Most important of all: Alex needed to know that Cressida was alive. That he hadn’t killed her. He would have to watch his back going forward.
Gideon grabbed his coat.
Thornwood Hall was only a house. And he was sick of cowering.
FORTY-THREE
GIDEON
GIDEON STOOD IN THE rain, staring at the arched doors flanked by two roaring lions made of stone. The rain soaked his hair and dampened his clothes, making him colder by the second. But a deeper cold lived in his bones.
He couldn’t make his legs move. Couldn’t order his body to carry him into the house.
I was wrong.
I can’t do this.
He was about to turn around and leave, already planning the apologetic telegram he would send Alex tomorrow, when Rune’s words seeped in through the chill. Like the first spring day after a harsh winter.
You are not the things that happened to you, Gideon.
Her voice summoned something from beneath the nightmares. Something stronger than the pull of the past. It was a kick of adrenaline, a shot of courage.
Gideon drew in a deep breath and walked into the damned house.
The same sapphire carpets lined the floor. The same floral wallpaper adorned the walls. The air still smelled faintly of Cress’s magic, too. Like blood and roses. The scent was stale and cloying.
As Alex’s manservant escorted him through the halls of Thornwood, Gideon felt like he was walking backward in time. His muscles tensed as scenes from the past rose like mist before his eyes. But all he had to do was think of Rune, and the awful things would fade.
When they arrived at the parlor, Gideon made his way to the round table near the fire, where half a dozen young men sat playing cards, coins piled in the middle. He saw Noah Creed and Bart Wentholt and several other familiar faces.
His brother’s back was to him.
“Gideon Sharpe!” Bart’s red hair shone in the firelight as he motioned Gideon over to an empty chair. “What exceptional timing. Alex, deal him in.”
Gideon sat and he shrugged off his coat. Across the table, Alex smiled brightly as he shuffled and counted out cards, apparently happy to see him. Leaning back in his chair, Gideon couldn’t help but notice all the ways he admired his little brother.
Alex was appropriately social, for one thing. He had friends whom he invited over, and whose invitations he accepted. He knew how to hold polite conversations with all sorts of people. He never growled or glared or got into fights … except for that one time he punched Gideon in the ring—but that had been Gideon’s fault.
Alex dressed and danced well. He used the correct utensil for each course of a meal, served the kinds of wines that impressed his guests, and knew the meaning of devotion. Even upon dropping out of school—something Gideon wished he’d fought harder to prevent—Alex had never stopped practicing his music.
After the revolution, it was Alex who stayed by Gideon for weeks, helping him fight off his laudanum addiction. Alex didn’t leave Gideon’s side until he no longer shook with the cravings.
Gideon didn’t know what he would do without his little brother.
If Rune Winters was truly in the market for a husband, she could do no better than Alexander Sharpe.
That thought put a sour taste in his mouth.
Before swallowing it down, he let himself wonder: What if Alex weren’t in love with her? Would I stop pretending, and court her in truth?
For a second, he let himself imagine it. He’d have to attend her parties. Learn how to dance to her songs. Spend less time in Old Town, and more time at Wintersea.
He could do that. Those were small prices to pay for the luxury of going on long walks in the woods with her. Or the privilege of arguing with her. Or the rare gift of seeing that wild girl she kept hidden beneath the surface.
It doesn’t matter. His knuckles bunched. Because it will only ever be pretend—or not at all.
“Gideon?” Bart slid three copper coins toward the center of the table. “You in?”
Torn out of his fantasy, Gideon nodded.
“I’m in.” He pulled a money pouch from the pocket of his coat, grabbed three copper coins, and threw them into the center of the table.
As Alex dealt the cards, Gideon noticed a pale line of untanned skin at the base of his smallest finger, where a ring usually rested.
Our mother’s ring, he remembered. Gideon had given it to Alex after their parents’ funeral.
Something Harrow had said flashed in his mind.
An hour before it set sail, there was last-minute cargo brought on board: two barrels of wine delivered by an aristo.
The man had worn a ring on his smallest finger.