Being right did nothing to squash the guilt, however. And since her pride wouldn’t let her apologize, Rune did the next best thing: she cast aMessengerspell to tell Seraphine where she was. She used the knife she’d stolen from the first aid kit to nick another mark in the back of her calf, letting it join the dozens of silver moths in flight that etched her skin.
I shouldn’t have called him a fool.
The shape of a luminescent crow flared to life in front of her, perching on the balustrade. The crow shimmered, bright as starlight.
A hundred years ago, Queen Callidora used magical crows to send her messages. Or so the history books said.
This spell was allegedly one of hers.
The moment Rune breathed the nameSeraphine Oakesonto the spell, the crow spread its wings and launched into the air, heading east. It would fly to the palace and present Rune’s location to Seraphine, at which point it would disintegrate.
Seraphine could decide if she wanted to come here or not.
“Miss Winters?”
Rune turned. An elderly woman in servant livery stood between two lattices creeping with ivy.
“Mr. Wentholt asked me to make up a room for you.”
This must be Bess.
The maid led Rune to a bedroom in the guest quarters, where she touched the white nightgown laid out on the bed. “This was Miss Celia’s,” she said. “You’ll find more of her clothes in the armoire. Help yourself to them; she won’t mind. My mistress hasn’t set foot here since her wedding three years ago.”
“Thank you,” said Rune, rubbing her arms to keep out the chill. With no fire in the hearth, the room was colder than she was used to. But no one wanted to risk the smell of smoke, which might lead unwanted guests straight to their location.
“Normally I’d invite you to warm up in the bathhouse—it’s heated by underground hot springs. But Mister Wentholt only arrived this evening, and I haven’t had a chance to get it ready. However, there’s a hot spring nearby you can wash in. I can give you directions tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” said Rune, who looked forward to getting properly cleaned up. “I’d like that very much.”
“If there’s nothing else, Miss Winters, I’ll take my leave.”
Rune was about to bid her good night, when she stopped herself.
“There is one more thing.” She turned to look at Bess. “Do you happen to know the schedule for the nearest train station?”
“I can fetch it for you. But…”
“But?”
“There are rumors, miss. People are saying Westport Station will soon be shut down. The queen doesn’t want anyone else escaping.”
Rune narrowed her eyes.Of course she doesn’t.
“In that case…” Rune reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the pouch full of coins she’d taken from her casting room. “Could you buy me a ticket for whichever train is going furthest northwest, while it’s still in operation?”
Bess blinked as Rune placed the pouch in her hand. “Of course, miss. I’d be happy to.”
SIXTY-TWOGIDEON
GIDEON RETURNED TO THEtable where Antonio and Bart were whispering, their expressions serious. Bart was not convinced of this fledgling plan, but with Antonio’s encouragement, he began making a list of potential allies, scratching down names of aristocrats who might be sympathetic to their cause.
Gideon sat quiet, unable to focus on the task at hand. His heart remained in the hallway, watching Rune stomp away.
Something was wrong with her, and it was eating him up. She didn’t want to talk about it—she’d made that clear by the distance she kept. She flinched at his touch. Avoided his gaze. Walked out halfway through the conversation as if she were weary of his ideas.
Weary ofhim.
He’d seen her torn bodice, leaving her lace shift exposed for anyone to see. Soren had done it—he was certain. But how far had he gone? How badly had he hurt her?
