He hadn’t elaborated. And Rune had no way of knowing what the truth was. Perhaps he was being punished for some truly heinous deed. Or perhaps he was lying.
But Rune remembered the harrowed look in his eyes. The way he’d stepped sharply away at her approach, as if he thought, for a moment, that she was Cressida herself. And he was afraid.
Cress was like that: pretty from a distance, tempting you closer … It was only after she’d reeled you in that she revealed her true nature. But by then, it was too late. She was already eating you alive.
Rune shivered.
But there were two sides to every story. And since Cressida was dead and couldn’t tell hers, it was unfair to take Gideon at his word.
She banished all thought of him and finished dressing.
Pulling on a hooded sweater, she wondered if she should send a message to Verity. One of her ships was due to leave at dawn, and if she was successful tonight, she intended to put Seraphine on it. It would mean she wouldn’t make it to the Creeds’ party tonight. And if she didn’t, she would need Verity and Alex to come up with an alibi for her.
But to put that in a message risked the information falling into the wrong hands. So, she decided against it and rode straight for Seldom Harbor.
TWENTY-ONE
GIDEON
“RUNE WINTERS HAS NO casting scars,” Gideon told Harrow as they climbed the marble steps together.
Harrow arched a thin brow. “You certainly move fast.”
“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “I needed her measurements for a dress I’m making her.”
Harrow’s brow arched higher. “You, my brawny friend, are cleverer than I gave you credit for.”
They passed under the columned entrance and into Blood Guard headquarters. When it was still the Royal Library, this building preserved witch propaganda, histories full of lies, and entire floors of spell books. Gideon remembered the marble busts of notable witches that once lined the wings, as well as the gilt-framed paintings depicting the golden age of witches. All of it was gone, destroyed in the early days of the New Republic.
“If she doesn’t have scars, I can’t accuse her.”
“How closely did you look?”
Gideon thought back to the dark, boarded-up shop. To Rune’s nearly naked form, standing in the glow of his lamp.
“The lighting was poor, but trust me, I looked.”
His memory was like a faucet. Once he opened the valve even a little, he couldn’t stop everything from rushing out. The memory of her soft, white curves. The delicate lace of her bra. The scent of her skin …
Gideon had gotten very close to a nearly naked Rune. And he had looked. There was nothing to find.
“She’s flawless.”
“She was completely nude?” asked Harrow.
“What? No. You don’t do measurements in the nude.”
“Well, there’s your problem. The Crimson Moth won’t have casting scars where someone like you could find them. How do you think she’s escaped detection the past two years? You’ll need to get her good and naked.”
The words were a lightning strike. But Harrow was right. Rune hadn’t been entirely unclothed. And he’d inspected her quickly, in dim lighting.
Gideon ran a hand over his face.
How was he supposed to get Rune Winters naked?
“Maybe I won’t have to.”
Harrow rolled her eyes. “You have some other plan?”
They entered the atrium, which was encircled by a massive staircase spiraling to the top floor. Overhead, the glass-domed ceiling revealed a sky full of clouds. Holding up the dome were statues of the seven Ancients, chiseled out of marble. Liberty, with her gun held high. Mercy, with her arc of doves flying toward the glass. Wisdom, with an owl on her shoulder and an open book in her hands …
“Do you remember it?” asked Harrow, halting halfway to the stairs, standing now in the center of the atrium. Gideon turned to find her staring at a spot in the middle of the floor, where the tiles didn’t match.
“There used to be a tree that grew right here,” she said, going quiet. “It reached all the way to the fourth floor.”
Gideon nodded. Rioters had destroyed it, too, after the revolution. Hacking it apart, uprooting the stump, and burning it all.
“Every spring, it blossomed for a month straight. My mistress, Juniper, loved to come when the blossoms dropped. They would carpet the floor in a sea of white.” Harrow swallowed, lost in the memory. “She said that Amity herself planted it here and centuries later, people built the library around it.”