It broke something in her, feeling him weep. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.
At her touch, Alex shook harder.
Rune held on, letting him cry himself to sleep in her arms. When the thunder quieted and the rain stopped, the moon came out from behind the clouds, spilling silvery light across the bed. Rune watched her sleeping friend, tempted to stay—for his sake.
But she couldn’t. Not in this house.
When she was sure Alex slept deeply and there was no danger of waking him, she carefully untangled herself from his arms. With the storm over, she quickly dressed, borrowed a cloak and a horse, and rode back to Wintersea before the sun rose.
FORTY-TWO
GIDEON
“WE’LL REINSTATE A CURFEW,” said Nicolas Creed, rising from his desk. “Put more Blood Guard soldiers on the streets. Recommence the raids and interrogate anyone who so much as seems suspicious, even if you have no proof. We must ensure people understand the severity of this situation. If they’re fearful enough, they’ll comply.”
Gideon, who’d just delivered his report on Cressida, glanced up into the Good Commander’s face. “Normally I’d agree, sir.”
Nicolas raised a brow. “You don’t?”
“The curfews and raids were unpopular during the Red Peace. Not only will these measures make witch sympathizers more supportive of Cressida’s cause, they may turn more citizens against us. People don’t like their rights infringed upon, sir.”
Nicolas stepped out from behind his desk. For a moment, Gideon noticed how much the man had aged. The lines creasing his mentor’s face weren’t there two years ago; nor was the gray streaking his hair.
“Walk with me? I have a Tribunal meeting in a few minutes.”
Gideon nodded, and fell in line beside him, remembering the Nicolas from two years ago: someone who’d gotten into the ring with Gideon long after the boxing club closed and stayed there until dawn, never letting him quit. Believing in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.
Back then, Cressida had broken Gideon so completely, there was nothing good left. He was at the bottom of a well, with no way to climb out. And though Nicolas tried again and again to lower a rope, it never seemed long enough.
After a particularly bad night, when Gideon refused to get up from the floor of the ring, Nicolas got down next to him.
I’m not going to give up. Nicolas’s eyes shone as they stared into Gideon’s. I’m not going to walk away. I’m going to stay right here for as long as it takes. Do you hear me?
Why? he asked.
Nicolas Creed was a stranger. He didn’t have to care about some dead tailor’s son.
Get up and find out.
Gideon didn’t believe he was worth saving—he was too far gone for that. But as he stared back at Nicolas, he wondered if it was possible to believe in this man. To trust whatever Nicolas saw when he peered beyond the broken mess other people couldn’t see past as they looked at Gideon.
Maybe he could replace the voice in his head—the one that said he was worthless, disgusting, better off dead—with Nicolas’s voice.
So that’s what he did.
He used this man’s belief in him like a crutch. It took months. But, little by little, Nicolas’s faith in Gideon became indistinct from his own. Soon, Gideon stopped letting his opponents beat him into oblivion. He started getting back up and hitting back harder and better. He started believing that just maybe there was something worth fighting for.
“I take your point about infringing on their liberties,” said Nicolas, breaking through Gideon’s thoughts as they strode through the west wing of the palace, down its gaslit halls, and toward the throne room. Soldiers strode ahead and behind them, guarding the Commander. “A good leader cares deeply about those he’s responsible for. Again and again, you’ve shown yourself to be that kind of leader.”
Surprised by the praise, Gideon’s chest swelled.
“Sadly, though, people don’t always know what’s best for them. Sometimes they need us to step in and protect them from themselves.”
Gideon couldn’t exactly disagree with this. If Nicolas hadn’t intervened in his own life two years ago, he’d still be lying on the floor of the boxing ring wishing he were dead.
Maybe he’d even be dead.
“A good leader is brave enough to make the hard choices others don’t want to make,” continued Nicolas. “He does it for the sake of the good. He does it to protect the innocent. This is his duty.”
“I agree.”