“No.”

When Gideon caught up to her, a heavy silence hung between them. If this Juniper hadn’t been purged, then the witch was still out there, somewhere. He wondered if her memory haunted Harrow the way Cressida’s memory haunted him.

“Is she the one who …?” Gideon pointed to his ear.

Harrow reached to touch the place where her ear used to be, before a witch had cut it off.

“No. But neither did she stop it.”

What other kinds of cruelty had Harrow suffered at the hands of witches? And how could she not know—or care—if her former mistress was dead or alive?

But Harrow clearly didn’t want to discuss it further, because she changed the subject.

“You were talking about your plan to entrap Rune Winters. The one that doesn’t involve getting her naked. How is that going to work?”

Their footsteps echoed in unison as they climbed to the second floor, where Gideon’s office lay.

“I gave Rune bad information this morning.”

Harrow glanced over at him. “Oh?”

“I told her the location of a holding cell for witches near Seldom Harbor.”

“And that’s bad?”

“There’s no holding cell near Seldom Harbor. Just a trap waiting for the Crimson Moth.”

Harrow’s golden eyes widened. As this sank in, she smiled, impressed.

“And you think Rune will show up there.”

“I don’t know. If she does, I’ll have my fugitive. But even if someone else shows up instead, I’ll know Rune is in league with the Moth—since she’s the only person I gave the location to.”

“And if no one shows up?”

Gideon sighed. “Then I abandon this false trail, break things off with Rune …”

And hope my little brother finds his balls.

OceanofPDF.com

TWENTY-TWO RUNE

THE OLD MINE NEAR Seldom Harbor stood on a small clifftop a hundred meters above sea level, sagging beneath the weight of a century.

Rune came prepared with an invisibility spell already drawn on her forearm in blood. She called it Ghost Walker, and it was her most-used spell on nights like this, one she’d created herself using a combination of two symbols she’d found in one of Nan’s books. The symbols for emptiness and evasion. It didn’t make her disappear so much as nudge a person’s attention away from her.

She dismounted Lady a quarter mile up the dirt road. Leaving the horse to graze in a small copse of trees, Rune headed toward the mine, which was silhouetted by the light of a silver moon.

The wind and sea salt stung Rune’s eyes—the only part of her face left uncovered. Dressed entirely in black, she’d hidden her hair beneath a hood, and covered her mouth and nose with a snug cowl. A fitted black shirt and leggings concealed the rest of her, along with calf-high leather boots.

The lantern hanging in the entryway swung in the gusty wind, scattering its light across the Blood Guard standing sentry. As Rune drew nearer to the stone building, she saw that the guard on duty was none other than Laila Creed.

With her spell cloaking her, Rune pulled out a slender silver whistle no wider than a fountain pen from the hidden pocket in her clothes. The same pocket contained her last full vial of blood.

Drawing closer to Laila, she put the cold metal to her lips and blew three short, hard notes. The notes were too high-pitched for Laila’s ears, but Lady heard them immediately.

Lady had once been Nan’s favorite show horse. Nan trained her to respond to different whistled commands, and her obedience had won them dozens of ribbons over the years.

In the darkness, sounding closer than she was, Lady whinnied.

Hearing it, Laila grabbed the pistol at her hip, eyes narrowing. Her gaze bounced off the space where Rune stood and turned toward the sound.

That’s right, thought Rune. Go check. Better to be safe.

Glancing back to the mine’s entryway—a sun-bleached door speckled with lichen—Laila strode hesitantly into the dark.

Rune opened the door and stepped inside.

The entrance to the mine was a small room with wood-paneled walls and two small windows—one of which was broken. The old floorboards shifted beneath her footsteps, and in the center of the floor was a hole big enough for two burly men to drop into. A ladder protruded out of it.

When she peered in, all she could see was darkness below.

Rune frowned, her skin prickling. The Blood Guard had been getting more and more creative with their holding locations, which made it more difficult for Rune to guess where they were keeping captured witches. Normally, though, there were more guards than this.

Crouching, she tried to see down into the first level of the mine and caught a shimmer of light in the distance.

Someone’s there.

Still, Rune hesitated, unable to shake the feeling that something was off. But if Seraphine was down there and Rune walked away right now, they would transfer her to the palace tonight, and Rune might never get another chance to save her.

And if they’d already transferred her …

I’ll just go down and look around.

Rune touched the small knife she’d strapped onto her thigh, drawing courage from its freshly honed steel. With her feet on the rungs, still cloaked by her Ghost Walker spell, she lowered herself into the darkness.

It got colder and damper the lower she went, and the ladder rungs were slick beneath her hands. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she let go and turned into the pitch black, her gaze seeking the warm glow in the distance.

There was a rush of air. Movement in the dark.

The hair on her nape rose. Trap, said her brain, seconds before her body caught up.

Rune spun to grab the ladder and haul herself up, when a hand seized her wrist and clamped down with viselike strength.

“Gotcha.”

Rune swung with her fist, but the darkness made her assailant as invisible as she was, and she missed his face.

Before she could try again, he seized her other wrist and forced her to her knees. Rune quailed at the strength in him as he easily wrestled her to the ground, pressing her cheek into the cold rock and pinning her there with his knees on either side of her hips.

Immobilizing her.

The smell of fresh-cut cedar and gunpowder overwhelmed her.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day.”

The voice was unmistakable.

Gideon.

White-hot anger burned in her breast. He’d set her up. Baited the trap and waited for her to step into it.

I am such a fool.

And now he had her pinned. Defenseless. Exactly where he wanted her.

But how did he see her?

He doesn’t, she realized. This level was so dark, he couldn’t see anything. Neither of them could. He must have heard Rune coming down the ladder.

If she survived this, she would need to tweak her spell to muffle her sound.

“Your friend isn’t here.”

I gathered that, yes, thought Rune, crushed beneath his weight. He’d planted both palms on her shoulder blades, immobilizing her. Her hands were still free, but because of the way he pinned her, she couldn’t use them to reach for her knife.

“Someone got your tongue, little Moth?”

No way was Rune talking. If it was too dark for him to see her, she might still have a chance of keeping her identity intact. She’d have to wait for him to let her up before she tried anything. He couldn’t keep her pinned forever.

And if he has a lamp?

Ghost Walker kept Rune shielded so long as someone didn’t know she was there, by nudging their attention away from her. The spell could try its hardest to force Gideon’s gaze away, but he was sitting on top of Rune. He knew exactly where she was. Her spell could no longer deceive him.