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SEVENTY-THREE

RUNE

AFTER FREEING LAILA, THEY all rode for the Wentholt cottage, arriving shortly before sundown. They had to split two horses between the three of them, so Rune rode with Gideon.

It was Rune who sighted the red uniforms through the trees—Blood Guard officers. A dozen or so, patrolling the grounds.

They halted their horses.

How many more were inside?

It doesn’t matter, thought Rune, her eyes narrowing on the red coats. She’d gotten out of stickier situations. And her friends were inside that cottage.

She dismounted the horse, leaving Gideon in the saddle, and headed straight for it.

“ Rune ,” Gideon whispered. But before he could stop her, six soldiers emerged from the trees, guns pointed right at them.

Gideon and Laila immediately raised their hands while Rune contemplated grabbing Gideon’s holstered pistol— or the knife sheathed at her calf—when a surprised voice called out.

“Hold!”

A young soldier with copper hair lowered his rifle, motioning for the others to do the same.

“It’s Sharpe and Creed.”

Rune frowned, glancing to Gideon and Laila, who looked relieved as they dismounted their horses.

“ Felix? What are you doing here?” Gideon strode toward the red-haired soldier, and they clasped hands.

“The Commander sent us to hunt you down,” said Felix.

Gideon froze, his hand falling to his side. “You’re here to arrest us?”

“No, sir.” Felix glanced at his comrades, who all stood at attention. “We’re here for our orders.”

Gideon cocked an eyebrow. “Orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked to Laila, as if hoping she’d explain it.

“Well, Captain?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are your orders?”

WHILE GIDEON, LAILA, ASH, Abbie, and a platoon of Blood Guard soldiers filled Bart Wentholt’s parlor, strategizing about what to do next, a message arrived from Harrow. She and Juniper had acquired the information they needed.

Gideon—

The bodies of Analise and Elowyn are hidden at the Crossroads. Cressida is planning to travel there before the new moon. The spell preserving them is fading, and if it fades entirely, their bodies will decay. She needs to strengthen it before that happens.

—Harrow

The Crossroads was the meeting place of three major rivers, all colliding in a dangerous gorge. The force of its crashing currents created a deadly whirlpool.

“She says nothing else?” asked Gideon, taking the note from Rune and turning it over, looking for more. There was nothing about Juniper’s attempt to recruit witches to their cause. Nor did Harrow say if they planned to remain in the capital, or return.

“It’s a renewal spell,” said Seraphine, who’d been reading over Rune’s shoulder. “It must be performed on a new moon. If it isn’t, she’ll have to wait until the next one.”

“It sounds like that will be too late,” said Rune.

Cressida wouldn’t miss her window.

“Do you have a map of the island?”

Bart produced one for him. They spread it out across the table, measuring the distance from their location to the Crossroads.

“Looks like a three-day ride to the Crossroads from here,” said Gideon.

“The new moon is four days away,” said Seraphine.

“If we get there before her,” said Rune, “we could find and destroy the bodies, eliminating any chance of resurrecting them.” This would— hopefully —embolden more witches to turn against the witch queen.

Her gaze met Gideon’s. They had to try.

It was decided that Rune, Gideon, and Seraphine would travel to the Crossroads ahead of Cressida. Bart and Antonio would remain behind to wait for Harrow and Juniper, along with any other witches they recruited. Meanwhile Laila, Ash, Abbie, and the other soldiers would head for the Rookery—to take it from Noah by force, with help from allies inside.

But even if Rune located the bodies of her half sisters, she’d need the counterspell to break the enchantment protecting them. The magic preserving Analise and Elowyn might be weakened, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still strong enough to repel Rune’s attempts to burn the bodies.

Determined, she went to search the spell books she’d brought back from Wintersea, hoping an answer to her problem lay within their pages.

RUNE SAT ON THE floor of the study encircled by candles, their flames dancing in the darkness. Spell books were scattered across the floorboards around her.

She’d searched each one and hadn’t found a counterspell.

When the floorboards creaked, Rune glanced up. Antonio stood framed in the doorway, holding a lamp.

“Everything all right?” he asked, shining light into the room.

Rune sighed, pulling her toes toward her and hugging her knees to her chest.

“I need a spell to break the one protecting Analise and Elowyn,” she said, glancing to the spellmarks on the pages before her. “But it’s not in any of these books.”

Perhaps she could create such a spell. She’d done it before. Ghost Walker was her invention.

But it took me months to get that casting right.

She didn’t have months.

Hopefully Cressida’s preservation spell had weakened enough for them to destroy the bodies without interference—that’s why the witch queen was traveling to the Crossroads. The fading magic made her sisters’ corpses vulnerable.

And if not…

We could take them with us to destroy later .

The idea of kidnapping corpses made her feel ill. But Rune would do whatever was necessary to strike a blow against Cressida.

Antonio entered the room and lowered himself to the floor beside her, sitting cross-legged inside her ring of candles. The smell of sugar and cinnamon came with him, likely fused to his hair and clothes from a day spent with Bess in the kitchens.

