Daris’s brows shot up. “You think this is revenge?”
“I think she has no family here, and he’s decided to drive her out.”
Daris frowned at the dirt-packed road they followed toward the edge of town. “She could still be a witch.”
“She could be.”
And he’d do his duty if she was.
He wouldn’t know until he spoke to her. Desperate people did desperate things. She wouldn’t be the first poor woman toturn to witchcraft to survive a hostile village. And maybe it was better this way if that’s where she was headed.
Some villages waited too long. They’d make excuses and doubt the proof of their eyes. It was better to nip it in the bud. If witches were caught early enough, they could repent.
He hated the fucking brands though.
Unsettled, he came to a stop at the end of the road. The witch’s house was past the blacksmith and the stables. They kept pigs in a lot across the street and it smelled.
The house itself was in poor repair compared to the tidy prosperity of the rest of the village. It was built of the same white stone as the other houses, but it hadn’t been washed in ages and was more of a dingy gray, darker at the base where rain had spattered the mud from the yard. The roof was bad. Not caving in, but he suspected it would leak.
An old, skinny cow stood in the attached yard, looking like it also had seen better days. Sick animals were often cited as witch sign, but livestock grew old and died naturally too. He saw no sores or obvious sign of illness.
Looking into the woods, the hair on the back of his neck rose. The trees loomed closer here than anywhere else in town. They’d been cut back from the other houses. Here, they crouched around the little house like travelers around a fire. It didn’t mean anything necessarily. She didn’t have the money to hire help. There was no man with an ax to take care of the property. Still, he didn’t like it.
Turning to the men following behind, he said, “Check the woods and that shed. Take a closer look at the cow and the chickens.”
The men knew their jobs well and immediately dispersed.
“I can take the back,” Daris offered, and Casrian nodded.
Sometimes they tried to run.
Hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he knocked on the door. Paint, which at one time had been a cheery red, flaked beneath his knuckles. It was several moments before there was a response. He’d just lifted his hand to knock again when the door swung open and a woman stood before him, smiling warmly.
He clearly wasn’t who she was expecting. She was a pretty woman of about thirty years, dressed plainly in a blue woolen gown. Her rich brown hair was braided and wrapped like a crown about her head. The moment she saw him, the warmth in her expression went out, as quickly as if he’d extinguished a candle.
Like he was the monster here.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a thin voice, glancing over his shoulder.
“Are you Lasandra Yahl?”
“I am.” Her face paled, and she steadied herself with a hand against the doorframe. “Would you…would you like to come in?”
Her voice suggested that she very much hoped he’d say no. Before she could change her mind, he stepped forward. “Thank you. I would.”
She offered him tea which he refused. Witches had attempted to poison him twice now. While she prepared a cup for herself, he looked around the small space. Unlike the outside of the house, the interior was well-kept. The kitchen was fastidiously clean. The large wooden table set before the cooking fire had been recently scrubbed, and there wasn’t so much as a morsel for a mouse on the floor. Herbs of various kinds hung from the rafters, but there was no dust or cobwebs.
She gestured for him to take a seat at the table. There were only two chairs. The one he seated himself in looked like the sturdier of the two.
Mistress Yahl startled at the sight of Daris passing by the window outside, but she didn’t comment. When she came to thetable, her chipped cup trembled in her hands and she lost several drops before she managed to set it down.
He didn’t waste any time coming to the point. “You have been accused of witchcraft.”
Her face paled further, her lips going bloodless. She swallowed twice before she managed to get out a word. “I see.”
He raised a brow. “You have nothing more to say to that?”
She folded her hands carefully on the table. “I am not a witch.”
