He stepped into the circle, crouching down to study the spellmarks drawn in blood on the floorboards, wishing he could decipher them. It was times like this where he wondered if they’d been too hasty, burning all the spell books. It would be useful to have them as a reference.
Gideon could trace these marks and bring them to Seraphine Oakes, who was still in custody. She would know what they were, but was unlikely to be cooperative.
“If I were a vengeful witch planning retribution,” said Harrow, crouching down next to him, touching the marks with her fingers, “I would make my move on Liberty Day.”
“I second that,” said Laila, walking around the room, looking for anything they might have missed the first time. “We should at least—”
Beside Gideon, Harrow’s head snapped up. “Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” asked Laila.
Gideon sniffed the air. Blood and roses.
“It smells like …”
“Magic,” said Gideon, rising to his feet. Fear snaked through his insides. “They’re still here.”
He looked to the rafters, but the beams were empty. Harrow rose to her feet beside him. The smell was growing stronger by the second, making Gideon queasy.
“We need to find the source,” said Harrow, moving for the door.
Gideon’s spine tingled. That bad feeling was back. Something was wrong. The fog. The empty room. The freshly lit candles, as if the meeting hadn’t even started yet when they’d burst through the door.
As if they’d been set up.
We were expected.
“Harrow, wait.”
She’d reached the door. Gideon stepped out of the circle, intending to stop her. But before he could grab her arm and pull her back into the room, a loud BOOM! shook the walls and floors. The red-hot force of an explosion threw him backward, slamming his body into solid brick.
Fire flared across his vision seconds before the world went black.
FORTY-SIX
RUNE
FOR THE PAST TWO years, ever since Nan’s death, Rune spent most nights tossing and turning in bed, her mind spinning with anxious thoughts as she went over plans, pieced together information, and mentally punished herself for the witches she hadn’t saved.
Tonight, she slept worse than ever. Nightmares about Nan kept her trapped, and when Rune finally woke from them, thrashing in her covers, a sheen of feverish sweat coated her skin.
It was still dark, but Rune rose anyway, afraid to shut her eyes again. Dressing warmly, she saddled Lady and rode down to the shore, trying to clear her head while the sun rose, scattering the mist off the sea.
When she returned to Wintersea House, Lizbeth was walking toward her through the gardens, her hands coiled around a rolled-up newspaper.
Rune dismounted Lady. “What is it?”
Lizbeth handed the paper to her. “You should read it yourself.”
Rune unrolled the New Herald, the regime’s official newspaper, and glanced down at the front page. In bold black letters, the first headline read: WITCH ATTACK. DOZENS DEAD.
Her heart stumbled.
A witch attack?
With one hand squeezing the leather strips of Lady’s lead, Rune quickly scanned the report.
Late last night, Blood Guard soldiers led by Captain Gideon Sharpe raided a print shop believed to be harboring witches. The soldiers were lured into a trap set by the witches they’d come to arrest. A dozen men and women were inside the building when it exploded. As help rushed to the scene, a second explosion tore through Blood Guard headquarters. As of this morning, the fires are still raging. Twenty-seven are confirmed dead and many more are injured.
Rune’s ears rang as she stared at Gideon’s name. Two explosions. Twenty-seven dead. She scanned down to the bottom of the page, but there was no other information.
The New Herald hadn’t printed the names of the deceased.
Is he one of them?
Choking down her fear, Rune tossed the newspaper on the ground and swiftly remounted. Grabbing Lady’s reins, she sent them sailing toward town.
Rune could see two pillars of billowing smoke long before she reached the capital. She headed straight for the print shop, where Gideon’s raid had taken place. It was past noon when she neared the smoking ruin. Ash filled the air, stinging her lungs.
As she arrived at the building’s scorched shell, the horrible thoughts Rune had tried to suppress broke through and an image of Gideon’s charred body appeared in her mind, unmooring her.
It felt like the air had been sucked from the world.
She couldn’t breathe.
Rune reached for her old hatred of the Blood Guard captain like she would for a weapon, to defend herself against the surge of overwhelming feelings. But her hatred was nowhere to be found.
She swung herself down from the saddle and pushed her way into the crowd of gawking bystanders.
“Is there anyone still in there?” she asked, feeling dizzy. “Does anyone know the names of the dead?”
But the bystanders were all asking the same questions. As she shoved her way to the front, people with buckets of water rushed inside or emerged with empty ones, telling the crowd to get back.
“You can’t come in here, miss,” said one of them. “It’s still smoldering.”
“Have you seen Gideon Sharpe?”
No one had.
Rune raced Lady to Blood Guard headquarters, the site of the second attack. The former Royal Library looked like a giant skull, blackened and burnt, with fires still raging in its hollow eyes. The explosion had shattered the glass walls, and the shards lay scattered in the street, shining like the sea.
TWENTY-SEVEN DEAD blared in her mind.
Rune’s stomach clenched.
Did Cressida do this?
Instead of going home to Wintersea to wait for news, or riding to Thornwood Hall in case Alex had more information, she turned Lady and rode for Old Town. She tied the horse to a nearby hitching post and approached Gideon’s tenement.
Rune knocked on his door, listening for footsteps within.
When no one came, she knocked again. Louder this time.
I hate you, Gideon Sharpe. I hate you so much, it hurts. And if you don’t open this door, I’ll go on hating you forever …
There was still no answer.
She banged on the wood. Pounding and pounding until her hands hurt. Trying to pound away the image of his scorched corpse stuck behind her eyelids.
Rune was going to be sick.
When it became clear no one was coming, she collapsed against the door, pressing her forehead to the wood, wondering where this tempest of emotions had come from. A whirlwind of sadness and longing and something else. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge. Turning her back to the door, she sank to the ground.
Drawing her knees to her chest, she remembered him stepping into the black flames that had come to devour her. While everyone else ran away, he had run toward her.
A sob surged up her throat.
Rune felt people walking past, trying not to stare at the silly little aristo weeping on the ground in the wrong part of town. Rune didn’t care. A tempest was crashing through her, threatening to shatter her apart, and it was everything she could do to hold herself together.
As she wept on his doorstep, a concerned passerby approached. Through her tears, Rune saw their blurred boots.
Leave me alone, she thought, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.
“Rune?”
She glanced up to find a young man in a Blood Guard uniform. His red wool jacket was missing, and blood stained the collared white shirt he wore. A gash in his forehead had been recently stitched, and there was a vicious bruise on his cheek.
The breath froze in her lungs.
Rune pushed herself to her feet.
“What are you doing here?” said Gideon, staring at her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
At the sight of him, alive, Rune burst into tears all over again. She tried to wipe them away. Tried to catch her breath between great heaving gasps. But it was impossible.
“Hey. Hey. It’s all right …” He was suddenly right in front of her, his hands solid and warm on her shoulders. “Everything is all right.”
“I thought you were dead!” she managed between sobs.
She reached for his shirt, clenching it in her fists, and pressed her forehead into the hollow of his throat as she trembled all over.