He opened a spell book. As he leaned over it, studying the marks on its pages, a tiny medallion swung out from beneath his collar, catching the light. Etched in its surface was a spectacled woman with an owl perched on her shoulder.

Wisdom.

The Ancient.

“Is that who you were consecrated to?” asked Rune, reaching to touch the silver oval dangling in the air. It was no bigger than the pad of her thumb.

Seeing what she meant, Antonio tugged the loop of cord over his head, and handed her the medallion. “Wisdom. Yes.”

Studying the face impressed into the silver, Rune remembered the spell she’d come across while gathering spell books in her casting room: a spell for summoning an Ancient.

Absently, she said, “You don’t think it’s really possible to summon one, do you?”

Antonio went quiet. “Queen Althea did.”

She glanced up into his face. “You believe that?”

It was from the stories Nan used to tell her as a child: Wisdom was Queen Althea’s closest advisor, and this was why Cascadia flourished for decades under her rule.

“It’s a fact,” he said, taking back the cord and medallion and pulling it over his head. “Near the end of Althea’s reign, shifting loyalties resulted in strong support for her cousin, Winoa Roseblood. Althea refused to enforce what Winoa and her followers believed to be true: that given the lack of magic in their blood, non-witches were subservient to witches. But Winoa’s propaganda had already infected the court, and a plot to dethrone Althea was gaining traction.”

Rune had never been given this history lesson. She listened with rapt attention.

“Althea called on the Ancients to advise her,” Antonio continued. “This was centuries after the Resurrection Wars, when the Seven Sisters had sworn never again to intervene in mortal affairs. But Wisdom took pity on Althea and allowed herself to be summoned.

“Althea wanted to denounce Winoa’s dangerous ideology, declare her a traitor to Cascadia, strip her of her titles, and exile her. This, Wisdom knew, would lead to a civil war that would tear the country apart and leave many dead. She advised Althea to call a council, one that would draw Winoa’s supporters and their idea of witch supremacy out of the darkness, bringing it into the light, where everyone could see it for what it was: a heresy.”

Rune frowned. “Did it work?”

He shook his head. “No. Winoa, with the backing of Althea’s advisors, betrayed her cousin in the very chamber where Althea hoped to root out her court’s corruption. Instead of a council, there was a slaughter: Althea and her supporters were stabbed to death, and from their blood, Winoa forged a new rule—the Roseblood Dynasty—ushering in a reign of tyranny and bloodshed that would last for decades.”

The candle flames flickered as Antonio fell silent. Rune stared at him, stunned.

This was not in any of the stories Nan had told her. Though Rune could understand why: it would have given her nightmares.

“And Wisdom just let it happen?”

“The Ancient found Althea lying in a pool of her own blood, her body as cold as the stones beneath her. Realizing her advice had caused a terrible tragedy, Wisdom bound herself in human form to Cascadia, until she corrected her error. Only then would she rejoin her sisters in the world beyond this one.”

Rune studied Antonio, who obviously believed the historical account. It was a nice idea: Wisdom as a kind of sentinel, waiting for the right moment to set the world to rights. But obviously it was a myth.

If it were true, it would mean she’s still here. Walking among us.

It made more sense that Althea had come up with the idea to hold a council on her own, and historians wrote Wisdom in later.

Antonio nodded to the book lying open in his lap. “Arcana spells were outlawed. Why would your grandmother have a spell book full of them?”

“I don’t know,” said Rune, glancing down at the spell in question.

RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD, the inscription read.

Rune had come across it in her search and set it aside to study later. But Antonio was poring over it now in the glow of his lamp.

RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD

CLASSIFICATION: ARCANA

A close kin must be sacrificed in the casting of this spell. Nothing less than a parent, child, or sibling will suffice. To resurrect the dead, the following steps must be taken:

To begin, cut the sacrifice and use their fresh blood to draw the required spellmarks on the bodies of the dead. Once all the spellmarks are complete, use your casting knife to pierce the heart of your sacrifice. The magic in the marks will draw the life force from the victim, infusing the deceased, resulting in their resurrection. For this reason, the sacrifice must be living when the spell begins, and only after the spellmarks are drawn can they be killed. A dead victim will not work, even if the blood is fresh. The victim’s life must be taken in the process of casting the spell, or it will fail.

An addendum had been written near the bottom of the page:

This spell is forbidden under the laws of Cascadia. If for some terrible reason it must be used, be warned: the sacrifice will die, and the witch who undertakes it will corrupt herself beyond redemption. Proceed at your own risk.

Rune shivered.

If people knew she was Analise and Elowyn’s sister, it would be in everyone’s best interest to kill her, permanently preventing Cressida from using her to bring their sisters back.

Antonio closed the book and shoved it away from him.

“What changed your mind?” he said. “You seemed so set on leaving.”

Rune thought of Gideon’s belief in a better world, and his willingness to die for it. She thought of their future children running through a field, full of laughter and joy.

“I realized he’s right,” she said. “You get the world you’re willing to fight for.”

