taken captive. These”—he nodded to the group—“were lucky to escape with their lives.”
Antonio motioned to the dancing, his eyes alight. “And what’s this?” Bart smiled, fox-like, in the gaslight.
“One last party,” he said, grabbing Antonio’s hands and pulling him toward the dancers. “If we’re going to die, darling, let’s die happy.”
Rune smiled, watching them disappear into the frenzy. Leaning against the wall, she scanned the room, noticing neither Harrow nor Juniper was present. Had they remained in the capital? Or were they traveling back even as music rang in her ears? What would they think when they walked in on a raucous party?
Her gaze found Gideon through the dancers. He stood in the same group as Charlotte, listening to whatever she was saying. The moment she sighted him, he looked up, as if sensing her attention.
Excusing himself from the conversation, he started toward her. His jaw was dark with stubble from days without shaving, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. He looked tired but resolved.
Rune swallowed as he approached, remembering what they’d done on the train. His gaze bored into hers, as if he was remembering it, too.
“You owe me a dance,” he said, loud enough for her to hear over the music.
Her brows arched. “Excuse me?”
“I once dared you to accompany me to an actual party, or don’t you remember?”
There will be no ball gowns. No hired musicians. No songs with ridiculous steps, he’d told her a lifetime ago, in the halls of Wintersea, describing exactly this kind of party.
Name the date, and I’ll be there.
Careful, Miss Winters, or I might call your bluff.
He stopped directly before her. Rune leaned harder against the wall, her gaze trailing up his chest until her head tipped back to meet his eyes. The merriment beyond—the music, the laughter, the dancing—fell quiet. As if they were the only two people in the room.
“You accused me of … what was it?” she said, feeling weirdly breathless. “Not wanting to be caught dead with ‘riffraff in disreputable locales’?”
“Prove me wrong, then.” He trailed his knuckles across her cheekbone.
She wanted to wind his fingers through hers, to pull him upstairs and into a bed. But she stood her ground, running her gaze down him. Sizing him up. “I’m not sure you’re sufficiently disreputable, Gideon Sharpe. I’d better wait for more scandalous riffraff.”
He growled low. Grabbing her around the waist, he buried his face in her neck, nipping gently with his teeth. “I can be scandalous.”
Rune laughed and let him drag her into the fray.
He led her in a dance she wasn’t used to, and as her heart beat wildly in time with the song, her face flushing and her hair sticking to her sweaty skin, Rune looked at the people around her, spinning and stomping across the floor as if this were the last song they’d ever hear.
Even if we can’t bring down Cressida, Rune realized, the world we want to forge already exists.
It was right here in this room.
It was a world where enemies could be not just allies, but lovers and friends, and most of all, equals. It was a world where no one needed to hide who they really were.
She wished Alex were here to see it.
As the song ended and cheers rang out, Gideon grinned down at her, sweaty and breathless. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her hard on the mouth.
Rune marveled. A witch being adored by a Blood Guard captain in plain view of everyone? Only a week ago, it would have been absurd. Impossible. But they were standing on the cusp of something new. Fragile and shimmering, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Who knew if it
would survive longer than tonight?
Rune kissed Gideon back, determined to remember this moment, just in case it didn’t. Because for the first time in her life, she was completely herself.
And that was worth everything. Even dying for.
SEVENTY-FOUR
RUNE
IT TOOK THREE DAYS of hard riding to get to the Crossroads.
Halfway, the group split up. Laila took the soldiers and headed for the Rookery, hoping to seize it by force, with the help of a substantial number of Blood Guard soldiers on the inside who were waiting for Laila’s command. If Rune and Gideon were successful at the Crossroads, they would soon join her.
Bart remained at the Wentholt cottage, in case Harrow and Juniper returned with more witches for their ranks. Charlotte Gong, Elias Creed, and the other exiled aristocrats remained with Bart, organizing search parties of the homes and towns invaded by Cressida’s army, hoping to find survivors.
Gideon and Rune continued to the Crossroads, accompanied by Seraphine and Antonio. Antonio had volunteered at the last moment, surprising Rune.
“Bart doesn’t mind being parted from you?” she asked him.
“Sometimes our paths must diverge from those we love,” Antonio said as they rode, side by side, scanning the surrounding mountains. “But if love is the highest power, our paths will converge again—if not in this world, then the next.”
The words felt like a premonition, making her shiver.
“You believe that?” she asked. “That love is the highest power?”
He glanced at her like she’d asked him if water was wet. “Don’t you?”
At sundown, they heard the thunderous roar of the Crossroads before they saw it: the gorge opening up and the hungry white whirlpool below. Its currents swirled angrily, like water down a giant’s drain.
In the center was a rocky island maybe twenty paces across. A rickety rope bridge connected the island to the gorge’s bank. It jerked and swayed, beholden to the strong winds surrounding them.
