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She would spit on Nan’s memory yet again.
In the beginning, pretending had been easier. Rune couldpush down her anger and grief. But the more fealty she swore to the New Republic, the more witches she failed to save, the harder it became.
If there weren’t a hundred other reasons to despise Gideon Sharpe, this would be sufficient: he didn’t have to hide who he was. He didn’t have to pretend to hate the things he truly loved.
If she didn’t loathe him so much, she might envy him.
Rune fell back into the cushions. “Wasn’t Lola Parsons supposed to be the guest of honor this month?”
Gideon’s brow furrowed as he glanced from her to the telegram. “The Guard took Lola into custody last week.” He gently took the paper from her, scanning its contents. “One of her servants reported a casting signature in her cellar. She denies it, but we believe she was harboring a witch.”
Oh.
“They’re asking you to be the guest of honor instead?”
Rune nodded, a little numbly.
His brow furrowed further. “And that’s a bad thing?”
Rune could feel the answer—the real one—surge up her throat.
Yes. I can’t stand it any longer. If I have to toast the villains who murdered my grandmother one more time, I’m going to set them all on fire.
Her answer—the absolute truth of the situation—swelled on her tongue, pushing at the roof of her mouth. She could feel it slipping past her teeth …
No no no no no.
Panicking, Rune tried to think of any other reason this invite should upset her. If she could push out a smaller truth before the more dangerous one escaped, she might subvert the spell.
“I don’t have a dress to wear!”
Gideon drew back, startled by the outburst.
Rune clamped her mouth shut to prevent the real reason from escaping. But it subsided—for now, at least.
He raised one dark brow. “Is that all?”
Curse him.
The surge began again—because no; it was not all.Truth Tellerwas drawing the words from her depths, like water from a well.
I hate this horrible Republic. I would burn it to the ground if I could. But if I don’t play along, girls like me will continue to die.
This time when the words threatened to burst out of her, Rune squeezed her hands into fists as she held them back, trying to think of something—anything—else to say instead. Something less damning, but still true.
“There’s no time to have a dress made! My seamstress is booked until next month, but the dinner is next week.”
Rune threw him a pitiful look that wasn’t entirely false. She’d gone hot all over and her heart beat painfully fast.
“Hmm. That is unfortunate.”
But the spell wasn’t finished with her. It snaked up her throat, threatening to choke her.
Tell him,it prodded.Tell him the rest.
“And …” The words itched. She tried to swallow them but couldn’t. “They’ll want me to talk about Nan.”
She had his full attention now.