She glanced at the medallion hanging from Antonio’s neck.

“Can acolytes officiate weddings?”

“In certain circumstances, yes.” Antonio cocked his head at her. “Why do you ask?”

“Could you marry us, when this is over?”

If he noticed she said when , not if , he didn’t point it out. Only smiled.

“It would be an honor.”

Stringed instruments hummed from beneath the floorboards, breaking her concentration. Rune and Antonio frowned at each other, confusion etched into their foreheads at the sound.

Music?

They went to investigate, the music growing louder the closer they came to the ground floor. In the room where they’d left Gideon, Laila, and the others to finish their strategizing, they found what could only be described as a revel.

The furniture had been pushed against the walls, and two fiddlers, still in Blood Guard uniforms, stood in the middle of the room, furiously slashing their bows against their strings. Everyone else danced around them. As if they weren’t in the midst of a war, but an after-party.

Several more people had arrived while Rune was upstairs searching through spell books. She recognized a good number of them: aristocrats who’d run in her social circles when she was still pretending to be a vapid socialite and hiding her witchy nature.

Bart danced up to them with flushed cheeks.

“Is that Charlotte Gong?” Rune asked him, catching sight of the girl. Charlotte was talking with a group of soldiers at the outskirts of the dancing while her fiancé embraced Laila. “And… Elias Creed?”

The brother of Noah and Laila, he worked for the Ministry of Public Safety—the bureaucratic office that oversaw witch purges, among other things.

Rune had always suspected Charlotte of secretly sympathizing with witches. Perhaps that explained his change of heart?

Or perhaps Elias had been a sympathizer all along.

“They had nowhere else to go,” said Bart, turning to watch the revelry. “Cressida’s soldiers have seized or ransacked every home within fifty miles of the capital. Those who didn’t run were taken captive. These ”—he nodded to the group—“were lucky to escape with their lives.”

Antonio motioned to the dancing, his eyes alight. “And what’s this?”

Bart smiled, fox-like, in the gaslight.

“One last party,” he said, grabbing Antonio’s hands and pulling him toward the dancers. “If we’re going to die, darling, let’s die happy.”

Rune smiled, watching them disappear into the frenzy. Leaning against the wall, she scanned the room, noticing neither Harrow nor Juniper was present. Had they remained in the capital? Or were they traveling back even as music rang in her ears? What would they think when they walked in on a raucous party?

Her gaze found Gideon through the dancers. He stood in the same group as Charlotte, listening to whatever she was saying. The moment she sighted him, he looked up, as if sensing her attention.

Excusing himself from the conversation, he started toward her. His jaw was dark with stubble from days without shaving, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows. He looked tired but resolved.

Rune swallowed as he approached, remembering what they’d done on the train. His gaze bored into hers, as if he was remembering it, too.

“You owe me a dance,” he said, loud enough for her to hear over the music.

Her brows arched. “Excuse me?”

“I once dared you to accompany me to an actual party, or don’t you remember?”

There will be no ball gowns. No hired musicians. No songs with ridiculous steps, he’d told her a lifetime ago, in the halls of Wintersea, describing exactly this kind of party.

Name the date, and I’ll be there.

Careful, Miss Winters, or I might call your bluff.

He stopped directly before her. Rune leaned harder against the wall, her gaze trailing up his chest until her head tipped back to meet his eyes. The merriment beyond—the music, the laughter, the dancing—fell quiet. As if they were the only two people in the room.

“You accused me of… what was it?” she said, feeling weirdly breathless. “Not wanting to be caught dead with ‘riffraff in disreputable locales’?”

“Prove me wrong, then.” He trailed his knuckles across her cheekbone.

She wanted to wind his fingers through hers, to pull him upstairs and into a bed. But she stood her ground, running her gaze down him. Sizing him up. “I’m not sure you’re sufficiently disreputable, Gideon Sharpe. I’d better wait for more scandalous riffraff.”

He growled low. Grabbing her around the waist, he buried his face in her neck, nipping gently with his teeth. “I can be scandalous.”

Rune laughed and let him drag her into the fray.

He led her in a dance she wasn’t used to, and as her heart beat wildly in time with the song, her face flushing and her hair sticking to her sweaty skin, Rune looked at the people around her, spinning and stomping across the floor as if this were the last song they’d ever hear.

Even if we can’t bring down Cressida, Rune realized, the world we want to forge already exists.

It was right here in this room.

It was a world where enemies could be not just allies, but lovers and friends, and most of all, equals. It was a world where no one needed to hide who they really were.

She wished Alex were here to see it.

As the song ended and cheers rang out, Gideon grinned down at her, sweaty and breathless. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her hard on the mouth.

Rune marveled. A witch being adored by a Blood Guard captain in plain view of everyone? Only a week ago, it would have been absurd. Impossible.

But they were standing on the cusp of something new. Fragile and shimmering, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Who knew if it would survive longer than tonight?

Rune kissed Gideon back, determined to remember this moment, just in case it didn’t. Because for the first time in her life, she was completely herself.

And that was worth everything.

Even dying for.