Thirty-Four. Gideon

“The ship we found that casting mark on?” said Harrow. “An hour before it set sail, there was last-minute cargo brought on board: two barrels of wine delivered by an aristo.”

Beyond the window, the scarlet sun set over the capital. The Ministry of Public Safety perched on a hill in the center of the capital, giving a view to the harbor.

Gideon wasn’t admiring the view. He was using his reflection in the glass to adjust his new suit jacket while he listened to Harrow’s report.

“Unfortunately, the man’s hood concealed his face,” Harrow continued. “And there was no moon that night. So the dockhands couldn’t identify him.”

“How do they know he was an aristo?” asked Gideon, doing up his cuff links.

The jacket was a gift from Rune, and had arrived less than an hour ago. To replace the one I ruined, said her accompanying note. He’d turned the note over, looking for the rest, but there was nothing more.

It had been three days since he’d left Rune in that garden. Leaving her there had been more difficult than he cared to admit.

“The dockhands said he had a sophisticated way of speaking, like someone with an education. He also wore a ring on his smallest finger.”

“Is that all? It narrows down nothing.” Gideon sighed. “Half the aristocracy bejewel their hands with rings.”

“This one was plain and thin. Silver, maybe. They described it as a poor man’s wedding band.”

Gideon shook his head. “Perhaps he was a poor man. A man can be both poor and intelligent.”

“I’m simply relaying information,” said Harrow. “No need to get touchy. Both boys suspected he didn’t share their station, despite his attempts to obscure it.”

“He might have been nothing more than a merchant, late with his cargo.”

Gideon wondered if Rune—or whoever she employed to oversee her shipping business—kept lists of inventories aboard each ship, and if such a list might still exist weeks after the ship delivered its cargo.

“I’ll keep my eyes open for an aristo wearing a plain silver band,” he said finally, returning to his reflection and eyeing the suit jacket. He’d never worn anything so fine. It was double-breasted, ocher in color, and made of satin. It fit him surprisingly well, and, judging from the shop name on the box, Rune had spent a small fortune on it.

When Gideon first opened the box, he could almost smell her. A delicate scent. Like the wind bringing him the essence of the sea. Beautiful and wild and … dangerous.

He frowned, shaking off the thought.

She clearly meant for him to wear the coat to the Luminaries Dinner tonight. In fact, if he didn’t leave soon, he was going to be late.

Turning away from the window, Gideon started for the door. “I—”

“There’s something else,” said Harrow.

Gideon halted, meeting her gaze. “What is it?”

“Rumors,” she said. “Unverified.”

No mocking smile tugged at her mouth, and no mischief gleamed in her eyes. He nodded for her to go on.

“Some of my contacts say there have been casting marks seen around town. In alleyways and attics. Often several signatures together. As if witches are gathering in small groups.”

Like an alarm ringing through his body, all of Gideon’s senses heightened at once. “Were any of these incidents reported to the Guard?”

Harrow shook her head. “People fear becoming suspects themselves. If soldiers find a witch’s signature in someone’s attic, they might be accused of sympathizing. Others secretly welcome the witches’ return. Like those who suffered for their loyalty to the dead queens. Or those who were promised better lives under the Red Peace, only to find their conditions have worsened.”

Gideon remembered the moth flickering over the door of the mine the other night in Seldom Harbor.

“Do any of these signatures belong to her?”

“No one has reported a crimson moth. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t among them. Or leading them.” Harrow lowered her voice. “Gideon, Penitents are saying the witches are rising, coming to take back what’s theirs. They think something big is about to happen. Something formidable enough to bring down the entire regime.”

The thought of it turned Gideon’s stomach.

Witches could not return to power. He’d devoted his life to ensuring it.

“The Good Commander needs to be told.” If what Harrow said was true—that more people were secretly sympathizing with witches, letting them gather in their houses and factories—they might have to bring back the raids, like in the days following the New Dawn.

“Speaking of the Moth,” said Harrow, “what happened to your trap? I expected Rune Winters to be imprisoned by now.”

Gideon fisted his hand, remembering how close he’d come down in the mine. “My plan failed. I think we’ve gone down a false trail.”

“Did you take my advice?”

His thoughts raced back to Rune in the garden. It had taken all of his willpower to walk away from her. On the ride home, he’d nearly turned back twice.

The thought of Alex had stopped him.

Gideon blew out a frustrated breath.

Did he regret kissing her? Yes. Absolutely. What kind of man kisses the girl of his little brother’s dreams?

But he also liked it.

He thought of Rune on the beach, stripping off her clothes. Letting him look.

Heat flickered deep inside him.

Gideon ran a palm over his eyes, trying to chase the image out of his brain. “I took your stupid advice, yes.”