Rune knew in her gut that small island was where she needed to go. It’s exactly where Cressida would hide her half sisters: in the center of a whirlpool.
She glanced at Seraphine, finding her eyes also focused there, as if she sensed the same.
“Gideon and I will go look,” said Rune, adjusting the strap of her satchel containing the necessary spell book. “If I need you, Seraphine, I’ll wave.”
Seraphine nodded as Antonio continued scanning the mountainous hills around them. The moon was a pale sliver against a red sky, reminding them that Cressida would arrive soon. The new moon was tomorrow. Best to find Rune’s half sisters and get out.
Gideon went first, testing the bridge. He’d strapped a shovel to his back
—in case they had to dig the bodies up—and sheathed a pistol at his hip. The bridge swayed beneath his weight, making Rune’s heart lodge in her throat. But his grasp on the rope never slipped, and he quickly pulled himself forward. When he finally reached the other side, he nodded to her.
Rune stepped onto the bridge.
Spray dampened her clothes and hair. The ropes—slippery with water— chafed at her stiff hands until the skin broke. More than once, her foot slipped, and she nearly went down.
She wouldn’t survive a fall into those currents. The whirlpool would drag her under, and even if she managed to come up for air, the water would smash her body against the rocks, snuffing the life from her.
Rune righted herself, checked that her satchel was secure, and continued.
Gideon’s gaze never left her. She felt him watching her every move, felt him tense every time she stumbled. When she was within reach, he held his hand out.
Rune grabbed it, holding tight. He pulled her to safety.
They split up, checking for signs: upturned earth, or an unnatural pattern in the rocks. Cressida would have buried them here two years ago, returning at least a few times to renew her spell.
But Rune didn’t find them in the ground.
She found them lying in a still pool, hidden by reeds. It was the glow that alerted her to it. When the tall grass shifted and the pale light shone through, Rune caught sight of a white casting signature: a rose and crescent moon.
Rune waded through the reeds until she stood at the pool’s edge. The water was crystal clear. Beneath the pale glow of Cressida’s signature, she saw them: two young women lying peacefully under the surface, as if asleep.
Silver-white hair framed Elowyn and Analise’s faces. Long, pale eyelashes rested against their fair cheeks. And there was a gaping hole in each of their foreheads where a bullet had gone in, dealing a killing blow.
Rune’s breath froze in her lungs.
My sisters.
She swallowed, not wanting to step into this place in which they rested, waiting for Cressida to bring them back to life. But in order to check the strength of the magic preserving them, in order to destroy them, she’d have to drag them out.
Drawing a deep breath, Rune walked into the shallow pool. As soon as her boot touched the water, the pool blackened. A force like lightning exploded outward, striking Rune. It turned her vision bright white and threw her backward, into the reeds.
She landed on her rump, pain flickering through her.
Rune winced and sat up, staring at the pool, its black waters still rippling from her disruption.
The spell was obviously still intact.
So why did Harrow’s note say it’s fading?
Without the counterspell, they couldn’t break it. And if she couldn’t enter the pool to drag them out …
“What happened?” Rushing over, Gideon crouched next to her. “Are you all right?” Catching sight of Elowyn and Analise beneath the water, his
eyes darkened.
“The spell won’t let me near them,” said Rune. “Maybe Seraphine will have a solution.”
But as he helped her up and they turned toward the bridge, Rune realized an unbreakable spell was the least of her problems.
Across the roaring whirlpool, Seraphine and Antonio were on their knees, a gun pressed to each of their heads. Beyond them, a hundred or more soldiers ringed the gorge.
Among them were witches. Dozens of witches. Their casting knives shimmered in the last light of the setting sun.
Juniper was with them. Her eyes were red from weeping, her hands were bound in front her, and at her back stood Cressida—with a knife to Juniper’s throat.
Harrow, too, was restrained. A soldier gripped the spymaster’s hair as they forced her to her knees.
We’ve failed, thought Rune.
“I’m sorry, Comrade!” Harrow’s anguished voice echoed over the water. “She made me choose!”
Rune remembered Harrow’s note from three nights ago, telling them Cressida was traveling to the Crossroads.
It was a setup.
Rune’s thoughts spun faster than the whirlpool.
This was why the pair hadn’t returned. Why Gideon had received only one brief message from Harrow. Juniper had gone to recruit witches to their cause, and someone had ratted her out to the witch queen, further using her to compromise Harrow.
“She had to choose between betraying you or watching Juniper die,” Rune realized aloud. She glanced at Gideon, whose expression was a mixture of shock and anger. “Cressida would have threatened to kill Juniper unless Harrow led us into a trap.”
Deep down, Rune thought, she still loves her.
“Cress will kill them both as soon as her goals here are accomplished,” Gideon growled.
