Trial by Fire

She stepped in between him and the bed. Her eyes darted behind Gideon to the door as he closed it, her nervousness apparent. The willstone on her neck pulsed, but no power followed it. Juliet was a latent crucible. She carried the gene but not much talent, as if being the sister of Lillian had sapped most of her potential gifts. Gideon brushed past Juliet’s weak intervention and went straight to the bed.

Fiery red curls snaked up from under the covers and coiled over the white pillow, but the rest of Lillian’s fragile frame was buried in blankets. She was so thin now that her body looked to be no more than a wrinkle in the plush duvet.

“So she is here,” Gideon said. “The guards said she’d run away. They also said that before she left, they saw her on the beach, wandering around aimlessly. Like she didn’t know where she was.”

Gideon watched Juliet’s face. It was a pretty face, although she frowned too much. He’d break her of that when they were married. His father had arranged the match, and the Witch didn’t oppose it. It made sense for them to wed, even if Juliet wasn’t to Gideon’s taste.

“The Witch is sleeping,” Juliet replied in a lowered voice. “Please get to your point quietly.”

“Fine. Is she going crazy like your mother did?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” Juliet replied, offended even though she shouldn’t be. It happened every now and again in families that had true power. The dark side of great talent was often madness. It went hand in hand with genius, and it was nothing to be ashamed of. It meant the Proctor family had true power in its bloodline. Power that Gideon wanted for his own offspring, even if it meant he had to get them from Juliet.

“Then why was she wandering around on the beach—dressed very strangely, the guards said—and without her willstone? How’d she even tolerate being separated from it?” Gideon leaned close to Juliet. He saw her lips pinch together with distaste and considered slapping her, but the Witch would punish him for that. Soon, Gideon promised himself. She’d learn her lesson soon. “We all know the Witch has been struggling with a sickness of some kind for the past few months,” he continued. “If she would let me—or any another competent mechanic of her choice look her over—we might be able to help.”

“I know her behavior must have seemed strange to the guards,” Juliet said, ignoring his request to lay hands on Lillian for what seemed to Gideon the thousandth time. “But Lillian has her reasons.”

She was hiding something for her sister, something other than the cause of Lillian’s mysterious illness. Gideon was sure of it now. “Well, when she wakes, let her know that both me and my father would love to know what those reasons are.”

Juliet’s colorless face blanched an even paler shade at the mention of Thomas, and Gideon repressed a pleased smile as he turned and left. The Witch might rule, but she still had to deal with the Council and its leader. His momentary triumph was marred by the nagging feeling that something important had just happened. Something huge. And it was being kept from him.

Gideon was tired of being pushed aside. He was the Witch’s head mechanic in name only, and that fact was not lost on the rest of the Coven. If Lillian wouldn’t give him responsibility, then he’d just have to take it.