“Up with you!” Yelling and the pain of fingers digging against my scalp, yanking me into a sitting position, brought me awake.
“Don’t let her skin touch you. That’s how her sorcery works,” the smaller of the two men warned. Incorrect. Ignorant, and incorrect, but I kept that knowledge to myself. Rope secured my hands together, diligently tied by the guard with gloved hands. Interesting that I was to be tried as a devil-worshiping sorceress, but they only felt it necessary to send two men to wrangle me. It was a true testimony of their arrogance that their fear of me hadn’t outweighed it.
In truth, I could easily escape them. But I had no sense of whether Jonah had rescued Hunter, thus any attempt would likely endanger him more, and the people of the town as a result. I’d asked Hunter to do them no harm, and he would follow the request. Lest they tempt him. I had to trust Jonah to get him freed. I did trust Jonah. At least in this.
Not that I presently had other options.
“Walk!” the guards shoved me through the opening in the bars. The handle of a sword pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing me forward through the damp hall. It would have been painful on its own, but the muscles in my back were achy and bruised from sleeping on the stone without a mat.
The sun was full and bright, blinding as we exited the building that had held me captive. Not a prison, but a church. Colorful stained glass sparkled in the light, beauty against the dark foreboding shadow of the building cast before me. Ironic, really.
“Pick up your steps,” the guard behind me growled. He dug the hilt deeper into my back in emphasis.
“I’m in no hurry,” I said.
“Increase your speed or I’ll drag you there.”
I gazed over my shoulder at his empty threat. “You’re a fair-sized man, to be sure, but that seems a bit of effort. Especially in public.”
He blinked at me. I smiled back as his soul began to falter at my teasing.
He jolted as someone behind him shoved and called, “I warned you not to speak to her.”
I let out a sigh and turned back to concentrate ahead. It was tempting to hold my ground and force them both to have to carry me, kicking and screaming the entire way. Just to be a thorn. Yet, I liked my dignity, and I wasn’t willing to hand it to them in exchange for a few extra moments of their frustration.
It was always exhausting to witness the hordes of people who found their way to spectate in these situations. The baker that made my favorite bread and kept the two best loaves just for me each morning. The mother of the two girls who brought me wildflowers in exchange for sugar rocks. The merchant that begged my assistance to help his storefront.
They all stood, distasteful glares. As we spilled into the center of town, the energy of all those people buzzed against my skin. Hateful. Angry. Fearful, most of all. While that was normal, the levels went beyond what even a “proven” witch should garner. I darted through the faces piled together in front of me, seeking Jonah. I swallowed down my temper as I searched. With this much emotion in the air, he must have been about. I wanted to be angry, but I’d be truly damned before I’d help feed him right now.
The crowd parted, allowing me a clear path ahead. Some threw fistfuls of mud. Others spewed words that by all logic should probably land them in the eternal inferno they so headily believed I was traveling toward. Wholly unaware that if it was real, they were more likely to find themselves there than me. Some faces wore emotionless masks. Those were the hard ones to acknowledge. People that didn’t agree with the terror unfolding in front of them, but too afraid to not be seen supporting it. If I could reassure them, I would. It would only put them in similar danger to imply any connection or empathy. So, I looked away.
A tugging at my skirt pulled my attention down. A small girl had fistfuls of the fabric and stared up at me, large eyes dripping with fear. She was of age enough to know what fate awaited me ahead, but not enough to know why she should hide her tears. I was just the nice lady who made her wreaths of flowers and snuck sachets in her pockets.
I smiled down at her.
“Don’t touch that filthy thing.” Her mother’s voice scolded as she ripped the small human from me.
“You should shield her eyes,” I said.
“She needs to know what comes of the likes of you.” She spat at my skirt.
Another shove came from behind. “Keep moving.”
I shuffled uninterrupted toward the pyre. The familiar scent of roses—my roses—filled the air. Shoved amongst the many logs I was to burn upon were dozens of little sachets.
Beside the pile stood a tall man in a red robe with gold embroidery and gems adorning his fingers.
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“We will send all your evil to hell with you,” he said. His voice was low and dull. I imagined he put pews of townsfolk asleep with that voice.
“You do know, if those sachets held any actual magic, giving me access to them would be very dangerous.”
A ripple of panic wavered through the energy behind me at my words. The man held up his hand and calmly replied, “If that were true, you would not have given us a warning.”
“Perhaps I just believe in giving a fair chance.”
The corner of his mouth ticked. This man did not believe I held any power at all. This was a show of control for him. I knew it. He knew it. We stood, stuck in a staring match over our shared understanding.
Without looking away from me, he said, “Place her at the center.”
This time, I would make it hard on them. I stood completely still, refusing to climb myself up to my death. I watched the two guards who had escorted me from my cell look me up and down, measuring the easiest method to hoist me onto the stack. They were both afraid to touch me, but their fear of the man giving orders was greater still. They were smarter than I had originally credited them.
One took my torso, while the other wrapped his arms around my ankles. As they yanked me into position and struggled their way to the top, I couldn’t suppress the laughter bubbling out of me. We must have looked ridiculous.
“You see,” the man in red called out to the crowd. As he shifted his voice to carry through the crowd, it held a more charismatic appeal than moments before. “She laughs because she has drunk from the darkness.”
Cries of “Witch!” echoed through the crowd.
I did my best to be a dead weight for the men as they tugged and strapped me upright. The calls increased in volume once the two guards finally had me in place, tied to the center pole. It gave a false sense of security to those below. Mud and worse things were flung up at me. The guards took the most of it as they bustled to safety. Luckily for me, my attackers had poor aim thanks to their measured distance. Their fear held at least that benefit.
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