When Laila was out of earshot, Harrow reached for Gideon’s arm, stopping him from entering the shop. “How did things go with Rune? Did you get what you needed from her?”
Gideon winced. This was not a conversation he wanted to have right now.
“I changed my mind.”
Harrow slit her eyes. “What?”
“About Rune. It makes no sense. If she was secretly saving witches, why would Cressida have tried to kill her the other night? The simplest explanation is that we were wrong. She isn’t a witch.”
And I can’t sleep with the girl my brother is in love with.
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe not.”
“Harrow—”
“Hear me out.” She held up a slim hand. “The Crimson Moth doesn’t kill witches; she saves them, right?”
He crossed his arms, waiting for her point.
“The other night, the Good Commander gave her no choice but to kill Seraphine when he called Rune to the platform and handed her a purging knife. If Rune is the Moth, she would never purge another witch, and it was a matter of seconds before everyone watching realized. Cressida’s spell could have just as easily been a diversion. It interrupted the purging, preventing Rune from revealing herself while also making her look like a target. The two are just as likely to be in league with each other.”
Gideon frowned, not liking how much sense this made.
“Or,” he argued, “Rune isn’t a witch, and Cressida interceded to stop her from killing Seraphine.”
“But you can’t know for certain which it is, can you? Not until you sleep with Rune and find her scars.”
The words planted a seed of doubt inside Gideon. He didn’t want it there. He wanted to dig it up and stomp on it.
“Catching the Crimson Moth is no longer the priority,” he told her. “We need to find Cressida and put a stop to whatever she’s planning.”
“Why are you suddenly so reluctant to see this through?” said Harrow, her gaze searching him. “If Rune is the Moth, and the Moth is in league with Cressida, catching the former will help you put a stop to the latter.”
That seed of doubt sprouted into a full-fledged weed, spreading through him, choking out his defenses. Harrow’s logic was sound, and it worried Gideon that he’d considered none of this.
Suddenly, Harrow barked a laugh.
“Oh, Comrade. Tell me you didn’t.” Gideon glanced over and found her eyes crinkling. “This is a twist I didn’t expect!”
“What are you on about?” He turned back toward the print shop, heading for the door.
“You went and fell in love with that pretty little socialite.”
Gideon flinched, halting at the shop entrance.
Harrow stepped lightly around him, smirking as she entered the shop. “Why else would you give up so easily?”
Gideon’s hands fisted.
What if she was right? What if this game he’d been playing with Rune—and the feelings she evoked in him—had compromised his ability to think? He begrudgingly followed Harrow inside, stepping around the soldiers ransacking the print shop, searching boxes and cabinets and closets.
“It’s equally possible that we suspect the wrong girl,” said Gideon, keeping his voice down. “Rune might not be a witch.”
A mocking smile twisted her mouth. “If she’s not a witch, how did she melt your frozen heart?”
“Who has a frozen heart?” Laila asked, polishing her pistol as she rejoined them.
“No one,” said Gideon, moving up the stairs.
Harrow smirked harder.
Both Laila and Harrow followed him into the back room, where the ring of candles burned and Cressida’s signature still glimmered in the air.
“Who are we talking about?” he heard Laila ask.
“Focus,” snapped Gideon. “Cressida Roseblood is alive and hatching some plot. We need to know how many witches she’s gathering at these meetings and what, exactly, they’re about.”
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.”