65 pages • 2-hour read
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Rune Winters and Gideon Sharpe stand on opposite sides of a deadly war. Having already betrayed each other in the past, their success throughout the novel relies heavily on their overcoming mutual distrust. Both are shaped by betrayals so deep they equate trust with weakness—a flaw neither can afford given that survival in their world depends on outmaneuvering enemies. Gideon views his past love for Rune as a catastrophic failure, reflecting bitterly:
By falling for her, Gideon had failed the Republic he’d helped build, the friends and soldiers he’d sworn to stand beside, the citizens he’d vowed to protect. Rune had weakened him, and that weakness had gotten people killed. It would continue to if left unchecked (22).
Gideon approaches their uneasy truce calculatingly, convinced that Rune is plotting her betrayal. He considers her “impossible” to trust (except if he first betrays her) and doesn’t think she can honor a truce, convinced that she’ll always have “some trick up her sleeve” (79). Rune mirrors this mindset, determined not to make the same mistake twice: “She couldn’t lower her guard with him again […] If Gideon was plotting to betray her, she needed to betray him first” (163). Their entire dynamic stems from the conviction that whoever trusts first will lose.
This pervasive distrust heightens the stakes of their reluctant alliance, forcing both to confront not only their perceptions of one another but also their own capacity for forgiveness. Their journey is less about rediscovering love and more about deciding whether survival alone is worth the cost of emotional isolation. Gideon’s internal battle is especially pointed as he weighs personal loyalty against duty, convinced that choosing Rune would mean that he must forsake his people: “If Gideon let Rune save the witches […] he would betray everything he believed in […] Rune knew he would never choose her” (222). However, even in moments when betrayal feels inevitable, both yearn for something else. Rune envies Abbie’s faith in Gideon, wishing she could see him, believe in him, and trust him like Abbie does. However, despite her desire for him, she can’t fully trust him, because of their past and his allegiance. Ultimately, overcoming distrust becomes the emotional core of Rebel Witch, forcing Rune and Gideon to accept that achieving victory—over Cressida, the Republic, and their own guilt—demands risking the very thing they fear most: trusting each other.
Identity plays a critical role in the novel, particularly throughout Rune Winters’s personal journey. She’s constantly caught between the roles she’s forced to play—political pawn, socialite, feared rebel, grand seductress—and the question of her real identity beneath the masks. From the beginning, Rune grapples with the uncomfortable reality that she has been performing for survival so long that she’s unsure where the performance ends and her true self begins: “After fleeing the New Republic, Rune had foolishly thought she might finally get to be herself. No longer a silly, shallow socialite but a witch in plain sight. […] But who is […] Rune Winters?” (17). This recurring uncertainty reflects one of the novel’s central ideas: Identity isn’t static but shaped, tested, and often redefined by circumstance, loss, and love. While identity constantly evolves, it plays a vital role in everyday life, affecting courage, motivation, dedication, and much more.
Rune’s shifting sense of self is most starkly evident in her comparison of how Alex and Gideon perceive her. Both love her, but neither fully understands the complexity of who she is. Rune realizes that Alex, though kind, loves what he imagines her to be—one content with safety and peace—when, in truth, she’s multifaceted:
[T]here was a part of Rune’s soul—most of it, maybe—that yearned for adventure. That craved a challenge. That liked a little danger. For better or worse, Rune needed these things to feel alive. In wanting her to live a safe, easy life, Alex was—without realizing it—wanting Rune to be less herself (139).
Alex’s love symbolized a life Rune couldn’t live because it would require her to suppress the most essential parts of herself. Gideon, too, struggles to see Rune clearly, mistaking her survival-driven manipulation for intentional, ill-intended betrayal and viewing her through the lens of his own insecurities.
However, Rune’s journey isn’t just about shedding these perceptions but about claiming the identity she questioned all along: “I am the Crimson Moth. It was the answer to her oldest question. You are the kindest, cleverest, bravest girl I’ve ever met. This was Rune Winters” (361). By the novel’s end, even as Rune fears showing the world who she really is, Gideon reminds her that her power comes not from performing but from embracing every facet of herself, encouraging her that by doing so she can overcome any fear.
Throughout the novel, Rune, Gideon, and their allies confront the violent, conflicting legacies of the New Republic and the Roseblood Dynasty. From the start, Rune recognizes that neither side offers true freedom. As she says to a woman while in Umbria, “Witches are still being slaughtered for nothing more than the crime of being what they are […] I’ll never be free until every last one of my sisters is free, too” (10). However, the only path to survival seems to involve empowering Cressida—a murderer—because the alternative is extermination. Rune realizes that the witch-hunters will never stop until they eradicate all witches. She initially believes that the only way to keep witches safe is to eradicate the Blood Guard and the New Republic, which they can accomplish by putting Cressida on the throne, even if she’s just as evil; however, Rune knows that hatred breeds hatred.
Gideon, too, recognizes how hatred poisons everyone it touches. Harrow’s bitterness mirrors Gideon’s his own past: “Looking at Harrow was like looking into a mirror. They both had been hurt by the witches they loved, and had let those wounds poison them” (247). Harrow must confront her wounds and heal from them; she let them fester into a hate that she initially can alleviate only by killing witches. While Gideon used to be like this, he has been healing from his trauma with Cressida, with Rune’s help, which allows him to ask Harrow outright, “Aren’t you tired of this bitterness? […] Aren’t you sick of the hate? (247). He explains that living in a state of distrust for a long time can keep one from recognizing good in others: “You’ll become like the monsters you hate” (247).
Both Gideon and Rune recognize the negative effects of the cycle yet helped perpetrate it and now must choose between continuing to do so or imagining something better. They realize that revenge—no matter how justifiable—only breeds more pain. This is evident when Laila opposes Rune because she put Cressida, her father’s murderer, on the throne. However, Gideon responds, “Like your father killed Kestrel Winters?” (304), drawing a parallel between their losses by pointing out that Laila’s father murdered Rune’s grandmother. In a world where every death demands another in return, no one wins.
The novel critiques the illusion of victory in such a system, noting that most of the people living under the constraints of the two ideologies hunger for a world that oppression doesn’t define. The real triumph isn’t seizing power but breaking free from the unappealing binary choice between tyrannies. Gideon’s hope for a world “without tyranny, violence, or hate… where we can live as equals” (334) represents the fragile but necessary alternative. In demonstrating his desire to lead with this view, he wins not only Rune’s trust but the loyalty of many followers. The novel highlights a bittersweet truth: Cycles of hatred consume everyone, but breaking them—even imperfectly—is the only true victory.



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