Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
margaret
“Are you ready to see your brother again?” Gideon asked casually.
“Um.” I gnawed on my lip. “I’m going to need more information on that.”
He shot me a sideways glance. “We’re close. We need to intercept within a day or so. And if all goes well, we’ll bring him back to the valley with us.”
He was so conversational. Like it was no big deal. His horse—who I’d secretly named Charcoal—marched forward with no sense of urgency. No indication that we were approaching what could be our doom.
However, the rest of our group seemed to be on edge.
Katherine wasn’t speaking. Benedict kept his shoulders tense all day. And the guards accompanying us were all on high alert.
Like they knew we were in danger.
“Intercept the war games?” I asked. “That sounds dangerous. And risky. Do we even know what the war games are?”
Katherine and Benedict slowed their horses and waited for ours to catch up so they could hear Gideon’s explanation, too.
“We only know the major highlights,” he spoke with calm confidence.
“They’re taking place a few miles from here, and the games themselves span over half the city.
They’re deadly, that’s a certainty. Possible booby traps for miles, and the Ministry won’t be our only enemy there.
The mystics themselves will be fighting to the death.
If they spot us, we’ll be seen as a threat. ”
Katherine cursed beneath her breath. “Great. More people trying to kill us.”
“What if they don’t believe us?” I asked. “What if they think we’re some sort of test sent by the Ministry?”
Gideon’s expression went serious. “That’s why we brought you, little snake.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Me? You think just because I’m his sister, I can convince him to believe us?”
You’ll convince him because he knows your secret.
The voice, Gideon’s voice, was in my head. I nearly tumbled off my horse. Squeaking, I whipped my head his way, eyes wide.
He wasn’t even looking at me.
Okay. Maybe I’d lost my mind.
No. You haven’t
The voice returned, and my heart lodged itself in my throat.
What! I thought back. You’re just now telling me you can talk to my mind? Does that mean you’ve been reading my thoughts all this time?
I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered, embarrassed, or angry.
A wave of heat washed over me, but it was followed quickly by intrigue.
“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said, tugging on his horse’s reins.
The guards quickly slid off their horses and unstrapped our bags. But Katherine, Benedict, and I only watched from above. We were nowhere near cover. We were still traveling through crumbling ruins. It absolutely did not feel safe to stop here.
“Here?” Benedict echoed. “Are you sure?”
Gideon swung a toned leg off his horse and jumped to the pavement. He strode to my horse and held out his arms to help me down as if it were habit.
I tried to act unfazed as his hands found my waist and he lowered me to the ground with an ease that seemed supernatural.
“This is one of our safe houses,” he said. “We’ve hidden here many times. I assure you, it’s safe. And it’s close enough to the war games that we can intercept when the time feels right.”
My heart skipped a beat.
It was really happening.
I was going to find Sinner and Athena—maybe even tonight.
Are you afraid?
The voice made me jump again, but a satisfying chill quickly replaced that shock.
Yes, I thought back. I’m afraid that other people will get hurt. I always am.
A pause, and then, But not for yourself?
I was too exhausted to come up with a response. No, I never feared for myself. I hadn’t feared for myself in a very, very long time.
My concern was for those who tried to protect me.
“Margaret,” Katherine said. “Are you coming inside?”
I turned, surveying her, then looked back, only to find that Gideon—who had been right beside me—was gone.
Conversation over, I guess.
With a nod, I quickly grabbed the pack off my horse. Then I followed Katherine and Benedict into the crumbling building.
Inside, what we found wasn’t a dilapidated building. It was an old inn.
While it was shabby, it had been cleaned up. The red velvet couches in the small lobby were covered in dust, and a pile of debris sat in the middle of the room. Old paintings—mostly ruined but still beautiful—hung from the walls. Several more sat on the floor in small piles of rubble.
A beautiful ornate desk sat at the far end of the space, with keys lined up along the wall behind it.
The guards were already plucking keys from their nails and dragging their belongings toward the rickety staircase in the corner.
Dust and smoke lingered in the air, but a familiar pleasant scent, too. Pine, maybe.
“There are plenty of rooms,” one of the guards announced, passing out keys. “I’d suggest getting as much rest as you can. There’s no telling when you’ll have a chance like this again.”
Gideon, where are you?
I scanned the lobby, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Katherine, are we sharing a room?” I asked.
She grabbed one of the remaining keys from the guard. “It’s been fun, but I’ll pass this time. Get your own room. Enjoy a bit of peace and quiet while you can.”
She half-heartedly punched Benedict in the ribs, then headed up the stairs with her claimed on her heels.
Of course. There was a connection there. One I couldn’t understand, right?
I was too simple for that. Just a young, naive girl who had no clue what real love was like.
I dragged my bag up to my room. Alone.
It was quiet suddenly. Like the walls cut off all sound.
And I didn’t like it. Nope. Not one bit.
I found the 14 on the wall that matched the 14 etched into my brass key and approached, frowning when I discovered the door was already cracked open.
Was there a staff here to clean between visits? I shuddered at the thought that it seemed unlikely. But it was better than the dungeons.
So I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. The room was small but tidy. Most of the dust and debris from the fallen city around us had been cleaned up, and a floral blanket had been laid flat across the bed.
The window was cracked, and long white lace curtains blew casually in the night breeze.
I dropped my small bag onto the bed and walked to the window.
My mind was a jumbled mess, and my heart had been racing since Gideon had spoken in my mind.
And then he’d disappeared, so I hadn’t gotten any answers. But was I really supposed to act like that was normal behavior?
