Trial by Fire

“I know that, Gideon,” she said tiredly. “You’re also not a jailor, but you didn’t have much of a problem playing that part when it suited you.”


Gideon froze. He knew that Lillian had heard about Witch’s End. There was no way to conceal so many dead bodies, not from the Witch, but Lillian had seemed satisfied to apprehend Carrick, throw him in the dungeon, and leave Gideon out of it. He realized that he’d been wrong, and he sifted through his mind quickly to try to find a way to amend his miscalculation.

“You know, you’re only hurting yourself if you have me lead out the army,” he said equitably. “I’m not a natural fighter, Lillian, not even with a witch’s strength in me, and I know you’re not foolish enough to shoot yourself in the foot just to punish me.”

“I’m not punishing you,” she said. Lillian turned away from Gideon and called out to one of the guards on top of the wall, “Captain Leto! Have a pyre built on Walltop!”

“My Lady!” Captain Leto replied eagerly.

“And if there are any soldier who have not been claimed by me but wish to be before the battle, have them arrange themselves in the courtyard,” Lillian ordered.

“No one will wish to go into battle without your strength, Lady,” Leto answered proudly.

The soldiers were looking forward to receiving the Gift, as was Gideon. But someone of his breeding belonged at the back of the fray, enjoying the feeling of the Gift and the spectacle of the fight. He wasn’t supposed to actually fight.

Lillian turned back to Gideon. “You’ll go out first, but you won’t be in charge. I have a well-trained army and plenty of generals for that.”

Gideon’s hands went slick with sweat. He wiped them on the sides of his thighs as casually as possible and blinked his eyes so they didn’t stare at Lillian with walleyed fearfulness.

“So why send me out at all?” he asked as jauntily as he could manage. “I’m not a soldier, I’m not a general.”

“No, you’re a politician, Gideon. Or at least, you’re trying to be,” Lillian said, her eyes narrowing. “That legislation you and your father are working on—that pathetic attempt to make it a law that witches must bond with multiple stones so their mechanics can control them? That will go away tonight.”

“My dying won’t make it go away.” Gideon smiled at her sadly, as though she wouldn’t understand on her own—like it was a good thing that he was there to walk her through it. He even moved closer to her, as if to take her into his confidence. “If you want this multiple willstone nonsense to go away, the best thing would be to work with me. Give me a little something. A bit more freedom, a bit more power in exchange for what I’m willing to give up. We can work together on this.”

Gideon felt himself go rigid against his own accord. His body marched back, away from Lillian, and got down on its knees in the mud and blood in front of her.

“You are going to go out there tonight like a brave man,” she said in low voice. “Your father is going to watch you do it. Many Council members will recall that they have sons that I’ve claimed, and now that we are officially at war with the Outlanders, they’ll remember that at any moment their sons, like Thomas’s, could be called into battle by me. They’ll also recall that if their sons smash their willstones during wartime, I have the right to declare them traitors, and they’ll hang.”

Lillian gave Gideon his will back and he staggered to his feet. She’d never taken him over like that before, although she’d done it to Rowan a few times by accident when they were young and clumsy with their powers. Gideon knew about the feeling of helplessness through him, but he’d never experienced it directly before. Now that he’d angered her, he’d wished he had more than that slim warning. That way he would have known what he was up against. He’d never really understood how trapped he was until now.