Текст книги "Heartless hunter"

Автор книги: Kristen Ciccarelli

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

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.”

But Gideon also remembered Rune allowing Penitents to use her footpaths. In a choice between mercy and punishment, Rune chose mercy. What if Gideon could do the same? Perhaps there was a way to find and arrest Cressida without violating the rights of everyday citizens. Without making them live in fear of the Blood Guard.

Heading for the Commons, where the Tribunal met, Nicolas exited the hall and entered the throne room.

Gideon followed him in.

The throne room was darker than the lamplit halls, and their footsteps boomed through the empty space. Night darkened the stained-glass windows. The gilded pillars cast long shadows over the agate floors.

Three black thrones loomed in the distance. At the sight of them, a chill gripped the back of Gideon’s neck, squeezing like an icy hand.

That they were empty should have relieved him. The sight should have felt like a triumph over evil. Instead, it felt more like an absence longing to be filled. As if this room—those thrones—were waiting for their queens to return.

Gideon wanted to quicken his pace, to put the feeling behind him. But Nicolas stopped before the three seats of power, staring directly at them.

“The curfews, the raids, the interrogations—these are emergency measures. In an emergency, individual rights must sometimes be set aside until the danger has passed. You need to balance both things on the scales, Gideon: on one side is the temporary violation of rights to keep people safe; on the other is the very permanent possibility that Cressida Roseblood retakes her throne and exacts her revenge on us all.”

He turned to face Gideon. “Which is worse, in the long run?”

It wasn’t a question. Of course Cressida was worse.

Gideon studied his mentor. They were roughly the same height, and though Nicolas had a leaner build than Gideon, he was muscular. A fighter. Gideon wasn’t sure who would win in a boxing match these days.

Nicolas gripped Gideon’s shoulder. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become, and I trust your judgment. The choice is yours to make. Just remember: a great leader weighs the consequences of every decision, and must bear the weight of those consequences. So ask yourself: which consequences can you live with?”

Letting go, Nicolas rolled his shoulders as he glanced back at the thrones. As if the same icy hand gripped him, too, and he wanted to shake it off.

“Think it through,” he said, turning to leave. “Then let me know your decision.”

Gideon stared at the empty thrones.

They were a stark reminder of all he had fought for. If he didn’t act swiftly, if he couldn’t find Cressida and put down her uprising before it grew wings, he would lose everything that mattered: his freedom, along with his ability to protect the vulnerable.

People would suffer worse than before, because Cressida was a vengeful creature, and her vengeance on the Republic would be ruthless. Laila and Harrow. Alex. Rune. They were all at risk.

Rune isn’t bound by the same duty I am, he thought, remembering her kindness to the Penitents. She can afford to show mercy.

Gideon couldn’t. Gideon needed to keep people safe from evil. He had to stop Cressida at all costs.

“I’ve already made my decision,” he called out to Nicolas, who was halfway across the room. The Good Commander turned back. “We’ll reinstate the curfew, and the raids. And we’ll triple the Blood Guard presence on the streets.”

Now was not the time for mercy.

AFTER BRINGING HIS NEW orders to Blood Guard headquarters, Gideon set out for Old Town. It was early evening when he arrived home and found a telegram slipped under his door. Thinking it was from Rune, he picked it up and tore it open.

But it was from Thornwood Hall.

GIDEON SHARPE

113 PRUDENCE ST, OLD TOWN

BROTHER: I LEAVE FOR CAELIS AT THE END OF THE WEEK TO RESUME MY STUDIES. I’M SELLING MY ESTATE AND WILL BE HOSTING A SMALL GOODBYE PARTY TONIGHT. NOTHING FANCY. JUST CARDS AMONG A FEW FRIENDS. I WOULD DEARLY LOVE FOR YOU TO JOIN US.

ALEX

It had been two years since Gideon had set foot in Thornwood Hall, but his nightmares frequently brought him back. He hated that house and the memories it held. The thought of Alex selling it was a relief.

But Caelis was across the Barrow Strait. Gideon had little reason to travel to the mainland, and he couldn’t afford to take time off—especially with Cressida on the prowl. When would he ever see his brother?

Gideon rubbed his jaw, remembering the punch Alex had thrown in the boxing ring.

If Alex was leaving, Gideon owed it to him to face his demons and go to this party. To patch things up between them as much as he could. Especially if they might never see each other again.

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.

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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.

Plain and thin. Silver, maybe. A poor man’s wedding band.

Gideon watched the cards move around the table, dealt by his brother’s hand. Trying to remember what their mother’s ring looked like.

He immediately caught himself.

Alex, abetting a criminal witch? After witches tore our family apart?

