The mint green and white lace complemented her pale complexion and brought out the shades of red in her hair. As her fingers traced the almost imperceptible pattern of waves across the bodice, Rune tried to remind herself how much she loathed the boy who’d made it.
But it was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, never mind worn, and Rune couldn’t stop the startling warmth rippling through her. She wished she’d asked Lizbeth to stay, to tie the laces so it would fit properly.
The tulle of her dress swished around her legs as she waded back to her desk. Sinking into the chair, she grabbed a pen and paper, then jotted down a response.
Gideon Sharpe
113 Prudence St, Old Town
Yes, Gideon. I’m asking you to be my date.
Rune
P.S. My plan is to win you over so you’ll keep making me dresses forever.
P.P.S. Let me know when it’s working.
She found it hard to concentrate after that and was almost relieved when Lizbeth interrupted again. Rune had moved from writing her speech at her desk to reciting it as she paced the room.
“Miss Rune …” Lizbeth glanced over her shoulder and stepped into the casting room. “There’s a visitor here to see you. He’s in the foyer.”
Rune, who wasn’t expecting any callers, looked up from the page she was reading. “Who is it?”
Lizbeth lowered her voice. “That Blood Guard captain.”
Gideon? Rune’s eyes widened. What could he want?
“Tell him …” She was still wearing the dress he’d made her, the laces down the back undone. “Tell him I’ll be right down. And maybe offer some refreshments?”
Lizbeth nodded, then disappeared.
Darn. She’d purchased a suit jacket for Gideon in town yesterday—to enchant with Truth Teller, and to atone for the one she’d ruined with wine. Not that she could ever truly atone for ruining a Sharpe Duet jacket. Even now, the memory stabbed her with guilt. To fit him, though, the seamstress needed to make a few adjustments, so Rune didn’t yet have the jacket in her hands, and therefore couldn’t use it to get information.
It’s fine, she told herself, shrugging off the dress. Just make yourself presentable and go down there.
Rune reached for the clothes she’d cast off earlier, only to find them wrinkled from lying in a heap.
Needing something else to wear, Rune ran to her wardrobe and pulled on the first thing she found: a simple cotton sundress that fell to her knees. She hurried barefoot down the stairs and immediately slowed upon seeing the young man in her foyer.
Gideon faced away from her, clasping his hands behind his back as he eyed his surroundings. He wore plain brown trousers and had rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows, showing off his forearms.
Rune’s heart stumbled at the sight of him. This was the same boy who had her pinned beneath him two nights ago. The same boy she’d stabbed in the leg with a knife.
“Gideon,” she said, recovering. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He spun to face her, and Rune quailed a little beneath his penetrating gaze. How much did he remember from the mine? It had been so dark down there. Even when he lit the flare, he hadn’t removed her hood in time to see her. But could he still know, somehow, that it was her?
Her legs felt like jelly. Rune gripped the railing a little too hard and kept descending the stairs. “What brings you to Wintersea?”
“I came to ask if you’d like to take a walk with me.”
“A … walk?”
“You said there’s a beach near here.” He seemed uncertain, suddenly, and unclasped his hands. “If you’re busy—”
“Oh! Yes. I mean, no, not busy. Yes, there is a beach.” She reached the bottom of the steps, weirdly out of breath. “A walk would be lovely.”
“Great,” he said.
Why are you really here? she wondered.
She tried a smile, then glanced toward Lizbeth, who’d entered the foyer with a knit shawl in her hands. Taking it, Rune flung it over her shoulders.
Rune and Gideon stood awkwardly for a moment before she realized he didn’t know the way to a beach he’d never been to.
“Right.” Her cheeks reddened. “Follow me.”
She led him through the house, and only once they’d entered the gardens did she wonder if she should have strapped on her knife.
TWENTY-NINE
GIDEON
GIDEON SLOWED HIS STRIDE to match Rune’s as she led him through the labyrinthine hedges. She carried a lantern in one hand as they walked through her gardens, while her other hand clasped her shawl closed at her throat.
Her hair was loose, and the breeze kept tugging strands across her face, giving him the infuriating urge to drag it back with his fingers.
No paint adorned her lips tonight. No rouge reddened her cheeks. Even her feet were bare. She looked wild and raw and exposed out here. Not the girl he was used to seeing all done up at parties.
It threw him off guard. He’d come here to win back her trust because she was his best lead. But he found himself … faltering. Unsure of himself. The silence between them rose like a crescendo.
He glanced down at the angry gash on her forearm. How did a girl who spent her days planning parties and spreading gossip come by such a deep wound?
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Rune startled. “Oh! Yes, I … took a tumble while riding yesterday. Sliced my arm on a rock. I can be so clumsy.” She smiled up at him, tucking the arm under her shawl and changing the subject. “Have you given more thought to my invitation?”
“To the Luminaries Dinner? I thought my answer was obvious.”
She glanced at him, her lips parting.
Apparently, it was not.
He almost laughed. “Rune. Of course I’ll accompany you. You expected me to turn you down?”
Her eyes held his. “I don’t know what to expect with you.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Was that Rune Winters talking? Or the Crimson Moth?
Gideon had no proof that she and the Moth were the same. Rune had a solid alibi the night before last, and yet she was freshly injured—much like the Moth might be after Laila shot at her. He couldn’t arrest her, but neither was he convinced of her innocence.
It was why he was here. If Rune was the Moth, no way would she trust him after the stunt he’d pulled at the Seldom mine. He needed to patch the hole he’d made, because the only way to unmask her was to get closer to her. And the only way to do that was to convince her to trust him again. If that was even possible.
What would I do if this were a real courtship?
Gideon recoiled at the thought. He didn’t know how to fall for someone as superficial as Rune Winters.
Maybe that was the wrong way to think about it.
How would he fall for a girl pretending to be superficial—in order to outwit him?
That was easier.
Gideon cleared his throat. “Your gardens are beautiful.”
He winced, imagining Harrow rolling her eyes. Is that the best you can do, lover boy?
“Are they?” Rune murmured, taking in her surroundings. “I try to keep them well tended, but I lack my grandmother’s … devotion. She loved these flowers like they were her children.”
At the mention of Kestrel, Rune’s face softened. She continued, unprompted, as her gaze roamed the hedges.
“Sometimes, if I squint, I can almost see her still trimming her roses. Or sipping tea in the greenhouse, with her box of seed packets beside her, planning out next season’s garden …”
She quickly glanced at Gideon, her face blanching. As if she’d said more than she meant to. “I—”
“We never had a garden,” he said, to put her at ease. “But my mother grew herbs in a box on the windowsill.”
He immediately wished he’d thought of something else to say. His family’s lack of land was an obvious reminder of the gap between them: their stations, their upbringings, their lives. It was a gap that had narrowed since the revolution, but it would never close.
Proving him exactly right, she said: “You could have a garden now, if you wanted. You could live somewhere far grander than even Wintersea House, with gardens more well kept, as a reward for everything you did for the Republic. I’m sure the Good Commander would grant it all to you, if you asked.”
“I’m happy in Old Town.”