Trial by Fire

Gideon heard a furtive knock on the door of his personal suite of rooms at the Citadel. It was late, so late it was almost early morning.

The girl across from him stiffened with fear at the sound. She was an Outlander who’d tapped on his window out of desperation. Or stupidity. Gideon didn’t know which yet. He didn’t think she had the right papers to allow her inside the city walls after dark, and she certainly didn’t have permission to be inside the smaller circle of the Citadel walls. If she were caught by one of the guards, she would end up in prison for sure. She looked at him pleadingly and Gideon smiled. He liked her better when she was scared.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

“Carrick,” answered the man on the other side of the door.

“Give me a moment.”

Gideon flicked his head toward the window. “Get out,” he said to the girl.

“My brother?” she whispered, her eyes downcast.

“That depends on you,” Gideon replied, “and on how nice you are to me.”

She looked up at him, her mouth tight. She wasn’t an idiot, or pretending to be so virtuous she didn’t understand what Gideon meant, which was good for her. If she’d tried to play the shy violet after climbing in his bedroom window, he’d have hung her alongside her wretched brother just for wasting his time.

The girl swallowed. “Then you’ll let him go? He’s not a scientist or a rebel. Really.”

Gideon was surprised she had the nerve to ask him for a promise. He wondered how old she was. Thirteen? Maybe fourteen. Some of those Outland girls had smart mouths and seemed older than they were. After a lifetime of being passed over by the high-and-mighty Salem Witch herself, Gideon did not find female spunk endearing.

“Ask me again and he’ll hang for sure,” Gideon said, watching a choking hatred rise up in her throat. Good. Now she knew where she stood. He smiled at her. “Get out, drub. For now.”

She wasn’t crying, which could be a problem. If he hadn’t broken her spirits completely, she could come back demanding something. If she wanted her brother to live, she’d have to learn patience. And manners. Gideon decided it might be fun to teach her both.

While the girl scurried out the window, Gideon put on a robe and crossed through his suite to the main entrance. He opened the door and led Carrick, his Outlander spy, into the sitting area. He marveled, as he always did, at how drubs seemed to walk without stirring the air. A necessary ability, Gideon assumed, for those stuck down precarious mine shafts all day and surrounded by roving bands of Woven all night. It made them good fighters. That, coupled with the constant near starvation of their poverty-stricken lives, gave them a survivor’s mastery of all the herbs and animals of the forest. Strength and knowledge of herb lore—those were two of the reasons Rowan had been chosen to be Lillian’s head mechanic, rather than Gideon himself.

An Outlander, a drub no better than that piece of rubbish he’d just kicked out of his room, was head mechanic to the Salem Witch. Or he had been until she sent him away.

“Set the wards,” Carrick whispered.

Gideon shook off the all-consuming swell of irritation that always accompanied any thought of Rowan and concentrated so that he could cast a ward spell around the room to be neither heard nor felt by anyone else inside the Citadel. A pulse of silvery blue light throbbed around the room as Gideon’s ward formed a bubble of protection around them.

“The room is sealed,” Gideon said, moving his hand away from his willstone. “Speak freely.”

“Minutes ago, I saw Lady Juliet leave the Citadel,” Carrick responded, the words bursting out of him urgently. “She seemed distraught—frantic, even. I sent a team of guards to shadow her, of course.”

“Why so many? Where was she going?” Gideon replied, already on his way to the clothespress to dress.