The city outside was silent—but I didn’t believe for a second that it was sleeping. Nowhere in this cursed place was safe. It was filled with tortured souls and silent, creeping footsteps.
Then I saw him.
That black hair, that dark coat—I’d recognize Gideon anywhere. Even in the shadows of the night. He lurked near the edge of a building, like he was hiding.
From whom—or what—I wasn’t sure.
I stepped to the side of the window so I wouldn’t be seen and continued watching. Was I being creepy? Maybe. Was I doing my due diligence to make sure this mysterious leader of the resistance wasn’t a total nut?
Definitely.
He could talk in my freaking mind, after all. That alone was worth investigating!
But as I took in his perfectly slicked curls and his almost too-long legs, my stomach dropped.
Because he wasn’t just taking a casual stroll. No. He had to be meeting someone.
A few moments later, he lifted his head, and my fear was confirmed.
A beautiful, red-haired girl stepped around the corner and approached him.
Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. He was meeting a woman.
I had absolutely no right to be jealous. But my body hadn’t gotten the memo, and the visceral reaction that ignited within my bones could not be stopped.
I slumped against the wall but kept my focus on the two of them. She kept her head dipped, but from here, there was no missing her perfect, sharp cheekbones and her beautifully golden skin.
As they exchanged words, I would’ve given anything to know what they said. Who was this girl?
And where did she come from?
She wasn’t as put-together as Gideon was. She had a certain grit to her—I could see it from here. She walked with sharp, purposeful movements and kept herself alert. Too alert.
She was on edge.
Why? Was she afraid of Gideon?
Or the war games?
Or was there something else out there we needed to fear?
She nodded once.
Gideon dipped his head in return.
Then she was gone, disappearing into the night.
I finally let out my breath.
I should have known this was too good to be true. Who was I to get all fluttery and nervous around Gideon? Who was I to think—to think he might actually like someone like me? Might actually care?
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the memory of what I’d just witnessed to disappear.
No, men like him didn’t like women like me. They liked women like her. Silky hair, big breasts, brave.
Not weak and cowardly.
I was still berating myself when someone knocked on my door.
I jumped and spun around, scrambling across the room, willing the awful feeling in my gut to vanish.
Act normal, Margaret. You’re a totally normal person doing normal things, and definitely not stalking people out the window at midnight.
With a deep breath in, I opened the door. And I almost collapsed.
“There you go again,” Gideon said. “Like to watch, little snake?”
He leaned against the doorframe, dressed in that same long black coat and smirking like we were long-lost friends.
My stomach, still not understanding the situation here, exploded into a flutter of butterflies.
“Who was that?” I asked. “What did she want?”
My cheeks flamed and I wished I could take the questions back.
Great. Way to play it cool and mysterious, Margaret.
He studied me, his hands tucked into his pockets and dark shadows looming under his eyes, his smirk fading.
Then he stepped inside. His chest nearly touched mine as he guided me backward, and he kept his focus fixed on me as he shut the door behind him.
My heart thundered. This. This behavior is what confused me. It was the way his eyes scanned my face—pausing on my lips for a moment too long—and soaking in every detail, that made me think he actually cared.
Friends didn’t look at friends like that.
Did they?
“No, Margaret.” He looped his left arm around my waist. “Please, for the love of god, do not refer to me as your friend.”
I couldn’t look away from his lips.
I wanted him to kiss me.
With his hand on my waist, our bodies much too close for a casual conversation—that’s what this was, right? He was going to kiss me?
Instead, he froze, and a war raged behind his eyes.
“We should talk,” he said, his lips almost touching mine.
It took all my restraint, but I fought the urge to close that tiny distance between us.
Get it together, woman!
Good riddance!
He is just a man! A beautiful man, but nothing more!
I pulled away, clearing my throat, and paced to the other side of the room to catch myself. “Yeah, you’re right. There are a few things we should clear up. First, how about we talk about how you can talk in my mind?”
I kept my attention fixed out the window so he wouldn’t see how much I was blushing. And also so I could think clearly without his ridiculously perfect hair distracting me.
“I should have told you about that earlier,” he sighed.
The mattress shifted behind me.
I turned around and leaned my back against the wall. This looked casual, right? Casual and cool and collected?
He watched me from the edge of the bed, his feet stretched out in front of him.
Wait…
“Are you reading my thoughts? Have you been reading my thoughts this whole—”
He shook his head. “No, I would never invade your privacy like that. I spoke to your mind earlier, but I could only hear you when we were having an active conversation.”
Hmm. “But you could read my thoughts if you wanted to?”
His mouth twitched. “Yes. I could.”
I groaned. Great. Really, really great.
“If you kept it a secret this long, why tell me at all? Or were you hoping to freak me out a little before you disappeared to meet up with that woman?”
Yeah, I clearly had no chill.
Whatever. He probably already knew I was insane.
And I still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t reading my thoughts right now.
He homed in on me, his eyes dark. Serious. “I told you because I can trust you. And that isn’t something I can often say about the people I meet. I hope you trust me as well. We’re going to need it if we’re going to get everyone out of here alive.”
The weight of his words sank into my bones.
“Okay,” I sighed. “So what was that secret conversation about?” I pointed a thumb out the window.
“That was Florence. She’s one of the mystics participating in the war games.”
If I was mid-drink, I most definitely would have spewed that liquid all over the room. But without the needed props, all I could do was gasp.
“You’re telling me one of the mystics fighting for their lives under the Ministry’s control was just here? Talking to you? Casually in the street?”
My heart simultaneously lifted and sank.
We really were close.