He paused, reconsidering her.
This time, Rune studied him back, letting her gaze roam over him. The fit of his red uniform hinted at a hard, efficient form beneath. No softness. No warmth. Just unyielding muscle and strength, like an impenetrable fortress.
He had a strong, cruel mouth, and his black hair was still wet from the rain, or possibly a shower. And though he must have run himself as ragged as she had hunting down Seraphine, he stood before her polished and clean, from the pistol at his hip to the brass buckles on his boots, making Rune wonder if he had scrubbed off the blood with the same precision as his parents once sewed their elaborate garments for the queens.
The only disorderly thing about him were the knuckles on his right hand. They were red and raw, as if from pummeling something.
Or someone.
Rune’s blood burned beneath her skin. Afraid he would see the fury in her eyes, she peered up through her eyelashes, knowing the effect it had on other young men.
“I dearly hope you weren’t harmed in this … incident?”
He seemed about to answer her when the sudden, final chime of the intermission bells cut him off.
All three of them looked to find the grand foyer transformed around them. Without the socializing crowds, its emptiness loomed large. The chandeliers overhead suddenly seemed too big and too bright, and the painted ceiling more glorious than their insignificant selves deserved.
The ushers began turning out the gaslights, casting annoyed looks in their direction. Beyond the auditorium doors, the orchestra started to play.
Taking the hint, Gideon began backing away from his brother. “I have the ring booked for tomorrow night. Want to go a few rounds?”
Alex nodded. “Sure. That would be nice.”
Before turning, Gideon glanced from Alex to Rune to the alcove they’d both come out of. His lips parted ever so slightly, and something dawned in his eyes. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself and strode off.
Alex blew out a breath.
Rune swore quietly. She had let him intimidate her and found her courage too late, botching her chance to get the information she needed.
Her hands curled into fists. She needed to remedy this, and fast. She only had so much time before they transferred Seraphine to the palace prison.
Smoothing down her gown, she replaced the snarl on her face with a sweet smile, preparing to slip into the role she’d grown so good at playing these past two years. Seeing it, Alex reached for her. “Rune, don’t …”
She stepped out of his grasp.
“Rune.”
He didn’t follow as she stalked after his brother. Her silk shoes barely made a sound on the mosaicked floor of the foyer, giving Gideon no inkling that he was being tracked. For now, their roles had reversed. Rune was the predator; he was the prey. And she was closing in on him.
At the far end of the hall, where the arches of the loggia framed the foggy city outside, Gideon turned and headed up a staircase. One that led to the box reserved for Blood Guard members.
A moment later, Rune followed.
Hitching her skirts, she ran up the steps, shoved aside the velvet curtains at the top, and stepped out onto the darkened balcony and into a sea of red.
It was teeming with witch hunters.
Rune hesitated.
She was the Crimson Moth—a wanted criminal, not to mention a witch, hiding in plain sight. But this wouldn’t be the first time she had walked into a space full of the people who hunted her kind. She’d done it hundreds of times before without batting an eye.
So why was there a tiny seed of fear sprouting inside her?
Because Alex is right.
In a war room full of weapons, Gideon was the deadliest, and Rune was heading straight toward that honed edge, her throat bared.
He doesn’t suspect you, she told herself, trying to calm the buzz in her blood. All these stupid brutes see when they look at you is exactly what you want them to see: a silly little socialite. Gideon Sharp is no different.
Armed with this reminder, Rune headed toward the empty seat at the front of the box. Beside it, Gideon reclined, elbow resting across the backrest. Perfectly relaxed. As if Seraphine’s impending execution didn’t plague him at all.
Rune gathered her courage the way she gathered her dress. Sitting down beside him, she said, “Mind if I join you?”
SIX
RUNE
GIDEON IMMEDIATELY WITHDREW HIS arm from the seat back, startled by her presence. As the orchestra’s hum rose to a crescendo, the lights around the horseshoe auditorium dimmed. The second act was about to start.
“Actually, that seat—”
“I’ve never watched an opera from up here before,” she said, cutting him off. The exhilarating rush of danger coursed through her as she peered down to the floor seats, which were packed full, except for a few stragglers climbing over others to get to their spots. “It’s quite the view.”
In the near-dark, she could feel the weight of his inscrutable gaze. “Quite. Is Alex with you?”
“No. He …” Rune glanced up and their eyes locked. An electric hum made the hair on her arms rise. Like being caught in a storm right before lightning strikes.
“Miss Winters? Is everything all right?”
The question grounded her.
You are an actor, she reminded herself. And this is a play.
But which character was she—the heroine, the villain, or the fool?
The fool.
“Everything is wonderful,” she said, rallying. “I just love the opera, don’t you?”
The stage lights flared, illuminating the satin gowns and colorful sequins of the actors positioned onstage. Illuminating Gideon, who watched her in the darkness.
“It’s all so pretty,” she continued, spinning the image of herself that she wanted him to see. “The costumes and the sets and the singing …” She flashed him the brightest smile she could manage. “Though the stories could be shorter. A lot shorter, don’t you agree? I find them a little, well, boring, you know? And so hard to follow! By the time they’re over, I’m always a little confused.”
She laughed to solidify the part she was playing. But deep down, her soul wilted.
Before Nan died, they attended the opera every Saturday. It was Rune’s favorite day of the week. Nan did Rune’s makeup and hair and let her borrow whatever jewelry she liked. Rune loved waltzing up the steps to the foyer in a frothy new skirt, loved being included in the conversations with her grandmother’s sophisticated friends, loved being transported to a different world inside the auditorium. But she loved the afterward best, when, on the way home, she and Nan fell into heated discussions about the stories that had played out across the stage.
That was before the Red Peace outlawed the old operas. The travesties that played here now were all preapproved by the Ministry of Public Safety. They weren’t stories—not good ones, anyway. They were thinly veiled lessons about how to behave under the new regime. Reminders of who the enemy was and why you should despise them. The villains were always witches or witch sympathizers; those who ratted them out or hunted them down were the heroes.
It was all so nauseatingly predictable.
Nan would have hated them.
She stole a glance at Gideon. He probably thinks they’re high art.
“Intermission is my favorite part,” Rune continued. “And the after-parties, of course.” She leaned in toward him, as if to spill a secret, and the smell of gunpowder wafted off his coat. “That’s why I’m here. To invite you to my party.”
Annoyance tugged his stern mouth into a harsh line. “I wish I had the patience for silly gossip and shallow company,” he said. “Alas, I do not.”
At the insult, a bloom of heat rushed up her neck, reminding Rune of the first time they met and the dismissive remarks he’d made. She was suddenly grateful for the darkness. Fisting her hands in the smooth silk of her dress, Rune nodded sympathetically. “I understand completely. Someone like you obviously prefers the company of stupid brutes with terrible style.”