Rune mentally pinched herself. What am I doing? She needed to pretend his verbal jabs went over her head, not jab him with sharper ones. Let him insult you. Remember why you’re here.
Wrestling her pride into a cage, she smiled innocently up at him.
He studied her, a bit warily. Seeming to decide he’d misheard her, he returned his attention to the opera.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Clearly Gideon considered her not only worthy of insulting, but too stupid to realize she’d even been insulted. Ordinarily, she would use this to her advantage. But as he turned away, crossing his arms and staring hard at the stage, she realized he was closing himself off from her, not opening himself up.
Her presence was vexing him. Like it had the first day they met.
He hates parties, Alex had warned her. But it was the best move in Rune’s playbook. The most effective way to lower a man’s defenses was to ply him with her enchanted wine, get him alone, and flirt until the spell loosened his tongue enough to spill the secrets she needed.
Rune tapped her knee with her fingertips, trying to think.
She’d seen the way Gideon lit up at the sight of his brother. Rune had ceased to exist the moment Alex stepped out of that alcove. The Sharpe brothers might be opposites who disagreed on everything important, but something nameless and deep bound the two boys to each other. It wasn’t the first time Rune had seen it.
“Alex would love it if you came.”
Gideon tensed beside her. “You must not know my brother well if you think my presence in your home would cheer him.”
Rune frowned, trying to untangle the words. What did he mean?
“And as I said, some of us have better things to do with our time.”
Before she could try again from another angle, a shadow fell across them. Gideon looked up and shot to his feet. “Harrow. Finally. I thought I was going to have to watch this damned thing to the end.”
“It might have done you some good,” responded a feminine voice. “Isn’t that the point of art—to tame the monsters in us?”
Rune’s attention snagged on the question. It was a line from one of her favorite operas.
Squinting through the darkness, Rune tried to make out the identity of the speaker, but the ushers had snuffed all the lights on this level. She could see neither this girl’s face nor her clothes. Nothing that might give her away.
“You’ve been reading too many fairy tales,” said Gideon, stepping over Rune with his long legs. “You’ll have to excuse me, Citizen Winters. Have fun at your … party.” There was no mistaking the sneer in his voice.
Rune turned her head, watching the two of them walk out of the box, speaking in low voices. The moment they were gone, she squeezed her hand into a fist.
Failed again.
Leaning her head back against the velvet headrest, she ran both palms down her cheeks. She was losing valuable time. Rune needed to find Seraphine’s location—preferably tonight. And she couldn’t keep stalking Gideon Sharp, or he was bound to get suspicious. Which is the last thing I need. Gideon had gotten to Seraphine first on the night Rune was due to arrive at the home of his prey.
It might be a coincidence. Or it might not.
Gideon had seemed convinced by her performance, though. If someone was spying on Rune, she doubted it was him. But she remembered the suspicion in Laila Creed’s questions earlier and had to consider the possibility that her enemies were closing in on her.
Rune sank further into her seat, trying not to think about the witch hunters currently surrounding her in this opera box.
If they are closing in, how can I throw them off my scent?
Her mind was a murky bog of exhaustion, tugging her thoughts down into the muck. Whenever she felt like this, she found Verity, whose sharp questions always sparked Rune’s imagination, like a poker stoking a dying fire. Verity was the Crimson Moth’s second-in-command. She came up with as many plans as Rune did and helped implement them.
So, when the actress onstage finished her aria, Rune hauled herself to her feet, pushed aside the balcony curtain, and went to find her friend.
SEVEN
GIDEON
RUNE WINTERS.
Every time Gideon looked at the young heiress, she reminded him of the sea: steal-your-breath beautiful on the surface, with the promise of untold depths beneath.
Whenever she opened her mouth, however, and he listened to the ridiculous things pouring out—at dinner tables, in parlor rooms, in the halls of the wealthy and popular—he remembered anew how deceptive looks could be.
There were no hidden depths to Rune Winters. Only surface, surface, and more surface.