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Beneath the grime of too many nights spent in a disgusting cell, Seraphine was fine-boned and pretty. She reminded Rune of a sparrow.
“You don’t deserve the Winters name.” The witch’s eyes burned like black fire. As if, were their positions reversed, Seraphine would have already cut Rune’s throat.
I went to find you,Rune wanted to say.I’ve been trying to save you.
With so many people listening, she didn’t dare.
“Do you havenothingto say to me?” Seraphine’s voice shook—out of hatred for Rune, or grief over Kestrel, or possibly the knowledge that she was about to die.
What they needed was a distraction. Something to put the room into a panic.
A fire would be good. Rune could cause utter chaos with a fire. But summoning actual fire was a complex spell that required a lot of fresh blood, and not only did Rune not know the marks, she didn’t have the blood.
But theillusionof a fire …that she might manage.
Laila pulled the lever. There was an awful clinking sound of metal straining against metal. Rune knew what came next. So did everyone else.
The chains yanked Seraphine’s feet out from under her. She flipped in the air, and her body swung helplessly as she was hauled skyward.
With no other choice, Rune decided to risk the casting scar.
She was about to touch the knife’s sharp steel to the tip of her finger and press down hard, when the acrid tang of smoke burned in the air.
“Fire!” someone yelled.
What?Rune hadn’t even drawn blood yet.
“FIRE!” More people took up the call.
Rune lowered the knife and glanced up. Black smoke thickened the air, drawing her gaze to the column of fire rising on the far side of the courtyard. Instead of red flames, these were black. Just like Seraphine’s eyes.
Spellfire.
This isn’t my spell,she realized.
She remembered the murderous look in Seraphine’s eyes.
Is it hers?
Suddenly, the column moved.Fast.Snaking toward the purging platform. Heading straight for Rune. Realizing it, she inhaled sharply, and the sting of smoke burned down her throat.
Rune erupted in a fit of coughing and her eyes burned with tears, making it hard to see.
Help Seraphine.
As she stumbled through the smoke, someone called Rune’s name—Verity?—but she didn’t glance toward the sound. She needed to get Seraphine down before the spellfire devoured them both.
Black fire crackled around them. Its fiery heat curled up Rune’s back and singed her hair. The knife hilt grew hot in her hands, burning her skin. She dropped it.
Before she could lunge for Seraphine, the dark flames snaked between them. The witch vanished, leaving Rune alone, trapped in the spellfire.
On some invisible command, the fiery circle constricted, closing in on her.
As if it intended to burn her alive.
THIRTY-NINEGIDEON
AFTER LEAVING THE GROTESQUEscene on Freshwater Street, Gideon rode for the palace, hoping he hadn’t missed the Luminaries Dinner entirely. After stabling his horse and eyeing the carriages being pulled up in the rotunda, signaling that dinner was nearly at an end, Gideon trod up the steps and headed for the courtyard.
