Alarmed by the instinct, she immediately leaned away instead. Trying to appear unbothered by everything spinning out of her control, she reached for the folded telegram Lizbeth left on the tray and started to unfold it.
“Is there a reason you abstain?” If she could keep him talking, it might prevent him from asking her questions.
“I don’t like not being in control of myself.”
“But isn’t that half the fun?” she asked, glancing at him.
He looked away, but not before his eyes darkened. “I might have agreed with you once.”
Rune lowered the telegram, curious. “Oh?”
“There was a time when I needed it to survive. Along with other, stronger substances.” His lip curled. “Or that’s what I told myself.”
Stronger substances? Rune wondered what those might be. Years ago, when the Sister Queens ruled, laudanum had been popular among Nan and her friends. Is that what he means?
“Alex could tell you all about it, I’m sure.”
Frustrated that she couldn’t enchant the truth out of him, she asked, “What if I want you to tell me about it?”
When he looked at her, his eyes were full of shadows.
He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he nodded to her telegram. “A love poem from one of your admirers?”
“Uh, no.” Rune glanced down, starting to read, and immediately frowned. “It’s …”
MISS RUNE WINTERS
WINTERSEA HOUSE
THE MINISTRY OF PUBLIC SAFETY IS DELIGHTED TO NAME YOU GUEST OF HONOR AT NEXT WEEK’S LUMINARIES DINNER. PLEASE PREPARE A SPEECH EXTOLLING THE NOBLE VIRTUES OF THE REPUBLIC. SEE YOU THURSDAY NEXT.
AILA WOODS
PUBLIC SAFETY MINISTER
Rune felt her legs go numb.
The Luminaries Dinner was a monthly tribute to heroes of the revolution, intended to bolster loyalty to the regime. Rune had planned to skip it this time because the last one had been so hard to stomach.
As she read the telegram again, her heart sank.
If she declined to be their guest of honor, the Tribunal would see it as disloyalty.
She had to accept.
Not only did she have no time to prepare a speech, but the Luminaries Dinner always required the worst kind of pretending. She would have to act proud of what she’d done. Have to feign ambivalence about the violent loss of the person she loved most. Her speech would cheer on the Republic while calling for more purgings, and denounce the evil of witches in their midst.
She would spit on Nan’s memory yet again.
In the beginning, pretending had been easier. Rune could push down her anger and grief. But the more fealty she swore to the New Republic, the more witches she failed to save, the harder it became.
If there weren’t a hundred other reasons to despise Gideon Sharpe, this would be sufficient: he didn’t have to hide who he was. He didn’t have to pretend to hate the things he truly loved.
If she didn’t loathe him so much, she might envy him.
Rune fell back into the cushions. “Wasn’t Lola Parsons supposed to be the guest of honor this month?”
Gideon’s brow furrowed as he glanced from her to the telegram. “The Guard took Lola into custody last week.” He gently took the paper from her, scanning its contents. “One of her servants reported a casting signature in her cellar. She denies it, but we believe she was harboring a witch.”
Oh.
“They’re asking you to be the guest of honor instead?”
Rune nodded, a little numbly.
His brow furrowed further. “And that’s a bad thing?”
Rune could feel the answer—the real one—surge up her throat.
Yes. I can’t stand it any longer. If I have to toast the villains who murdered my grandmother one more time, I’m going to set them all on fire.
Her answer—the absolute truth of the situation—swelled on her tongue, pushing at the roof of her mouth. She could feel it slipping past her teeth …
No no no no no.
Panicking, Rune tried to think of any other reason this invite should upset her. If she could push out a smaller truth before the more dangerous one escaped, she might subvert the spell.
“I don’t have a dress to wear!”
Gideon drew back, startled by the outburst.
Rune clamped her mouth shut to prevent the real reason from escaping. But it subsided—for now, at least.
He raised one dark brow. “Is that all?”
Curse him.
The surge began again—because no; it was not all. Truth Teller was drawing the words from her depths, like water from a well.
I hate this horrible Republic. I would burn it to the ground if I could. But if I don’t play along, girls like me will continue to die.