Rune stared in horror at Verity, who’d never told her any of this.
Seeing the way her friend trembled, Rune reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “That’s awful.”
Verity’s grip tightened on Rune, her knuckles turning bone white. “He would lock them up for days. Beat their bare backs with belts. Force them to kneel for hours on broken glass.” As if reliving the scenes, Verity dug her fingernails into Rune’s skin.
“The worst of it was, my mother let him. She’d lost our baby sister in childbirth years before, and never recovered from her grief. My stepfather used her fragile state against her, convincing her that my sisters were wicked to their cores. So when she heard their screams, she did nothing. She sided with him over her own daughters.”
And then she handed those daughters over to the Blood Guard, thought Rune.
No wonder Verity hated her parents. This was why she wore herself down to keep her scholarship—so she’d never have to go home or be at their mercy.
But …
Ouch.
Rune glanced down to see her friend’s fingernails about to break her skin. “Verity, you’re hurting me.”
For a moment, it seemed like Verity wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. But she shook her head and let go. “S-sorry.”
Rune pulled her hand toward her chest, studying the little half-moon marks in her skin. “It’s all right. You’re upset.”
“My sisters weren’t corrupt,” said Verity, her eyes pleading with Rune to believe her. “They weren’t abominations. Witches have been using each other’s blood to amplify their spells for centuries. There’s nothing wrong with what they did.”
Verity nodded to the book on Rune’s desk, lying open to Earth Sunderer.
“That spell, for example. No witch can cast something this powerful using solely her own blood. She’d seriously hurt herself.”
Your sisters weren’t using each other’s blood against their will, though, Rune wanted to point out. Which was the accusation Gideon had made against the queens.
But Verity was distressed by the memory. And Rune couldn’t blame her. So she let it go.
“Come on,” said Rune, grabbing the blood vial she’d come in here to get, then eyeing the dress hanging over Verity’s arm—one of last season’s fashions. “Let’s find you something better to wear.”
THIRTY-SIX
GIDEON
THE SUN HAD SET by the time Gideon arrived on Freshwater Street. Harrow rode atop a borrowed horse beside him.
After finding the Taskers’ apartment empty, Gideon led them here, to the entertainment district of town, whose establishments the brothers liked to frequent. Gideon intended to ask around in the hopes that someone had seen them.
The entertainment district was the capital’s underbelly, known for its brothels, gambling dens, and drunken brawls. Normally, the atmosphere lit up the street like a carnival, but now the district was eerily quiet. Up ahead, a hushed crowd gathered outside of an alleyway.
Harrow’s gaze cut to Gideon, whose eyes narrowed on the sight.
Their horses fidgeted beneath them as they approached, smelling the stench of death before they did. Swinging down from the saddle, Gideon left his horse several yards away, and dispersed the gawking crowd as he strode through it.
Harrow followed him in.
The alley marked the space between two beer parlors and was lit dimly by only the streetlamps and a lantern on the ground. The latter seemed to belong to the elderly man standing over a blanket concealing two large shapes.
The smell of blood was thick in the air, making Gideon nauseous. Pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose, he approached.
“I was taking out the trash when I found them,” said the man, his shoulders hunched like a crow. “It seemed wrong to let them lie here like this. So I …” He motioned to the blanket.
“Mind if I take a look?”
The man nodded for him to go ahead.
Gideon bent down and peeled back the blanket. Despite seeing dozens of scenes like this one in the past few months, he wasn’t prepared for what lay beneath.
The face of one of his officers stared up at him, but the hollow eyes and bloodless skin were anything but familiar. James Tasker’s mouth twisted in what appeared to be the state he’d died in: one of sheer terror.
Gideon forced himself to pull the blanket down further, his gaze descending to the Blood Guard’s neck, which was hacked open like a second gaping mouth. White bone shone in the mess of torn skin, tendons, and congealed blood. James’s spine appeared to be the only thing keeping his head attached to his body.