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Of course none of it had meant anything. Of course he didn’t mean anything. Not to her. It was all a game, and though he supposed he’d won in the end, somehow, he’d still come out with nothing. She’d chosen Alex. And who wouldn’t? Your brother is twice the man you’ll ever be. The words turned Gideon’s heart to stone.
He’d been deceived a second time. He’d opened himself up only to be skewered again. He’d believed in the girl Rune pretended to be. He’d allowed himself to hope. To think that maybe they could have something beautiful together. Something good. Was there some flaw in Gideon that made him so naive? So susceptible to deception?
“Sympathizing with them is an offense punishable by death.” Alex lifted his chin, defiant. “Arrest me, then.”
His brother’s eyes were bright fire. Staring Gideon down, he shouted loud enough for the entire crowd to hear: “I knew she was the Crimson Moth and I didn’t tell you!”
Alex stared at her. “I’m sorry, Rune, if you think I’m going to stand here quietly and watch you die, you’re an idiot.” Turning his back on both his fiancée and his brother, he addressed the bloodthirsty crowd. “I helped her steal witches from my brother’s prison cells! I helped smuggle criminals off this godforsaken island! I’m guilty!”
He had every reason to believe that all witches were the same: horribly cruel and unspeakably evil. So how could she hate him? Especially with his hand pressed to the small of her back. Even in his anger, he was tender with her. Stoic Gideon—so firm in his conviction, so diligent in his duty—was reluctant. Conflicted. She felt it in the gentle press of his palm.
I forgive you, she thought. Perhaps that made her a fool, but what did that matter, if this was the end? In forgiving him, a strange thing happened: Rune found forgiveness for herself, too. For what she’d done to Nan.
“Gideon.” He flinched and stopped, but didn’t look back. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry for all of it.” Finally, he glanced at her, and the wounded look on his face pierced like a knife. Above the heavy plink of the rain, she heard him say, “So am I.”
Witches she’d rescued from Gideon’s clutches. Most she didn’t know at all. But leading them was a girl she knew by heart. Verity de Wilde.
“I’m sorry,” said Seraphine. “But your friend Verity doesn’t exist. Or if she did, she doesn’t anymore.” “Are you saying Cressida killed Verity and stole her identity?” “It’s very likely, yes.”
This whole time, Rune had trusted and confided in a murderer. In the girl who’d tortured Gideon and killed his little sister.
Holding out her pale forearm, which was covered in bloody spellmarks, she smudged the symbols with her hand. The illusion fell away. She was Verity no longer.
Gideon waited for the bullet. Welcoming it. He hoped death would come swiftly. Except the bullet never came. When the gun went off, his brother stepped in front of it.
“I’m giving you permission.” Her eyes fluttered open. What? “You’ve only ever cast small spells and illusions because you’ve never had enough fresh blood to do more.”
Is this what being a witch is supposed to feel like? Good. Easy. Right. With an immense amount of fresh blood, nothing held her back. That ocean inside Rune wasn’t happening to her; it was her. She and the magic were one.
His hands curled into fists. “I will never stop hunting you, Rune Winters. No matter where you go, I will come for you.”
:(
In her absence, Gideon saw something flutter in the air above the chasm. Small and red and delicate, its wings shimmering in the gloom. A crimson moth. Gideon’s heart hardened at the sight of it.
