She had no friends, but she couldn’t make herself tell him that.
“Who would take me in now? If you go through with this trial, you will destroy our lives. We’ll be forever marked as witches even if my mother doesn’t receive the brand.” Her voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”
“You can survive the talk.” He stood and started toward the door. She thought about blocking his path, but she could see from his expression that there would be no changing his mind.
Furious, helpless tears gathered in her eyes and embarrassingly started to slide down her cheeks. She swipedthem away. “You don’t understand. How could someone like you ever understand?”
He paused to look down at her. His expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “I know the danger of witchcraft. I know the power of gossip. My mother lies in an unmarked grave between a murderer and a rapist because she died in her sin, trusting magic over God. You can survive the talk. You can survive a brand even. What you won’t survive is your mother placing her life and yours into the hands of demons. Good night, Miss Yahl. I’ll have my men find a bed for you.”
The captain rapped twice on the door. The lock turned and he was gone before she’d managed to open her mouth again. When the door closed, she fell on it, pounding until her fists began to bleed. No one came.
There was no sign that anyone heard her at all. She put her back to the door and slid down to the floor.
A trial.
She dropped her face into her hands and wept.
4
Casrian woke up with a pounding headache. He hadn’t slept well. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw tears running down the face of the dark-haired girl he’d locked up in a cell before he’d gone to bed. He thought he might have a fever. The cut he’d taken from the witch in Widrin was crusted over and warm to the touch. Unfortunately, the only healer to be found within a hundred miles of this godforsaken town was currently on trial. As he was the one presiding over the case, he didn’t think it would be in his best interests to become her patient. Mistress Yahl would likely poison him. Based on how the trial was proceeding thus far, Casrian wasn’t certain he’d blame her.
The accused sat straight-backed on a hard wooden bench near the center of the town square. Usually, trials were held in small rooms and attended only by the principal parties. The mayor, saying that there were no rooms big enough to hold all of the witnesses, had moved the trial outside.
Mistress Yahl had said it would happen like this. Casrian remembered her bitter laugh when he’d told her the trial would be a quiet, sober affair. She’d known from the beginning thatthings would get out of hand. By the time he realized the same, he’d been unable to prevent it.
The weather was fine. They’d not yet reached harvest time. As far as Casrian could tell, everyone within a day’s travel of Jarn had shown up to watch the spectacle.
In recent years, the Church had made an effort to minimize crowds to prevent mobs from bypassing the king’s justice and taking matters into their own hands. His men were doing a fine job of keeping the crowd under control. But he wouldn’t go so far as to call what was happening here today justice.
The people of Jarn hated Lasandra Yahl.
As far as he could see, there was no good reason for it. He suspected that jealousy was at the root of Mistress Harlec’s testimony. Spurned lust—that, sickeningly, from the mayor. A good deal of pure insular territoriality. She was an outsider and had no kin here. No real allies, though some patients had stepped forward to speak for her. Half of her accusers were former patients—healedpatients—who testified as to the uncanny nature of her skill. To his mind, a person shouldn’t be punished for competence, but the people of Jarn clearly viewed her with suspicion.
The mayor was the worst. He was the one who’d sent the letter to the king requesting the assistance of a witch hunter. The man’s expression was smug as he looked upon the healer. She met his gaze bravely and lifted her chin.
This was a travesty.
He stood. “Enough.”
The woman in the middle of giving her testimony looked up at him. “Sir?”
“We will reconvene at noon.” He needed to find a way out of this. There had to be some way to get things back on track. He didn’t know where he’d gone wrong. He’d followed every rule.
Nodding shortly at the mayor and priest seated beside him, Casrian turned and left the raised stage. A stage. The town used it for plays and midsummer celebrations. People in the crowd were selling roasted nuts.
He strode over to Daris and jerked his chin. “Walk with me.”
There were townspeople on his heels, calling for his attention—the mayor’s pretty daughter and her friends, one of the town elders, the priest’s brother. He ignored them all, angling away from the town square and heading toward the stables. He’d like nothing more than to get on his horse and ride out, but that wasn’t really an option.
Daris fell in beside him, holding his tongue until they were out of earshot of the townspeople. In a low voice, he said, “The mayor wants to see her punished.”
Casrian looked at him sharply. “You see it too?”
Daris nodded. “He looks more smug about how the trial is proceeding with every passing hour. And he sits in judgment over that poor woman.”
“I sit in judgment over her. He casts the town vote.”
Daris grimaced. “And the priest votes for the Church. Want to bet which way he’ll fall?”
