Maybe he’d even be dead.
“A good leader is brave enough to make the hard choices others don’t want to make,” continued Nicolas. “He does it for the sake of the good. He does it to protect the innocent. This is his duty.”
“I agree.”
But Gideon also remembered Rune allowing Penitents to use her footpaths. In a choice between mercy and punishment, Rune chose mercy. What if Gideon could do the same? Perhaps there was a way to find and arrest Cressida without violating the rights of everyday citizens. Without making them live in fear of the Blood Guard.
Heading for the Commons, where the Tribunal met, Nicolas exited the hall and entered the throne room.
Gideon followed him in.
The throne room was darker than the lamplit halls, and their footsteps boomed through the empty space. Night darkened the stained-glass windows. The gilded pillars cast long shadows over the agate floors.
Three black thrones loomed in the distance. At the sight of them, a chill gripped the back of Gideon’s neck, squeezing like an icy hand.
That they were empty should have relieved him. The sight should have felt like a triumph over evil. Instead, it felt more like an absence longing to be filled. As if this room—those thrones—were waiting for their queens to return.
Gideon wanted to quicken his pace, to put the feeling behind him. But Nicolas stopped before the three seats of power, staring directly at them.
“The curfews, the raids, the interrogations—these are emergency measures. In an emergency, individual rights must sometimes be set aside until the danger has passed. You need to balance both things on the scales, Gideon: on one side is the temporary violation of rights to keep people safe; on the other is the very permanent possibility that Cressida Roseblood retakes her throne and exacts her revenge on us all.”
He turned to face Gideon. “Which is worse, in the long run?”
It wasn’t a question. Of course Cressida was worse.
Gideon studied his mentor. They were roughly the same height, and though Nicolas had a leaner build than Gideon, he was muscular. A fighter. Gideon wasn’t sure who would win in a boxing match these days.
Nicolas gripped Gideon’s shoulder. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, and I trust your judgment. The choice is yours to make. Just remember: a great leader weighs the consequences of every decision, and must bear the weight of those consequences. So ask yourself: which consequences can you live with?”
Letting go, Nicolas rolled his shoulders as he glanced back at the thrones. As if the same icy hand gripped him, too, and he wanted to shake it off.
“Think it through,” he said, turning to leave. “Then let me know your decision.”
Gideon stared at the empty thrones.
They were a stark reminder of all he had fought for. If he didn’t act swiftly, if he couldn’t find Cressida and put down her uprising before it grew wings, he would lose everything that mattered: his freedom, along with his ability to protect the vulnerable.
People would suffer worse than before, because Cressida was a vengeful creature, and her vengeance on the Republic would be ruthless. Laila and Harrow. Alex. Rune. They were all at risk.
Rune isn’t bound by the same duty I am, he thought, remembering her kindness to the Penitents. She can afford to show mercy.
Gideon couldn’t. Gideon needed to keep people safe from evil. He had to stop Cressida at all costs.
“I’ve already made my decision,” he called out to Nicolas, who was halfway across the room. The Good Commander turned back. “We’ll reinstate the curfew, and the raids. And we’ll triple the Blood Guard presence on the streets.”
Now was not the time for mercy.
* * *
AFTER BRINGING HIS NEW orders to Blood Guard headquarters, Gideon set out for Old Town. It was early evening when he arrived home and found a telegram slipped under his door. Thinking it was from Rune, he picked it up and tore it open.
But it was from Thornwood Hall.
GIDEON SHARPE
113 PRUDENCE ST, OLD TOWN
BROTHER: I LEAVE FOR CAELIS AT THE END OF THE WEEK TO RESUME MY STUDIES. I’M SELLING MY ESTATE AND WILL BE HOSTING A SMALL GOODBYE PARTY TONIGHT. NOTHING FANCY. JUST CARDS AMONG A FEW FRIENDS. I WOULD DEARLY LOVE FOR YOU TO JOIN US.
ALEX
It had been two years since Gideon had set foot in Thornwood Hall, but his nightmares frequently brought him back. He hated that house and the memories it held. The thought of Alex selling it was a relief.
But Caelis was across the Barrow Strait. Gideon had little reason to travel to the mainland, and he couldn’t afford to take time off—especially with Cressida on the prowl. When would he ever see his brother?
Gideon rubbed his jaw, remembering the punch Alex had thrown in the boxing ring.
If Alex was leaving, Gideon owed it to him to face his demons and go to this party. To patch things up between them as much as he could. Especially if they might never see each other again.
Most important of all: Alex needed to know that Cressida was alive. That he hadn’t killed her. He would have to watch his back going forward.
Gideon grabbed his coat.
Thornwood Hall was only a house. And he was sick of cowering.
FORTY-THREE
GIDEON
GIDEON STOOD IN THE rain, staring at the arched doors flanked by two roaring lions made of stone. The rain soaked his hair and dampened his clothes, making him colder by the second. But a deeper cold lived in his bones.
He couldn’t make his legs move. Couldn’t order his body to carry him into the house.
I was wrong.
I can’t do this.
He was about to turn around and leave, already planning the apologetic telegram he would send Alex tomorrow, when Rune’s words seeped in through the chill. Like the first spring day after a harsh winter.
You are not the things that happened to you, Gideon.
Her voice summoned something from beneath the nightmares. Something stronger than the pull of the past. It was a kick of adrenaline, a shot of courage.
Gideon drew in a deep breath and walked into the damned house.
The same sapphire carpets lined the floor. The same floral wallpaper adorned the walls. The air still smelled faintly of Cress’s magic, too. Like blood and roses. The scent was stale and cloying.
As Alex’s manservant escorted him through the halls of Thornwood, Gideon felt like he was walking backward in time. His muscles tensed as scenes from the past rose like mist before his eyes. But all he had to do was think of Rune, and the awful things would fade.
When they arrived at the parlor, Gideon made his way to the round table near the fire, where half a dozen young men sat playing cards, coins piled in the middle. He saw Noah Creed and Bart Wentholt and several other familiar faces.
His brother’s back was to him.
“Gideon Sharpe!” Bart’s red hair shone in the firelight as he motioned Gideon over to an empty chair. “What exceptional timing. Alex, deal him in.”
Gideon sat and he shrugged off his coat. Across the table, Alex smiled brightly as he shuffled and counted out cards, apparently happy to see him. Leaning back in his chair, Gideon couldn’t help but notice all the ways he admired his little brother.
Alex was appropriately social, for one thing. He had friends whom he invited over, and whose invitations he accepted. He knew how to hold polite conversations with all sorts of people. He never growled or glared or got into fights … except for that one time he punched Gideon in the ring—but that had been Gideon’s fault.
Alex dressed and danced well. He used the correct utensil for each course of a meal, served the kinds of wines that impressed his guests, and knew the meaning of devotion. Even upon dropping out of school—something Gideon wished he’d fought harder to prevent—Alex had never stopped practicing his music.
After the revolution, it was Alex who stayed by Gideon for weeks, helping him fight off his laudanum addiction. Alex didn’t leave Gideon’s side until he no longer shook with the cravings.