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She pushed against him, halting the kiss, and stepped out of his reach.
“Buttercups are my favorite,” she whispered, breathless and walking backward. “But daisies are also acceptable.”
The corner of Gideon’s mouth turned up. “Noted.”
It went against all of his instincts, watching her walk away, not knowing what danger waited for her beyond this alley. But as Verity had pointed out, there was little he could do to protect Rune.
Except for catching the witch who’d attacked her tonight.
Behind him, the kitchen door swung open. Gideon turned to find Laila stepping out.
“There’s something you should see. But we need to be quick. It’s already fading.”
Curious, he followed her inside.
Back in the courtyard, which reeked of smoke but was devoid of spellfire, Laila peeled a scorched tablecloth back from a long table. She pointed underneath.
Gideon crouched down, ducking his head to see.
Something glowed in the space between the chairs, moon-pale and delicate.
“It’s a casting signature,” Laila said, her voice floating down from overhead.
Gideon dropped to all fours, squinting in its direction, trying to get a better look. He crawled under the table, the pebbles shifting beneath his knees, until he knew exactly what he was looking at.
He saw it every night in his nightmares. Found it carved into his chest every time he looked in the mirror.
A thorny rose enclosed by a crescent moon.
The sight of it made him nauseous.
“A witch was hidden among the guests tonight.”
The brand on his chest flared suddenly. Gideon rubbed at it, but the pain faded quickly, leaving him to wonder if it was just in his head.
Laila joined him beneath the table, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the signature. With her head bowed beneath the wood overhead, her gaze flicked between him and the floating mark. “Who does it belong to?”
The past rose up to bite Gideon, trying to drag him backward in its teeth.
He wished he could deny what was right in front of his eyes. That there was some other explanation. But he knew this signature like he knew his own name.
“It belongs to a witch who should be dead.”
His eyes met Laila’s.
“Cressida Roseblood.”
FORTYRUNE
“QUITE THE PERFORMANCE,” SAIDVerity as Rune’s carriage left the palace, bumping along the cobblestone streets. “With acting skills like those, you could audition for the Royal Theater.”
Beside her, Rune sighed. Verity was upset. She’d been worried sick about Rune, who she’d watched get engulfed by spellfire, and when she finally found her alive, Rune was flirting with an equally dangerous force: Gideon Sharpe.
“Truly. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe you were smitten with a Blood Guard captain who hunts down your own kind.”
Rune looked away, unable to escape the guilt flooding in. “I’m not smitten,” she said, watching the city center roll by through the window. “And I’m perfectly aware that he hates my kind. That’s why I’m letting him court me, remember? To steal his intel.”
“And how much intel have you stolen, exactly?”