“Then let’s ensure they aren’t accomplished,” said Rune.
At some point, Gideon had drawn his gun, pointing it at the soldiers on the other side. But he only had so many bullets, and every soldier also had a gun—most of which were pointed right back.
Cressida would have ordered Rune to not be harmed; she needed her alive.
Would she have ordered the same for Gideon?
No, she thought, remembering the witch who’d nearly killed him on the train tracks. Remembering Cressida pointing her gun at Gideon’s chest and firing—only to be thwarted by Alex.
Gideon was disposable.
Rune reached for his free hand, lacing their fingers tight as she scanned the gorge.
We are completely surrounded.
Laila and their soldiers were leagues away, heading for the Rookery. Their allies here—Seraphine, Antonio, Juniper, Harrow—were hostages. It was only Gideon and Rune, surrounded by a deadly whirlpool, and on the other side: enemy soldiers. All of whom had their guns aimed directly at them.
Her breath hitched sharply. Cressida was now crossing the bridge, followed by several witches.
“Thank you for doing my work for me!” The witch queen moved confidently along the ropes. She’d discarded her traveling cape, and her casting knife shone at her hip. “You couldn’t possibly have made this any easier.”
BANG!
Gideon fired on Cressida and the witches with her. The bullet ricocheted off some invisible shield surrounding them and flew into the night.
BANG! BANG!
More bullets flew, only to bounce off again.
“Gideon,” Rune warned, seeing the soldiers surrounding them lift their guns, aiming straight at him. Waiting for Cressida’s command.
Gideon wasn’t listening. Rune felt his desperation with every shot of his pistol. Saw it in the unsteadiness of his hand as he reloaded. He was not going down without a fight.
Except the fight’s over, Rune realized as Cressida and her witches stepped off the bridge.
Their allies were all taken hostage. Their only weapons were Gideon’s gun—clearly useless against Cressida—and Rune’s spellbook. But any spell Rune tried would only be deflected by those magic shields. There was no point even attempting to cast one; by the time she drew the spellmarks, Cressida and her witches would be on them.
And Gideon would be dead from a hundred bullets.
BANG!
Cressida was ten paces away. She’d be here in seconds. The other witches were fanning out, preparing to surround Gideon and Rune. Beyond them, the soldiers cocked their guns.
Cressida raised her arm, about to give the command to fire. To end Gideon.
And suddenly Rune knew there was only one way left to beat her. She thought of Everlasting. A spell with no end.
Rune could keep Gideon safe forever with that spell.
She thought of everyone who called this island home. People who deserved to be safe.
Rune could keep them safe with her life—by giving it up before Cressida could steal it from her.
She remembered her dream at the summoning stones: her and Gideon, face to face, in the dark and the rain. It wasn’t rain, she realized now as the mist of the whirlpool soaked them.
It wasn’t a dream.
Her eyes burned with the realization.
BANG!
The gunshot brought her back to the gorge. Rune turned to Gideon, whose eyes were dark with fear.
“Try to reach the bridge,” he said, still firing. “If I keep shooting at them, maybe—”
He was in denial. Refusing to see what was right in front of him. Rune wouldn’t even make it to the bridge. And if by some miracle she did, more witches were waiting beyond it, not to mention the soldiers.
“Gideon.”
He didn’t seem to hear her.
Cressida was seconds away. Any moment now, soldiers would shoot him dead, forcing Rune to watch him die. And then Cressida would kill Rune, too, resurrecting their sisters and cementing her reign of terror.
If Rune didn’t act now, the world she’d glimpsed last night would be snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
She couldn’t let that happen.
BANG!
“If you can get to Seraphine,” said Gideon, “maybe you can—”
Before he wasted the last bullet in the chamber, Rune grabbed the hot barrel and forced it down.
“Gideon.”
He jerked his head toward her, studying her for a moment. Droplets of spray shone in his hair, making it look darker than usual.
“Let go of the gun.”
He frowned, his eyes wild with confusion.
Swallowing down her fear, she said, “Do you trust me?”
It seemed to take all of his strength to do it, but he let her take his pistol.
The sacrifice must be living when the spell begins.
She was going to die. That was certain. And in light of that certainty, there was only one choice before her. Only one move left to make.
A dead victim will not work, even if the blood is fresh.
With trembling hands, Rune turned Gideon toward her. Away from the horror a few steps away.
The victim’s life must be taken in the process of casting the spell, or it will fail.
“Look at me.” She made sure the pistol was cocked. Just like he taught
her.
Her hands shook harder, making her realize she couldn’t do this herself.
She was going to need his help.
Tearing his eyes from Cressida, Gideon fixed them on Rune. Placing her hand over his heart, she said, “I want you to know I am so grateful, so
lucky, to have loved you.” Her voice wobbled. “Even if it was only for a little while.”
