Heartless Hunter (Crimson Moth, #1) (78)

“When Gideon found out I’d attended the meeting, he was furious. Those caught plotting against the Sister Queens disappeared and never resurfaced, he told me. No one knew what happened to them. I told Gideon if he wanted to keep me safe, he’d have to come to the meetings with me. So, begrudgingly, he did.

“After a few weeks, he started drinking and fighting less. A few weeks after that, he volunteered to lead an armed resistance into the palace alongside Nicolas. I wanted to go with him, but he refused. He saw me as the little brother who needed to be spared from hard things. Not his equal. Not someone he could trust to shoulder his burdens or watch his back.

“We had a huge fight about it and parted on bad terms. As Gideon and Nicolas led the others into the palace, I went to Thornwood Hall with a loaded pistol. I knew Cressida rarely left her private residence. And this was one thing I could do for my brother. A way I could protect him, for once.”

Alex fell into silence. As if this was as much of the story as he could tell. His arms were still around Rune, her body tucked against his. She could feel his heart drumming against her shoulder blade.

After several minutes, she said: “Don’t you find it hard to sleep in this house, knowing what happened here?”

“Why do you think I’m selling it?” he said. “Gideon inherited Thornwood Hall after the fall of the Reign of Witches. He wanted nothing to do with this house, so he gave it to me. He never sets foot here, if he can help it. Not even to visit me.” Alex sighed, and his breath rustled her hair. “I’ve spent two years living here, trying to bring my brother back. But the Gideon I knew and loved … he’s gone, Rune. He’s not coming back.”

Seconds later, she felt him trembling behind her. Felt the hot splatter of a tear against her neck. Rune turned toward Alex, but it was too dark to see him.

It broke something in her, feeling him weep. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

At her touch, Alex shook harder.

Rune held on, letting him cry himself to sleep in her arms. When the thunder quieted and the rain stopped, the moon came out from behind the clouds, spilling silvery light across the bed. Rune watched her sleeping friend, tempted to stay—for his sake.

But she couldn’t. Not in this house.

When she was sure Alex slept deeply and there was no danger of waking him, she carefully untangled herself from his arms. With the storm over, she quickly dressed, borrowed a cloak and a horse, and rode back to Wintersea before the sun rose.





FORTY-TWO

GIDEON




“WE’LL REINSTATE A CURFEW,” said Nicolas Creed, rising from his desk. “Put more Blood Guard soldiers on the streets. Recommence the raids and interrogate anyone who so much as seems suspicious, even if you have no proof. We must ensure people understand the severity of this situation. If they’re fearful enough, they’ll comply.”

Gideon, who’d just delivered his report on Cressida, glanced up into the Good Commander’s face. “Normally I’d agree, sir.”

Nicolas raised a brow. “You don’t?”

“The curfews and raids were unpopular during the Red Peace. Not only will these measures make witch sympathizers more supportive of Cressida’s cause, they may turn more citizens against us. People don’t like their rights infringed upon, sir.”

Nicolas stepped out from behind his desk. For a moment, Gideon noticed how much the man had aged. The lines creasing his mentor’s face weren’t there two years ago; nor was the gray streaking his hair.

“Walk with me? I have a Tribunal meeting in a few minutes.”

Gideon nodded, and fell in line beside him, remembering the Nicolas from two years ago: someone who’d gotten into the ring with Gideon long after the boxing club closed and stayed there until dawn, never letting him quit. Believing in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.

Back then, Cressida had broken Gideon so completely, there was nothing good left. He was at the bottom of a well, with no way to climb out. And though Nicolas tried again and again to lower a rope, it never seemed long enough.

After a particularly bad night, when Gideon refused to get up from the floor of the ring, Nicolas got down next to him.

I’m not going to give up. Nicolas’s eyes shone as they stared into Gideon’s. I’m not going to walk away. I’m going to stay right here for as long as it takes. Do you hear me?

Why? he asked.

Nicolas Creed was a stranger. He didn’t have to care about some dead tailor’s son.

Get up and find out.

Gideon didn’t believe he was worth saving—he was too far gone for that. But as he stared back at Nicolas, he wondered if it was possible to believe in this man. To trust whatever Nicolas saw when he peered beyond the broken mess other people couldn’t see past as they looked at Gideon.

Maybe he could replace the voice in his head—the one that said he was worthless, disgusting, better off dead—with Nicolas’s voice.

So that’s what he did.

He used this man’s belief in him like a crutch. It took months. But, little by little, Nicolas’s faith in Gideon became indistinct from his own. Soon, Gideon stopped letting his opponents beat him into oblivion. He started getting back up and hitting back harder and better. He started believing that just maybe there was something worth fighting for.