It was unthinkable. Alex wasn’t capable of subterfuge. He knew how badly Gideon wanted to catch the Crimson Moth.

Alex would never sabotage me.

“Gideon? It’s your turn.”

He looked to find Noah nodding to the cards facedown beneath Gideon’s hands. When he glanced around the table, he found everyone waiting for him.

Gideon quickly picked out a straight and threw it down.

“You sent a tidal wave through the entire aristocracy the other week,” said Noah, putting down a flush and beating out Gideon.

“Did I? When?”

“When you showed up at Rune Winters’ after-party.”

“Ah,” said Gideon, laying down two pairs when his turn came back around. “Well, aristos aren’t difficult to shock. Just use the wrong spoon at dinner. Or wear a dress out of season.”

Noah smiled, but his eyes were like ice chips. Of the two Creed siblings, Gideon had always preferred Laila, who kept her aggression like she kept her gun—out in the open, where he could see it. Noah was … less straightforward.

“Truly, though. What’s come over you? Last week, it was Rune’s after-party. Tonight, you’re here playing cards. Next thing we know, you’ll be hosting your own charity ball.”

“If I do,” said Gideon, drawing more cards to replace the ones he’d laid down, “you’ll be the first person I invite.”

Noah smiled thinly. “Don’t you have a reputation to uphold—the New Republic’s most unavailable bachelor?”

“Gideon,” interrupted Alex, as if sensing the storm brewing and needing to quell it. This was why it was always better for Gideon to stay home. “Tell us what happened last night, at the Luminaries Dinner. Is it true what the papers are saying?”

“Yes, tell us everything.” A young man whose name Gideon didn’t know leaned across the table, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Was there really a witch attack inside the palace?”

He nodded. “It’s true.”

“Do you have any leads?” asked his brother, watching Bart discard.

“Possibly. We’re still investigating.”

Alex laid his cards last—four of a kind. Upon seeing them, everyone else threw down their own in defeat.

“Rune seemed shaken by it,” said Alex, pulling the winnings toward him while Noah gathered everyone’s cards and shuffled. The young men around him placed new bets and threw more coins into the center.

When did you see Rune? Gideon wondered, watching his brother. It had barely been twenty-four hours since the event.

“The New Herald reported that Citizen Winters is only alive because of you,” said the young man whose name Gideon didn’t remember. “Said you ran straight into the spellfire and carried her out.”

Gideon preferred not to relive the moment when Rune had disappeared inside the fire. The fear of not getting to her in time still hummed a little too loud in his blood.

“I hunt witches for a living,” he said, trying to shrug it off. “I’m no stranger to their magic.”

“Was it the Crimson Moth?”

They weren’t going to stop poking at this until he surrendered. So Gideon yielded, giving them a full account of the night before. As Alex’s friends soaked up the story like sponges, more cards were laid and the coins in Gideon’s pouch slowly disappeared.

He had never been good at gambling.

“Well, I for one am glad we have people like Gideon doing the dirty work for us.” This came from Bart as he won the current round with a full house. “Can you imagine it? Putting yourself in that kind of danger every day?” He shuddered. “No wonder the girls all fancy him.”

Gideon almost laughed, wondering what Harrow or Laila would say to that.

“Speaking of girls who fancy Gideon,” said Noah, sipping his drink. “How is Miss Winters? Does she live up to her reputation?”

If Gideon had hackles, Noah’s tone would have raised them.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, staring hard at his cards but not seeing any of them.

The last thing he wanted was to get into it with the Good Commander’s son. So he let Noah’s comments go.

“You know exactly what I mean,” said Noah, as if sensing Gideon’s restraint and wanting to test its limits. “Rune Winters is a merciless flirt. She has a new suitor every week.”

Unable to help himself, Gideon rose to the bait. Just an inch. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” Noah scoffed. “What’s there to be jealous of? If the rumors are true, she’s as loose as a whore.”

Before Gideon was halfway out of his seat, a fist slammed against the table, making them all jump.

Gideon looked up, his body buzzing with anger. Across the table, Alex stared down Noah the way a lion might stare down a hyena. “Insult her again, and I’ll show you the door.”

Noah scowled. “It was a joke, Alex.”

“Joke or not, I won’t tolerate disrespect toward Rune.”

Noah set down his cards, his knuckles bunching. The entire table went quiet as the two boys continued their glaring game.

“Well, this has been fun.” Gideon pushed his chair back from the table. He needed to get out of here before he accidentally put his fist through Noah’s face. “But I’m out of funds.”

Not wanting to spark panic among the gentlemen here, he decided to leave a message with Alex’s manservant, warning him about Cressida’s return.

