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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 LuminariesDinner 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 toher?”
“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.