Gideon’s jaw clenched. “What are—”
Rune shook her head. The tears prickling her eyes made the sight of him blur.
“If I have to die, I want to die like this.” Rune took his hand and wrapped it around the pistol as she pressed the barrel against her heart. “Right here. With you.”
Gideon stared down in horror at the gun. At his finger on the trigger. “No,” he said, trying to step away. “Rune. You can’t ask me—”
“You must.” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, keeping him with her. Her throat heated. Tears trailed down her cheeks. “It’s the only way now. You know what will happen if you don’t.”
He looked away in disgust, his grip limp on the gun in her hand, pointed at her chest.
“If you don’t do it, she will.” Rune glanced over his shoulder, to see Cressida grinning. Like something out of a nightmare. So close. Almost here. About to rip them away from each other forever. “There’s no third option. She’ll kill me and use my death to bring about a much bigger nightmare.”
When she looked back into his face, his eyes shone with tears.
“It’s either you or her,” she said. “Don’t let it be her. If you love me, you won’t let it be her. Gideon, please.”
Her voice broke on that plea.
His grip on the gun tightened, so Rune let go. Taking his face in her hands, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him.
Hot tears spilled down both their cheeks.
“It’s been an honor, Captain,” she whispered against his lips. Gideon let out a soft cry, but he didn’t fail her.
Pulling the trigger, he sent a bullet straight into her heart.
SEVENTY-FIVE
RUNE
THE BANG DEAFENED HER.
Gunpowder burned in her nose. Pain and heat flooded her chest. Just before Rune’s legs gave out, Cressida’s enraged scream shattered the air.
Gideon’s arms encircled Rune as he caught her, lowering them both to the ground. The strength of him was everywhere, surrounding her like a comforting blanket as the blood gushed from the cavity in her chest.
It surprised her, even now, how both gentleness and strength could be bound up together in one man. She was in his lap, some part of her realized, and the warmth against her cold cheek was his chest, the steady beat beneath, his heart.
I’m going miss the sound of your heart, she thought.
“What have I done,” Gideon cried, his entire body trembling. “What have I done?”
“You spared me,” Rune whispered, touching her blood-soaked fingers to both of his cheeks, drawing a mark on each one. Gideon was so consumed by grief, he didn’t notice. “You spared all of us.”
Cressida needed Rune’s life to resurrect their sisters, and Gideon had stolen it from her.
The cold started in her fingers and toes, the chill spreading inward slowly, to her core, until Rune knew she’d never be warm again.
She closed her eyes, saying a silent goodbye to him and to the life they might have had together. Saying goodbye to those three joyful children she’d never get to meet.
In mere steps, Cressida would be upon them. Rune smiled, remembering the last symbol she’d drawn on the floor of Larkmont, after
the whipping, as she collapsed in a pool of her own blood.
I didn’t just break your curse, she wanted to tell him. I reversed it.
Forever. Cressida can’t touch you.
But she was fading too quickly, and the words wouldn’t come.
Sensing Cressida’s proximity, Gideon’s arms tightened on Rune. His tears splashed onto her face.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I should have told you so much sooner. I love you, Rune Winters.”
Death was pressing in. As its shadow slid over Rune, Antonio’s words echoed inside her:
Sometimes our paths must diverge from those we love. But if love is the highest power, our paths will converge again—if not in this world, then the next.
Pressing her hand to Gideon’s heart, Rune whispered: “Come find me in the next world.”
And then Death found her.
SEVENTY-SIX
GIDEON
GIDEON THOUGHT HE’D ALREADY seen rock bottom.
How wrong he’d been.
The moment she stopped breathing, he knew it. As her body went limp in his blood-soaked hands, all he could do was stare at her, disbelieving.
She’s gone.
As the sobs crawled up his throat, Gideon dropped his forehead to hers.
Cressida was shrieking somewhere behind him. Cursing his name. Her presence like an imminent hurricane.
He didn’t care. The world beyond him was nothing but a blur.
Let her come.
Gideon was still cradling Rune in his arms when the witch queen’s shadow slid over him.
“You have no idea, the ways I’ll make you suffer for this.” He tore his gaze from Rune’s face and looked up at her.
Spellmarks were inked in blood down her bare arms and rage contorted her face. Her hair billowed in the wind as if she were a storm incarnate.
Her presence was a deafening thunder.
As she spoke, she smeared more blood onto her arms, forming symbols.
The air sparked with magic. Her fingers crackled with lightning.
Cressida flung out her hands, hurling the bolt at Gideon.
The air sizzled and cracked. The immense power should have knocked him flat on his back—instead, it ricocheted off him, as if hitting some unseen armor, and struck Cressida instead.
She landed flat on her back.
What the hell?
Still cradling Rune, Gideon watched Cressida roll over, groaning with pain. She shook her head and pushed herself to standing. Beyond her, the witches who’d crossed the bridge hung back, glancing uneasily from their queen to Gideon.