“You got her naked.”

He looked away as the blood rushed to his face.

Harrow whistled. “You do move fast. And?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing. No scars.”

“But you were thorough?”

“As thorough as I could be.”

“So, you slept with her?”

“What? No.” The thought of it turned the flickering heat into a raging inferno. “No. We went swimming the other night.”

Harrow raised a skeptical brow.

“I looked,” Gideon growled. “I found nothing.”

“You said you went at night. How well could you see?”

“Harrow.”

“Gideon. This is a witch who’s escaped detection for two years now. She won’t keep her scars where anyone can find them. Did you look between her thighs?”

The thought of Rune’s thighs made him grind his palms into his eyes. “Stop.”

“Because if I were a witch hiding in plain sight, that’s definitely where I’d keep mine.”

Gideon groaned. “You’re killing me, Harrow.”

“You need to sleep with her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Of course he’d thought about it. It had physically hurt to turn down Rune’s invitation. The moment he got home, he’d gone straight into a cold shower, so he could stop thinking about it.

If they were truly courting, it’s all he’d be thinking about.

But they weren’t courting. Not really. So he needed to not think about it.

“It’s the only way to know for certain.”

“No,” he said again.

It was too far. A crossed line.

“If you were committed, Comrade,” said Harrow, crossing her arms, “if you truly want to catch your little Moth as badly as you say you do, you’d leave no stone unturned.”

He ran both hands roughly over his face this time, then through his hair, tugging on it.

“Come on, Gideon. With a face like that, it won’t be a chore.”

Gideon felt too many things at once. His chest knotted with frustration. His body ached with desire. Worst of all, he suspected Harrow was right. It had been dark when they went swimming. He’d looked at Rune from a distance. And he hadn’t truly inspected every inch of her.

The thought of doing so made him swallow hard.

If he wanted to know, without a doubt, whether Rune Winters was a witch, he would have to take this to the end of the line.

But could he live with himself afterward?

On the one hand, his brother might never speak to him again. On the other, if Rune was the Crimson Moth—and if the Moth was not only rescuing witches, but murdering Blood Guard soldiers and planning an uprising—Gideon had a responsibility to do whatever it took to find out. To stop her.

He growled low in his throat. “Fine.”

He remembered Rune pulling off her dress. The fabric sliding up her legs, over her hips, along her torso. Thought of her dropping the dress in the sand and peeling off her undergarments.

Feeling strangely breathless, he said, “I’ll do it.”

Once he knew for certain if she was innocent, he could proceed accordingly. If Rune wasn’t the Moth, nor in league with her, she posed no threat to Alex. In which case, Gideon would break off this courtship before things escalated further and point her toward the man who actually deserved her: his brother.

And if she is the Moth …

Flashes of memory shimmered like glass: Rune, wading naked through the water toward him. The soft give of her waist beneath his hand. The taste of her skin—like sea salt and soap.

But it wasn’t only her physical attributes that had him spinning. It was her kindness. Her thoughtfulness. Her wildness. It was her willingness to argue with him.

If he wasn’t careful, he might fall in love with her.

Gideon started toward the door.

“If you have nothing else to report, I’ll take my leave.”

He was already running late.

“Nothing else,” said Harrow, falling into step behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”

The moment they walked out of his office and into the hallway, a soldier from his regiment strode toward them. Harrow leaned against the wall, keeping out of their way. At the sight of the young woman’s blanched face, Gideon stayed where he was.

“Captain.” The soldier halted before Gideon. “The Tasker brothers still haven’t reported for duty.”

“Still?” Gideon had thought it strange when he was first made aware of their absence earlier in the day. It wasn’t like them. The Taskers’ bloodlust for witches made them devoted soldiers. Gideon might despise their tactics, but their work ethic was top-notch.

And it was evening now.

Tardiness was one thing. But missing an entire shift?

Gideon frowned, thinking of the mutilated bodies of Blood Guard soldiers found across the city these past few months. Like a trail of bloody bread crumbs.

An ominous feeling settled over him.

He glanced at his watch. “Can you send Laila to check their apartment?”

“Laila’s at the prison tonight.”

He could send another officer, but what if the brothers weren’t there? Would another soldier know where else to look? Gideon would know. But he was already late for the Luminaries Dinner. If he went to look himself, he might miss the dinner entirely.

Gideon ran his palm across his forehead.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go. But I need a telegram sent immediately.”

“Of course, sir.”

Walking back into his office, Gideon grabbed the fountain pen off his desk and scrawled a hasty note. Folding it, he wrote down the address, and handed it over. “Make sure this message gets to Wintersea within the hour.”