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Rune shot her a curious look. “A witch hunter?”
“He said that all Blood Guard officers of a certain rank—usually the captains or their seconds—carry an access coin, allowing them to bring witches straight through to Fortitude Gate.”
If every Blood Guard captain carried an access coin, Gideon surely had one.
Rune wondered where he kept it.
The cogs of Rune’s mind were turning. If she stole Gideon’s coin, and perhaps a Blood Guard uniform—though how she’d do that, she didn’t yet know—would she be able to walk straight through the last gate?
A sudden commotion interrupted her thoughts.
Rune glanced toward the doors to find someone she recognized entering the courtyard. Someone who’d recentlyshother.
Laila Creed.
Dressed in her scarlet Blood Guard uniform, Laila strode through the guests while gripping the arm of a prisoner. A black bag covered the prisoner’s head, and from the iron restraints encasing her hands, Rune knew the prisoner was a witch.
While staff filled cups with hot coffee or chilled wine and handed out plates with sugar-dusted pastries, Laila marched her charge through the courtyard. The lights of a thousand candlesflickered down the lengths of tables as guests murmured excitedly, their attention on the stage now assembled in the middle of the space.
No,thought Rune.It’s not a stage.
Thick chains hung from a solid beam erected over the platform. Chains Laila was connecting to the ankles of the witch.
It’s a purging platform.
Rune didn’t think, just started forward.
Verity grabbed her wrist to stop her. “There’s nothing you can do,” she whispered, her face going whiter than snow. “Not here.”
Rune’s hands clenched and unclenched, knowing she was right. “Who—”
Before she could finish the question, Laila tugged the black hood off the witch.
Rune and Verity both sucked in a breath.
The face beneath the hood was shockingly familiar to Rune. She knew it from the gold locket Nan used to wear around her neck. It was a locket her grandmother rarely took off.
As a child, Rune liked to open the locket and peer in at the two young women painted on the two panels. On one side was Kestrel’s face, rendered when she was about nineteen; on the other was Seraphine’s, not much older.
The two women had grown up together, Rune knew. They’d been best friends since childhood.
Which was why the sight before her didn’t make any sense.
The witch on the platform bore theexact same faceas the one inside Nan’s locket—sparkling brown eyes, sharp birdlike features, black curls that haloed her head like a cloud. As if Seraphine Oakes hadn’t aged a single day.
Why is she so young?
Nan had been over seventy the day she died, and the woman on the platform—Seraphine—looked no older than twenty-three.
Rune’s mind spun with confusion. As she tried to make sense of it, the Good Commander ascended the steps of the platform, causing a hush to fall over the entire courtyard.
The Blood Guard soldiers retreated. Nicolas Creed stepped toward Seraphine, whose hands were manacled at her sides. The witch restraints clasped her hands entirely in iron, so that her wrists ended in two black metal stubs, preventing use.
“Good evening,” said Nicolas, dressed in his usual black. “We have a surprise in store for you tonight. We’re simply waiting for …” His piercing gaze scanned the room before landing directly on Rune. “Ah. There she is. Citizen Winters, will you join me up here for a moment?”
Is this another trap?
Rune glanced into the sea of faces, but the guests looked as surprised as she was. Verity’s hand tightened on her wrist. But Rune couldn’t refuse the Commander, and Verity knew it.