Spinning to face him, Cressida’s eyes narrowed to slits. Pulling the gun holstered at her hip, she raised it and fired.
The bullet should have been a direct hit; she was only a few strides from him. But again, Gideon felt it rebound, flying straight for Cressida, missing her face by a hair.
He remembered the enchantment Rune had once cast on his jacket.
It’s for repelling harm, she’d told him. Like armor, the spellmarks will deflect a knife aimed at your chest, or make bullets bounce off you.
He glanced down at the girl in his arms, her eyes closed forever. Had Rune done this? Cast one last spell of protection, somehow? One thing was clear: Cressida couldn’t harm him.
Setting his beloved down gently, Gideon rose to his feet.
Cressida fired four more rounds. Each one ricocheted off him. She stumbled back.
Cressida screamed, slicing her arm, making more spellmarks with the blood gushing out. The wind picked up, howling in Gideon’s ears. The whirlpool churned faster, the water rising like a hurricane, swirling around them. Cressida lifted her hand, flinging her arm toward Gideon, hurling the whirlpool at him.
Several tons of water descended on Gideon. He braced himself for the crush, ready to be swept out into a watery vortex and dashed against the rocks.
Only it never hit.
The water crashed, slamming against Rune’s invisible dome-like shield, falling around him and Rune like a waterfall before rushing back toward the whirlpool, nearly sweeping Cressida out with it.
Leaving him completely dry.
When the witch queen regained her footing and saw he was still standing, utterly untouched, her eyes blazed with fury. She drew more spellmarks, readying a new spell.
The casting knives of every witch standing on the shore flew upward, out of their sheaths. Like arrows, they shot in unison toward Gideon, glittering in the vanishing sunlight, their lethal edges aimed at his throat.
But they, too, failed to meet their mark.
One by one, they came up against Rune’s spell, their tips bending, chipping, then clattering to the stones around him.
This time, Cressida’s eyes widened in fear.
“Fire, you imbeciles!” she screamed at the soldiers standing on the bank. “Shoot him!”
Their bullets soared like comets. Coming straight for Gideon. Every single shot bounced off.
Gideon thought of his Crimson Moth and smiled through his sorrow.
Even in death, my love, you are a wonder.
The gunfire abruptly stopped as soldiers took cover from the rebounding bullets. In the chaos, Gideon saw Juniper knock her captor to the ground and steal her gun. His heart thrilled further as Harrow wrapped her restraints around an enemy soldier’s neck until he passed out beside her. She grabbed his gun and started firing.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The witches who’d crossed the bridge were backing away, returning the way they’d come, trying to escape the line of fire.
Gideon stared down Cressida.
The wind whipped around them. It was only the two of them now.
“My brother showed you mercy once,” Gideon shouted over the whirlpool’s roar. “I won’t make the same mistake.” He closed the gap between them. “On your knees.”
Cressida slashed her casting knife at him. “Never.”
Gideon huffed a laugh. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Cress. You’ll never hurt me again.”
Rune had done that: reduced this powerful queen to a pathetic creature when met by Gideon Sharpe.
He grabbed the wrist of her hand—the one that wielded the knife—as she tried to cut him down. His hand tightened, crushing, until her grip loosened.
It fell to the ground.
Grabbing her throat with both hands, Gideon squeezed, forcing Cressida to her knees and into the dirt. “If there’s a hell, I hope you burn in it.”
“Go on, then.” Her eyes glittered black as she stared up at him. “Send me to hell.”
His hands tightened.
“I’ll never stop haunting you, Gideon. I will always—” “Wait!”
Seraphine was stepping off the bridge, coming swiftly toward them, with Antonio on her heels. A white spell flame floated over their heads, lighting their way in the twilight. Across the whirlpool, Juniper and Harrow blocked access to the bridge. With them stood a dozen witches, forming a wall of defense.
Seraphine was right, he realized.
More and more were defecting. With no way to resurrect Elowyn and Analise, with Cressida at the utter mercy of Gideon, they had far less to lose and were coming to join the line forming between the witch queen and those trying to aid her.
Seraphine crouched next to Cressida; Antonio joined her a few seconds later. In his arms was Rune, and on his back was her leather satchel. He lay Rune carefully down on the other side of Seraphine, then pulled back the satchel’s flap and withdrew a spell book.
The white flame hovering in the air cast an eerie glow over them all. “Any moment, witches are going to break through that barricade,”
Gideon told Seraphine, his hands tightening around Cressida’s throat, choking off her breath. “I need to put this dog down.”
“Not yet.” Seraphine touched his arm. “Trust me.”
So Gideon loosened his grip on the witch queen’s neck.
Seraphine seized the knife sheathed at Rune’s leg while Antonio opened the spell book to a page marked with a ribbon, holding it up for her to read.
