Rune’s grandmother had kept her scars contained to her arms. If Rune closed her eyes, she could still see them. The delicate cuts began at the edge of Nan’s collarbone and flowed down to her wrists in silvery designs depicting nautical scenes: a ship in a storm, half-swallowed by waves; sea monsters swimming in the deep.
“You wouldn’t have to cut yourself,” said Verity.
“What do you mean?” asked Alex from behind them.
Verity glanced back at him. “My sisters used to say that a witch’s skill is a combination of study and practice. The more she learns and memorizes, and the more she consistently practices her spellmarks, the more she excels at her spells. But an equally vital component is the blood she has access to. An accomplished witch can master complex spells using her own fresh blood, or someone else’s. Rune can’t use her own, for obvious reasons, but she could use someone else’s—if they were willing to bear the scars.”
Nan had mentioned it to her once—that some witches used the blood of others to amplify their spells. This was necessary for immense magical workings, such as Majoras and Arcanas—the two highest categories of spellcraft. Majora spells required someone else’s blood given with permission; Arcana spells required someone else’s blood taken against their will.
Arcanas were the most powerful of all spells and had been outlawed for centuries. Not only were they considered wicked, they came with a considerable cost: if a witch took someone’s blood against their will, the spell using that blood would corrupt the witch. She would crave the power it gave her, and resort to more coercive bloodletting, often killing her sources.
“You’re saying Rune could, for example, use my blood to do magic?” asked Alex.
Verity nodded. “She’s capable of powerful spells. She’s simply working with a diminished resource. Basic spells like Mirages can be done using old blood, but the more powerful spells require the sacrifice of fresh blood.”
Alex glanced at Rune, his eyes sparking.
“No,” said Rune, seeing the thoughts in his head. “Absolutely not.”
“Why? If it would help you—”
“You would bear the scars.” If Rune were to take Alex’s blood, even with his permission, silver casting scars would appear where she’d cut him. It would put him at too great a risk.
Verity looked like she was about to say something, when the sound of voices in the hall made them all twist toward the door—which shone with a bloody spellmark.
“I need to clean this,” said Rune, realizing the danger she’d put her friend in. She started to rise. “Before someone sees …”
Verity put a hand on her shoulder, pressing lightly down. “Stay here and rest a minute. I’ll clean up.”
Verity left to fetch a bucket of soapy water and a mop, locking the door behind her. In the silence, Rune’s stomach growled. Magic always made her ravenous.
Alex lifted the spell book lying open on the bed. “ ‘Picklock and Deadbolt’?”
From the floor, Rune looked up to find him standing over her. The open spell book in his hands cloaked her in shadow.
“It’s my backup plan,” Rune explained. “In case we can’t find Seraphine before they transfer her. Picklock will open the more complicated locks of the palace prison.”
Or it would, if I could cast it.
Alex shut the book and frowned down at her.
“You’ve never been inside the palace prison,” he pointed out. “How would you know which locks need picking?”
“Noah Creed took me on a tour of Oakhaven Park once.” Oakhaven Park was the Creed family estate. “His mother is the prison warden. I saw a map on the wall of her study.”
“And the Creeds are throwing a masked ball tomorrow night,” murmured Alex, putting her plan together. “You’re going to steal the map.”
She shook her head. “Too suspicious. Stealing it would alert his mother, who would likely double the prison’s security and put the Blood Guard on high alert.”
Alex sat down beside her on the floor. Together, they took up all the space in Verity’s tiny room that wasn’t claimed by her bed and books. Handing the heavy tome back to Rune, he asked, “So what’s your plan?”
“If I can remember where his mother’s study is, I could trace the map.”
The look on Alex’s face suggested he didn’t think this plan was any better than stealing it outright, but if that’s what he thought, he kept it to himself. “I imagine it’s a large map. Where exactly are you going to hide this tracing while you dance and flirt all night?”
She smirked at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
To her surprise, his face flushed.
A prickling silence filled the space between them. They both glanced away.
“I’ll cover for you,” Alex said.
Before she could thank him, he qualified: “On one condition.”
Rune narrowed her eyes. “What condition?”
“Once Seraphine is safe, you promise to lie low for a while.”
Rune wrinkled her nose. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you. Which is unfortunate, seeing as I know exactly where Warden Creed’s office is.”
“You do?” Rune’s eyes widened. “Wait. You’re blackmailing me!”
“And you are fainting from overexertion. You need a break, Rune.”
She hated the pitying look in his eyes and looked away, to the broken vial on the floor. So much wasted blood. Blood she might have used to break Seraphine out of her cell.
But Alex was right. She was wearing herself too thin.
It would be nice to rest.
There had been fewer and fewer purgings lately, mostly because of Rune—with Verity and Alex’s help—stealing witches from Blood Guard holdings and smuggling them off the island. But that wasn’t the only reason. Any witches who once hoped things would get better had realized by now things were getting worse. They’d fled—if they could—or were well hidden.
So maybe Rune could justify taking a day or two …
“A month.”
“What? No.”
“I’m going to Caelis for a month.”
“WHAT?” Caelis was the capital city of Umbria, a peaceful country on the Continent, directly across the Barrow Strait.
I need you here! she almost said. “Why go so far?” And for so long?
“I’ve been corresponding with the Conservatory’s dean about finishing my studies.”
A storm of emotions whirled through Rune. Anger, that he’d leave the fate of innocent witches in Blood Guard hands. Annoyance, that he had a life and desires apart from their mission.
But it isn’t his mission, Rune told herself. It’s mine.
Alex helped her to the point of endangering himself because he was a good person who believed that what the New Republic had done—what it was still doing—was wrong. But he wasn’t a witch. He would never know what it felt like to be hated and hunted. To watch people like you purged for the simple crime of being who they were.
This fight would never truly be his. And it was unfair to expect him to continually put himself at risk for her.
She was being selfish.
A too-familiar ache swelled beneath Rune’s rib cage as she glanced down at the spell book gripped to her chest, thinking of Nan. Remembering a time when she’d felt whole and seen and understood. A time when she hadn’t felt so utterly alone.