Gideon tensed. This had always been a sore spot between him and Alex. His brother wanted nothing to do with the hunting and purging of witches. He’d made that clear these past two years, and Gideon no longer pressed him on it.
Their shared past haunted them both in different ways. Alex wanted to forget; Gideon couldn’t afford to.
“Alex isn’t interested in spy work.”
“Mmm. I guess you’ll have to do it yourself, then.”
Gideon glanced up. “Do what myself?”
“I can’t walk among them. Me in one of those fancy gowns, jewels dripping from my fingers?” Harrow turned her face to give him a perfect view of the side of her head where an ear should be but wasn’t, making it perfectly obvious why she didn’t belong in marble ballrooms, eating off gold-rimmed plates. “But you can.”
“What are you proposing? That I befriend Rune Winters?”
“More than that, Comrade.” Harrow’s grin widened, and there was mischief in it. “You should woo her.”
He nearly choked. “You’re not serious.”
The idea made him break out in a sweat.
Harrow leaned in. “You don’t make friends, Gideon. Not easily, anyway. Certainly not with people like Rune. You do, however, collect admirers. Whether or not you notice them.”
“She called me a stupid brute.”
Harrow’s mouth snagged in a crooked smile, as if this delighted her. “Sounds like a girl after my own heart.”
“I’m serious. I have nothing to offer her. When girls like Rune pick out their future husbands, people like me don’t make their lists.”
“You might be surprised.”
A cold horror crept over Gideon as he forced himself to consider it.
If Rune was the Crimson Moth, she was a master of disguise, and the only way to catch her was to play the same game she was playing.
There was only one problem.
Alex.
If Gideon did as Harrow suggested, presenting himself as one of Rune’s many suitors, he’d be moving in on his little brother’s crush. That’s how it would look, at least.
All of Gideon’s instincts rebelled against it.
But if Rune was the Moth, not only did he have a duty to take her down, he had a duty to protect his brother from her. If he hurt Alex in this process, so be it. It was a price he’d have to live with.
He hadn’t saved Alex from one witch only to let him fall prey to another.
It was this—his brother, in danger—that forced his hand.
Gideon ran calloused fingers roughly through his hair, thinking back to the opera box, wincing at the cruel way he’d spoken to Rune. “There’s another problem.”
Harrow placed her elbow on the table and settled her cheek on her fist. “Tell me.”
“I insulted her tonight. She invited me to her party, and I snubbed her.”
The corner of Harrow’s mouth twitched, as if she found Gideon squirming like a bug in a sticky web the funniest thing she’d seen all day.
She tapped her fingertips against the fuzzed brown hair of her undercut. “There’s an obvious solution, but you won’t like it.”
Gideon nodded for her to go on.
“You need to get yourself to that party and back into her good graces.”
“I need to grovel, you mean.”
“Yes. But you can’t just walk in there and say you’re sorry. You need to prove that you mean it. If you’re going to be a genuine contender for Rune Winters’ heart, you need to beat out the competition.”
He gritted his teeth at the thought.
Harrow leaned in. Even her eyes were laughing at him.
“The question is, Comrade: how are you going to do that?”
EIGHT
RUNE
MINORA: （n.） a category of small to medium spells.
Minora Spells require a witch’s fresh blood. Old blood will typically not work and may cause painful consequences for the witch. Exceptions can be made when using the blood of another. Examples of Minora Spells include: closing a door from across the room or lighting a candle without a match.
—From Rules of Magic by Queen Callidora the Valiant
HER GRANDMOTHER’S SPELL BOOKS stared down from the musty old shelves of the casting room.
“Your supply is low,” said Verity, running her fingers along the corked glass vials that hung on the opposite wall. Of the six vials, four were empty and two were full; one contained Rune’s blood, the other Verity’s.
“I know,” said Rune from her casting desk, where she was tracing the mark for a spell called Truth Teller onto the bottom of a ceramic cup. Her guests would be here within the hour, and she needed to be ready. “But my cycle doesn’t start for another two weeks.”