Catching sight of the spell, Cressida laughed.
“An Arcana? We both know you won’t risk corrupting yourself, Seraphine.”
Gideon saw the movement too late: Cressida snatching her moon- curved casting knife and lunging for the witch beside her.
It was Antonio who grabbed her wrist, holding her back. “Little queen,” laughed Seraphine, “I am incorruptible.”
Cressida frowned, her gaze flickering over Seraphine’s face.
“My name is Wisdom.” Her voice rang like a drawn blade. “And I’ve waited a long time for this.”
The witch queen’s face paled, and she tried to rise. Gideon slammed her down, pinning her beneath his knees, his hands tightening around her throat.
Seraphine … is Wisdom? The Ancient?
She didn’t look like a being who’d created the world. She looked like a mortal woman, barely older than twenty.
Wisdom’s dark eyes flickered, then glowed bright white as she sliced Cressida’s arm, Antonio holding it steady. The blood gushed, thick and red, and Wisdom dipped her fingers in the stream. She used it to draw seven spellmarks across Rune’s lifeless body: on each of her open palms, at the base of her throat, across her lips and forehead, and then, after instructing Antonio to take off Rune’s boots, she drew two more on the soles of her feet.
When she finished, a coppery smell bled through the air, mingling with something else. Something older than these mountains. Something far more primal than the murderous currents crashing around them.
Magic.
Ancient and powerful.
Wisdom turned to the witch queen trapped beneath Gideon, with no hope of escape. Antonio pinned Cressida’s arms to the ground above her head, allowing Gideon to let go of her throat and lean back, restraining only her lower body. Cressida writhed and squirmed, but they held her fast.
With Rune’s knife in both her hands, the Ancient lifted the blade high in the air.
“The queens and commanders of this world may think they know something of power,” she said. “But true power is divine, and her judgment is final.”
She plunged the knife straight into Cressida’s heart.
The witch queen gasped and the symbols on Rune’s skin glowed moon- white. As if joining in with the breath she took, coming alive as Wisdom’s magic stole Cressida’s life force and poured it into Rune.
Magic flared, disorienting Gideon and making his teeth ache. Building and building until it caused a pressure in his head so painful, it felt like it would explode.
And then: Cressida fell still. The tension lifted.
Rune inhaled a sharp breath.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
RUNE
COMING ALIVE WAS LIKE waking up to the world’s wonders.
When Rune opened her eyes, it was dark. But not the darkness of death. This dark was different. Trapped in the black web above her were tiny pricks of light.
Stars, she realized.
All her life, she’d taken them for granted. Why hadn’t she stopped to admire their beauty more often? She should have spent every night staring up at the sky, filled with awe. Knowing that one day, the stars would shine no more.
Rune inhaled. Breath filled her lungs, expanding her chest. It, too, was wondrous. She pushed it out again, into the world, then sucked it back in.
Why hadn’t she known what a precious gift it was, this breath, flowing in and out, over and over, every day?
“Rune?”
Her breath faltered.
Gideon.
His voice poured warmth back into her, melting away the last of Death’s icy hold. She sat up and found him staring at her.
Her Gideon. She wanted to trace every stern line of his face. Wanted to run her fingers through his tangled hair. Wanted to feel the roughness of his cheeks beneath her palms.
The bloody symbols—one for Witch’s Armor, the other for Everlasting
—still lingered on his cheeks.
“Alex loves you,” she blurted, wondering where the words had come from. “The day he died, he made me promise to tell you. But I … I never
did.”
She felt Alex now, all around her, in the way a dream sometimes lingers in the moments after you wake.
Gideon leaned forward on his knees and cupped the back of her head with his hand. As his forehead touched hers, a shaky laugh escaped him.
“Did he remind you of that just now?” His smile was in his voice.
“I … I don’t know,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, breathing him in, hugging him close. “Maybe.”
Over Gideon’s shoulder, she saw Seraphine and Antonio kneeling over Cressida’s dead body. Seraphine was whispering something while Antonio held Rune’s spell book aloft for her to read.
Cressida’s corpse burst into black flames. Rune watched them devour the witch queen. Her sister.
Gideon’s arms came around her as she hugged him harder.
When the fire burned out, only a heap of ash remained. Next, Seraphine called up a wind, scattering the ashes into the whirlpool. Washing all remnants of Cressida Roseblood away.
“The other two?” Antonio asked, glancing toward the pool where the corpses of Elowyn and Analise lay beneath the surface. With Cressida dead, her casting signature had disappeared.
The spell protecting them was broken.
“We’ll burn them, too,” said Seraphine, getting to her feet to help drag the sisters out of the water. “Just to be safe.”
Gideon gave Rune a squeeze before letting her go and rising to help them.
