SEVENTY-TWO
GIDEON
WHEN THE TRAIN SLOWED at the next rail yard, they retrieved their clothes, dressed, and jumped off. The yard was deep in the countryside, wheat fields on one side, rye on the other. They found two horses grazing in a pasture close by and borrowed them. Rune left her pouch full of coins behind to compensate the owners before they returned them.
They rode for the Wentholt cottage, keeping to the woods and following the rivers as much as possible to avoid the main roads. When Wintersea came into view, they ventured close to see if it was abandoned. The horses were gone. No guards patrolled. The house appeared to be empty.
Carefully, they ventured inside so Rune could fetch the spell books she’d failed to steal last time, which might come in useful in their stand against Cressida and the Good Commander. The empty marble halls echoed with their footsteps. Paintings had been smashed and tables overturned, but whether it was the Blood Guard who’d done it, or bandits, or Cressida’s hired soldiers, they couldn’t tell.
As they walked the vandalized halls, Gideon was transported to the first time he’d ever set foot in this house: the night Blood Guard soldiers dragged Kestrel Winters away to be purged while he kept a close eye on the old witch’s granddaughter.
He remembered Rune standing there, letting it happen, her face stoic as a statue. Gideon took her hand and squeezed it firmly, hating that he’d played a part in the most horrible night of her life.
I can’t change the past, he thought as they walked, taking in the damage. But together, maybe we can change the future.
When they started up the staircase, Rune rested her free hand on the mahogany railing. Her voice rang with certainty as she said, “One day, this will be my home again.”
Gideon stood watch outside her bedroom while she collected the things she needed. He paced quietly, listening for any sound of danger, stopping at the window near the end of the hall and scanning the grounds to look for signs of intruders.
But all was still at Wintersea. No one was out there.
He was about to turn away from the window when he heard a sound. Like metal striking metal.
It was so faint, he assumed it was coming from outside.
But then he heard it again.
Clang!
He looked to the floor at his feet.
Clang! Clang!
He frowned.
It’s coming from beneath us.
“Do you hear that?” whispered Rune, poking her head outside the bedroom. She held a dusty leather-bound spell book in her hands, and her hair was a tangle of red-gold in the candelight.
Unholstering his gun, he headed for the stairs. “Shut yourself into the casting room, and don’t come out until I return.”
Gideon didn’t wait for her to do as he said, knowing she would listen to him only if she wanted to. Instead, he descended to the main floor. By the time he reached the servants’ quarters, the sound had stopped. Rune hadn’t followed. He waited, listening.
It came again.
Clang! Clang!
It wasn’t mechanical, and the silence between each clang seemed sporadic. Sometimes the sound was harsher, sometimes softer, as if someone was striking something angrily, then despairingly.
It was louder now. Coming from directly below him.
The basement.
Gideon searched the servant quarters until he found a set of cramped stairs in the kitchen, leading down. He took them.
The basement was damp as a cellar. The walls and floors were made of rough-hewn stone. And with no windows to let the light in, it was too dark to see. He had to go back for a lamp.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG !
His footsteps quickened until he arrived at a door, certain the sound was coming from behind it.
CLANG!
Gideon took the safety off his pistol.
CLANG!
He turned the doorknob.
CLANG!
He opened the door.
The room was pitch-dark. The moment the door swung in, the sound abruptly stopped. Lifting his lamp, Gideon shone the light inside.
It was the boiler room. Warmer than the hall beyond, the space was full of iron pipes pumping water to the house’s upper levels.
Inside the room, wearing her red uniform, stood Laila.
Her wrists were manacled to the pipe beside her, and in her grip was a wrench—which she was striking against the pipe.
“Gideon?” Her dark hair curled in the humidity, and her eyes were ringed with shadows.
“Laila?” He stepped into the room, staring at her. “You’re supposed to be at the Rookery. What are you doing… here?” He glanced around the boiler room.
“I’m being punished for letting you and Rune escape.”
He stared at her, not comprehending. It was one thing for Noah to be angry at his sister’s defiance, but leaving her for dead?
“Noah demanded I hunt you down and bring you back—to prove my loyalty. When I refused, he locked me in here for Cressida’s mercenaries to find.”
A tide of anger swept through Gideon.
“Does he not know what soldiers do to women in wartime?” he said through gritted teeth.
“On the contrary,” said Laila, glancing away. “That’s why he left me here.” She stared at the wrench in her hands. “I had to decide: starve to death, or be discovered by the wrong type of soldier.” Her gaze lifted to Gideon. “Luckily, the right one walked in.”
He heard the relief in her voice. She’d been expecting a very different fate.
Gideon crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. She leaned her head against his shoulder, a shaky breath escaping.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
For the briefest of moments, he was thankful they were at war. In war, rules of civility were altered. If Gideon ever came face-to-face with Noah, he could shoot him with a clean conscience.
“And the other soldiers? They left you here, like this?”
She shook her head. “They didn’t know. Noah sent them ahead before ordering his guards to lock me up. They likely arrived at the Rookery thinking I was a day behind them.”
Gideon reached for the chains of her manacles, looking for the lock.
“Noah took the key with him.”
He dropped the chains and studied the pipes. They were welded together. He doubted an axe—should he even be able to find one—would do much damage.
How was he going to get her out of here?
“I can help.”
The voice came from behind them. Gideon spun as Laila’s gaze sliced toward the open doorway, where Rune stood in the shadows. A pale white flame flickered in the air above her outstretched hand. Slung over her shoulder was a leather satchel stuffed with books.
“As I’m sure you remember”—the corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile—“I have a spell for picking locks.”