Laila shook her head. “Only a description. Based on his account, the sketch artist drafted this likeness.” She slid her hand into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Gideon.
Uncrossing his arms, he took the paper, unfolding it to study the sketch. A girl stared back at him. Her dark, shoulder-length curls matched her dark sunken eyes, which were partially hidden behind spectacles.
“Looks remarkably like Rune’s friend, don’t you think?” said Harrow.
Verity de Wilde, she meant.
Sure, there was a slight resemblance. But this sketch could easily be some other nearsighted scholar. He handed it back to Laila. “We’ll need more than a sketch to prove it.”
“You could start by asking your sweetheart where her friend was the night of the attack,” said Harrow, her arms crossed over the back of the chair, her tone sharp.
Gideon ran a hand through his hair, not liking where this was going.
“I disagree,” said Laila, leaning against his worktable. “If the suspect is Verity de Wilde, Rune was likely in on the scheme. Asking her will send her running to warn her friend.”
“Hold on,” said Gideon. “We can’t know this”—he held up the vague sketch—“is Verity de Wilde. Even if it resembles her somewhat, the print shop owner might have given a false description.”
Harrow started to say something, but Gideon held up his hand, locking eyes with her. “More importantly: Rune wasn’t in on the scheme.”
Harrow slit her eyes. “You’re certain of that?”
Gideon remembered Rune sitting outside his front door, weeping. Believing him dead.
He thought of everything they’d done last night.
“She’s not a witch.”
“Do you have proof this time?” Harrow’s voice dripped with suspicion.
Aware of Laila’s gaze, Gideon shifted uncomfortably. But if this was a standoff, he wouldn’t be intimidated. Rune deserved to be exonerated.
“The proof is currently sleeping in my bed.”
“You slept with Rune Winters?” Laila’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your mind?”
Gideon glanced at his hunting partner, wanting to defend Rune. But Harrow already suspected he was bewitched by her. If he proved that suspicion true, she would accuse him of being compromised. If he was compromised, Laila would have to report him.
So he said, “It was the only way to know for sure.”
“He means it was the best way to search her for casting scars,” Harrow clarified, her honeyed eyes still fixed on Gideon. Like a cat waiting for a mouse to show itself. “And? How was it, Comrade? Was she everything you hoped she’d be?”
His whole body prickled, not liking her tone—or the question. But he needed to be careful here, for Rune’s sake as much as his own. He needed to make Harrow and Laila believe he felt nothing for her. That what he’d done with Rune was pure business.
He forced the words out.
“I’ve had better,” he said, staring Harrow down. “You were right; it was no chore. But I’m not about to repeat the endeavor anytime soon.” The lie sank inside him like poison. “She’s a pretty face, nothing more.”
Harrow looked like she was about to respond when a floorboard creaked outside the room. As if someone stood listening on the other side of the door.
All three of them looked to the closed door.
In three strides, Gideon crossed the room and swung it open.
Rune stood in the frame, her face pale, her hair a tangle. The look of shock and hurt in her eyes was like an axe splitting open his chest.
“Rune …”
Visibly trembling, she stammered, “I-I have to go.”
Before he could stop her, she turned on her heel and stumbled out into the street.
FIFTY
RUNE
RUNE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT hurt more: that Gideon would stoop so low in his quest to unmask the Crimson Moth, or that she’d fallen for his ruse.
I’ve had better. The words haunted her as she stepped into the street, lurching toward Lady, who waited dutifully at her hitching post. She’s a pretty face, nothing more.
As if sleeping with her was a task to accomplish. Something to get over with.
If she hadn’t walked in on that conversation, she would still believe it was the real thing. That he truly liked her. Maybe even loved her.
She wanted to cry.
This is over. No more courtship games. No more playing pretend. I am done with Gideon Sharpe.
He’d done her a favor. Cured her of what might have been the start of a pathetic, one-sided, deadly infatuation.
And yet …
Gideon caught up to her.
“Rune, wait.”
As he grabbed her wrist, Rune wrenched herself free and spun to face him.
“Don’t.”
He stumbled back, raising both hands in surrender. His breath puffed in the brisk morning air. “I … I didn’t mean any of that.”
Right. Sure.
Afraid she might burst into tears, not wanting him anywhere near her when she did, she ran the rest of the way to Lady’s side.
Around them, people stopped what they were doing to stare.
“Please give me a chance to explain. What you heard—”
“What I heard was sickening!” she said, stepping into Lady’s stirrup and pushing herself up and into the saddle. Because she was furious, she added: “Even for someone like you.”
Gideon stepped back. “Someone like me.”
She shook her head. “I was right about you from the beginning. Verity and Alex were right about you. You’re a selfish, horrible brute. You don’t care who you hurt, as long as you get what you want. You repulse me.”
He recoiled at those words. But Rune wasn’t sorry for saying them.
Unable to look at him a moment longer, she gathered Lady’s reins and turned away from the Blood Guard captain. “You and I are done, Gideon. I never want to see you again.”
Rune urged the horse into a canter.
She couldn’t put him behind her fast enough.
FIFTY-ONE
GIDEON
GIDEON SLOWED HIS STEPS, watching her flee.
She didn’t look back. Not once.
He was that forgettable.
Did you really expect this would end happily?
Suspicion had tainted his relationship with Rune from the beginning. Gideon had only agreed to this farce of a courtship because he’d believed her to be the Crimson Moth, a belief proven false last night.
He’d been wrong.
So wrong.
And now that he trusted her fully, now that he knew what it felt like to wake up beside her, to believe a life with her was within reach, he’d gone and ruined everything.
Letting his head fall back, Gideon let out a shuddering breath. He deserved every bit of her wrath. After agreeing to Harrow’s asinine plan, Gideon was all that Rune accused him of and more.
Sickening.
A stupid brute.
He deserved to lose her.
FIFTY-TWO
RUNE
THE NORTH WIND WHIPPED Rune’s hair across her cheeks. Lady’s hooves kicked the dirt of the country laneways. Fields and bogs and forests blurred at the edges of her vision.
I want all of you, Rune. Not just tonight, but every moment from now on.
She felt feverish. Possessed. Unable to stop thinking about what she and Gideon had done. About the possibilities she’d let herself want.
I am such a fool!
Rune couldn’t shake off the memory of his mouth trailing reverently down her body, or the tenderness in his voice as he whispered sweet things in the dark.
I’m scared, too, he’d told her.
We could trust each other, he’d said. As if he’d meant every word.
She let the tears fall as she rode, letting the wind dry them. She pushed Lady harder, wanting to kill the thing inside her that bloomed at Gideon’s touch. Wanting to put him behind her forever.
Rune had known all along that he was hunting her. That he wanted her dead. Gideon was nothing more than a cruel boy who liked to kill witches.
Sweet Mercy, why does this hurt so much?
Suddenly, Lady slowed. Rune palmed the tears from her eyes and looked up. She hadn’t even realized the destination she’d been riding toward until it loomed before her.
Thornwood Hall.
One of the stable hands saw her arrive and met her at the entrance to the house. Rune dismounted and handed him Lady’s reins, quickly taking the steps past the two marble lions and through the doors.
Alex was in the hallway, speaking with a servant. The moment she appeared, he paused and turned toward her.