When it was done, and all three former witch queens were nothing but ash on the wind, Seraphine glanced at something in the distance.
Rune stood and turned to look. Gideon and Antonio stepped up beside her, watching as six figures appeared at the water’s edge. Each one shaped like a woman, glowing faintly. As if they were made of moonlight.
Rune stared with her mouth agape. “Is that…?”
Seraphine walked slowly toward them, her humanity receding with every step she took, until she, too, was as bright as the moon.
But she didn’t join them. Not yet. Pausing, she turned to face Rune. The lines of her face were the same, and her hair still billowed like a cloud around her head. But she was flesh and blood no longer; she was something else.
“Goodbye, Rune Winters.”
Her voice was still Seraphine’s, but not Seraphine’s. It was like the wind, howling through a tunnel in the rock. It was the sea in a hurricane. Fierce, mighty.
She touched Rune’s cheek, the pads of her fingers soft as a butterfly’s wings. “Kestrel would be proud.”
And then she was gone. Turning away to join her ancient sisters.
When they were together once more, they disappeared like the stars at dawn. Retreating to the world beyond this one.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
LAILA CREED STRODE THROUGH the stone halls of the Rookery, the sounds inside waking with the dawn. Sunlight filtered in through the windows as the sky flared pink over the sea. The soldiers behind her dragged their hostage down to the mess hall, where a platoon of Blood Guard officers was enjoying breakfast.
The Cascadian Army—what Laila and her soldiers had started calling themselves on the journey here—had snuck into the heavily fortified citadel last night, through the servants’ quarters, where Blood Guard officers loyal to Gideon Sharpe had let them in, given them arms, and now padded out their ranks.
“Laila … Laila, please.”
“Shut him up,” she barked, shoving open the double doors leading into the mess hall.
The Cascadian Army filed in behind her, lining up against the walls, marching through the aisles between tables, armed with the weapons belonging to the men and women currently eating.
Laila halted. Every head bobbed up to stare at her.
“Listen here!” She shouted so her voice would be heard across the mess hall. “As of now, you have new orders.”
The two soldiers behind her stepped forward with the hostage, shoving him to his knees. Along with his wrists being bound behind his back, Noah Creed’s mouth was now gagged. As every soldier in the hall stared in shock at their Good Commander, he lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Effective immediately, no one is to be hunted or harmed for being a witch, and all purgings are outlawed.”
“Says who?” shouted some wiseass three tables over.
Laila glanced over to find four of her soldiers already dealing with him. “Says Commander Gideon Sharpe,” she growled.
At Gideon’s name, a hush fell over the hall.
“You have three choices before you.” She held up her index finger. “You can enlist in the Cascadian Army and begin reporting to Commander Sharpe.” She held up another finger. “You can hand over your uniform and go home.” She held up a third. “You can be hauled off to prison, where you will spend the rest of your days rotting in a cell next to this piece of shit.” She nodded to her brother, cowering on the floor, and shoved him with her foot. “Anyone unclear about any of that?”
No one raised their hands.
“Perfect. Enjoy your breakfast. Afterward, every one of you will report to the courtyard, where you’ll receive new instructions or be dismissed.”
Amidst nervous whispering, the former Blood Guard officers went back to eating, the watchful gazes of Laila’s armed battalion looming over them.
EPILOGUE
THREE MONTHS LATER
RUNE STARED OUT THROUGH the front windows, her attention fixed on the parked carriages lined up outside Wintersea House. A full moon shone from the blue-black sky as guests dressed in glittering finery trickled in through the front doors.
Rune clasped her hands to stop them from shaking.
I can’t do this.
Lifting the hem of her evening gown, she spun on her heel and marched past the stairs leading down to her ballroom—which was decorated for tonight’s celebration, not to mention full of chattering guests. She glimpsed Bart Wentholt’s coppery hair and heard Juniper’s bright laugh. But her friends only strengthened her conviction.
I can’t go down there.
Rune slipped into her bedchamber, where all was quiet and still. The lights were turned down for the evening, and the door to her casting room stood ajar.
She swung it open and went inside, heading straight for the window, where she opened the latch and pushed out the pane.
A warm breeze flowed in.
Rune paused for a second to close her eyes and breathe it in, remembering how lucky she was. How never again would she take anything for granted. Not the breeze on her face. Not the moon or the sky. And certainly not this island she called home.
It was that in-between time when summer transitioned to fall. The trees were changing color, and the winds were getting rougher. The temperature
could be hotter than the height of summer one day, and so cold it might as well snow the next.
Tonight was closer to the former. Warm and breezy.
Rune hiked up the skirts of her dress and climbed into the windowsill, planning to scale the ivy and escape through the gardens.
“Where the hell are you going?” The voice made her freeze.
Rune stared toward the fields, where a path carved through the wildflowers, leading into the woods and down to the sea.