“One more round,” said Alex.

Gideon tipped his money pouch upside down to show he wasn’t lying.

“Surely you have something else you can bet with.”

“I once bet my silk handkerchief,” offered Bart. Which might have been helpful, if Gideon owned a silk handkerchief.

He was about to say as much when Alex pressed him. “Empty your pockets.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows but did as his brother requested. Reaching into both trouser pockets, he pulled out their contents: a folding knife; a crumpled message from Harrow about their meeting tomorrow night; and his prison access coin for bringing witches past the seventh gate.

“That,” said Alex, pointing to the coin, “will do.”

Gideon shook his head. “It’s not currency.” Not the kind that was valuable to these gentlemen. “It’s worthless to you.”

“It’s silver, isn’t it? Silver can be melted down.”

“I need it to enter the prison,” said Gideon, already returning everything to his pockets.

“You can get a new one, can’t you? Besides, don’t the prison staff know who you are by now?”

“Sure. Except—”

“Just one more round,” said Alex. As if he truly wanted his brother to stay. “For me.”

Gideon remembered their fight in the boxing ring. He remembered daring Rune to strip down naked and swim in the sea with him, even though he knew how Alex adored her. He remembered kissing her in the garden, his mouth and hands insistent. Then kissing her again in that alley.

The shame of it scorched him.

Gideon sat.

“One more game,” he said, tossing the prison coin into the pile of money in the center of the table. “And then I’m out.”

Fifteen minutes later, he lost that round, too. And with it, his prison clearance.

“I’ll walk you out,” said Alex, tossing the coin once and depositing it into his pocket.

IT WAS RAINING LIGHTLY by the time they left the parlor. Drops speckled the windows and plinked against the roof as the brothers strode side by side toward the front hall.

“There’s something you should know,” said Gideon, trying to ignore the lingering scent of roses in this hallway. “But until I have more information, I need you to keep it between us.”

Alex shot him a look. “All right.”

“Cressida Roseblood was at the Luminaries Dinner. It was her spell that came for Rune.”

Alex’s stride halted. Slowing, Gideon turned to find the color seeping from Alex’s face, turning his skin white as parchment.

“You’re certain?”

“We found her casting signature under a table.”

“Does Rune know?”

Gideon shook his head. “I haven’t told her yet.”

“Shouldn’t you? If Cressida—”

“I believe Rune is aware of the danger she’s in, but yes: she should know. I haven’t had the chance to—”

“I’ll tell her.” Alex ran long fingers through his hair, walking on, like he was still trying to make sense of what Gideon was saying. “I’ll ride to Wintersea first thing in the morning.”

“Fine,” said Gideon.

As they arrived at the entrance to Thornwood, Alex pulled open the front doors while Gideon shrugged on his coat. Rain dripped from the lintel and splashed across the slabs of stone. The sun had set a long time ago, and darkness cloaked the woods beyond the doors.

A question was burning inside Gideon. Before he stepped out into the rain, he turned to ask it. “Alex? Is there any chance Cressida wasn’t dead after you shot her?”

Alex stared at him. “I shot her three times.”

Gideon nodded. Alex hated revisiting that night. His brother didn’t have a violent urge in his body. It would have gone against everything he stood for to take a girl’s life. He’d done it for Gideon’s sake.

The bodies of all three sister queens had gone missing the next morning. Defiled, Gideon had always suspected. But if Cressida was truly alive, what had happened in her bedchamber that night? Had Alex unknowingly not finished the job, or was some dark magic at play? There were stories of witches in the past powerful enough to raise the dead, but Gideon had always assumed those were tales witches used to frighten people into obedience.

He wondered now if they were true.

“Never mind.” He put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It might not be her. It could be another witch impersonating Cressida. Either way, we’ll catch her. And this time, I’ll finish the job myself.”

Alex only nodded, saying nothing. Feeling like he’d ruined his brother’s night, Gideon dropped his hand and changed the subject.

“When do you leave for Caelis?”

“Four days from now.”

So soon? thought Gideon, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Will you come to see me off?”

“Of course.” Gideon turned to leave, thought better of it, then pulled his little brother into a tight hug. “I’ll miss you.”

As hard as it was to say goodbye to Alex, there was something that was going to be a lot harder.

If Alex was leaving for good in a matter of days, and if Gideon had truly decided Rune wasn’t a witch, now was the time to step aside. That way, his brother could make his feelings clear to her before he left.

It was the only decent thing to do. And it would make amends for his previous betrayal.

The next time I see her, thought Gideon, stepping miserably into the rain, I’ll tell her it’s over between us.

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