The two brothers were also the sons of the Sharpe Duet—a pair of lovers who started as humble tailors during the Reign of Witches. When their work caught the eye of the Sister Queens, Alex and Gideon’s parents were recruited by the Roseblood family to become the royal dressmakers, launching them to short-lived fame. Both died that same year, right before the revolution.
Anyone in fashionable circles still fell reverently quiet whenever someone spoke the dressmakers’ names.
“And?” Alex was saying, his voice a little strained. “Was your hunt successful?”
Gideon sighed and ran a hand roughly through his damp hair. “Despite an unfortunate incident, yes. We have the witch in custody.”
He’s speaking of Seraphine.
Rune felt her mask slip further as she remembered the torn clothes discarded in the mud. Had he and the others laughed as they stripped the garments off of the woman’s back? She thought of the red X smeared across Seraphine’s door, knowing whose blood he spilled to mark it.
Like a deer shaking off the paralyzing fear of its hunter, Rune reached for her voice, ironing out the hatred before speaking.
“What kind of unfortunate incident?”
Gideon glanced over, as if surprised she was still standing there.
He paused, reconsidering her.
This time, Rune studied him back, letting her gaze roam over him. The fit of his red uniform hinted at a hard, efficient form beneath. No softness. No warmth. Just unyielding muscle and strength, like an impenetrable fortress.
He had a strong, cruel mouth, and his black hair was still wet from the rain, or possibly a shower. And though he must have run himself as ragged as she had hunting down Seraphine, he stood before her polished and clean, from the pistol at his hip to the brass buckles on his boots, making Rune wonder if he had scrubbed off the blood with the same precision as his parents once sewed their elaborate garments for the queens.
The only disorderly thing about him were the knuckles on his right hand. They were red and raw, as if from pummeling something.
Or someone.
Rune’s blood burned beneath her skin. Afraid he would see the fury in her eyes, she peered up through her eyelashes, knowing the effect it had on other young men.
“I dearly hope you weren’t harmed in this … incident?”
He seemed about to answer her when the sudden, final chime of the intermission bells cut him off.
All three of them looked to find the grand foyer transformed around them. Without the socializing crowds, its emptiness loomed large. The chandeliers overhead suddenly seemed too big and too bright, and the painted ceiling more glorious than their insignificant selves deserved.
The ushers began turning out the gaslights, casting annoyed looks in their direction. Beyond the auditorium doors, the orchestra started to play.
Taking the hint, Gideon began backing away from his brother. “I have the ring booked for tomorrow night. Want to go a few rounds?”
Alex nodded. “Sure. That would be nice.”
Before turning, Gideon glanced from Alex to Rune to the alcove they’d both come out of. His lips parted ever so slightly, and something dawned in his eyes. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself and strode off.
Alex blew out a breath.
Rune swore quietly. She had let him intimidate her and found her courage too late, botching her chance to get the information she needed.
Her hands curled into fists. She needed to remedy this, and fast. She only had so much time before they transferred Seraphine to the palace prison.
Smoothing down her gown, she replaced the snarl on her face with a sweet smile, preparing to slip into the role she’d grown so good at playing these past two years. Seeing it, Alex reached for her. “Rune, don’t …”
She stepped out of his grasp.
“Rune.”
He didn’t follow as she stalked after his brother. Her silk shoes barely made a sound on the mosaicked floor of the foyer, giving Gideon no inkling that he was being tracked. For now, their roles had reversed. Rune was the predator; he was the prey. And she was closing in on him.
At the far end of the hall, where the arches of the loggia framed the foggy city outside, Gideon turned and headed up a staircase. One that led to the box reserved for Blood Guard members.
A moment later, Rune followed.
Hitching her skirts, she ran up the steps, shoved aside the velvet curtains at the top, and stepped out onto the darkened balcony and into a sea of red.
It was teeming with witch hunters.
Rune hesitated.
She was the Crimson Moth—a wanted criminal, not to mention a witch, hiding in plain sight. But this wouldn’t be the first time she had walked into a space full of the people who hunted her kind. She’d done it hundreds of times before without batting an eye.