“Just … um … checking the gardens.”
She ducked back inside, resenting the blush blooming up her face, and spun to face the intruder. Gideon Sharpe leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, staring at her with an amused expression. “I asked Lizbeth to make sure the paths were lit”—she avoided his gaze, letting her eyes scan the shelves full of spell books—“so the guests can
stroll there. I want to make sure she didn’t forget.”
“You can’t go out the back door, like a normal person?”
Rune glanced longingly to the window. To the moonlit path through the fields.
Gideon pushed away from the door and came toward her. “What were you actually doing?”
Rune’s gaze snagged on his militia-styled tailcoat, its rust-red shade complementing her turquoise evening gown. Gideon would have been a gentlemanly vision of perfect style had it not been for his cravat. Which he’d completely botched.
He couldn’t go downstairs like that.
“It’s the perfect night for a swim, don’t you think?” she said, closing the distance between them, her fingers itching to fix the cravat.
“A swim?”
“Mmm.” She reached for the white silk around his neck and started untying it. “Just think … you and me. Naked. In the sea. No one will even notice we’re missing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I think people will notice that their new parliamentarian—who they’re here to celebrate tonight, and whose house
they’re all gathered in—is nowhere to be found.”
Rune made a face as she tugged the white silk free of his neck, lifted his collar, then tied it again. “We can be fashionably late.”
As in, so late, we arrive when everyone else is drunk and leaving.
Ever since the election results were announced, Rune had been like a jumpy horse in a cramped stall. She’d been chosen to represent her district in the House of Commons, the heart of Cascadia’s new government. Thirteen officials had been elected, with each one having a seat in parliament. Six seats had gone to witches; seven to non-witches.
Rune crossed Gideon’s cravat over itself twice, then pulled it through, tying the knot and tucking it into his waistcoat.
Perfect.
“Antonio spent a week making the cake.”
“So he says,” she murmured, running her hands up Gideon’s chest and looping her arms around his neck. If she couldn’t convince him with words, there were other ways to win him over …
“There are a hundred people downstairs waiting to—” Rune pressed her lips against his throat.
He fell silent. She continued kissing, moving slowly upward. She felt the change in him—the stiffening of desire. His hand moved to her hip, then slid to the small of her back. Drawing her closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Kissing my husband?” She slid her fingers into his hair and pushed up onto her toes, only to find his mouth waiting for hers.
Their hips collided as he pulled her flush against him.
Rune suddenly regretted retying his cravat. She should have left it off.
Should have unbuttoned his coat and then moved on to his shirt …
As Gideon dragged her bottom lip between his teeth, Rune’s fingers moved to the buttons of his tailcoat, undoing them. When he realized, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.
“Rune.” Her name was a frustrated growl. “You’re not going to seduce me into running away from your party with you.”
She pouted as he stepped back.
“These people want to celebrate you.”
Those words pinched her with guilt. Rune glanced away.
“What is this really about?” Gideon reached for her hand, running the pad of his thumb over the thin scar at the base of her ring finger. “There’s nothing to fear anymore. All you have to do is be yourself.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.
“What if I disappoint them?” she whispered, avoiding his gaze. “What if they don’t like the real Rune Winters?”
He laughed.
“Beloved.” He took her chin between his fingers, trying to drag her gaze up to him. “That’s not possible.”
She tugged her chin free and started to retreat, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back, nipping her bare shoulder, then kissing the edge of a scar peeking up above her dress.
“You’re the opposite of disappointing.”
“What if I fail them?” She weaved her fingers back into his hair. “What if none of this works?”
“Then we keep trying and fixing it until it does work.” Releasing her waist, he grabbed her hand again, lifted it, and kissed the ring-like scar banded around her second smallest finger. “Just like everything else.”
Rune glanced at the matching scar banded around his finger.
They were casting scars formed from the spells she’d performed during their wedding, which Antonio officiated, keeping his promise. While speaking their vows as their friends bore witness, Rune had cast two spells: one for speaking the truth, and the other binding them to their words.
So now, instead of wedding bands, they wore wedding scars.
“You have to start somewhere,” he said. “And this is where we’re starting.”
Winding his fingers through hers, Gideon tugged her from the casting room. She resisted a little, but eventually gave in, letting him pull her to the staircase leading down to the ballroom. Where their guests waited.
Rune paused at the top of the stairs. The chandelier winked overhead. Her pulse stumbled as more and more people turned to look up at the Crimson Moth and her army commander.
She glanced wistfully back in the direction of her casting room and the open window.
Noticing, Gideon leaned in and whispered against her cheek, “How about this: when these aristos are gone, you and I will reconvene. Naked. In the sea. Deal?”
Rune bit down on her smile. “Deal.”
Gideon tucked her arm through his as they faced their friends. “It’s time to make a new world, Rune. Are you ready?”
