Page 111 of A Time of Witches

If every prisoner escaped, the attempt would be that much harder. They would be too easily seen. But how could they leave everyone else behind?

And yet how could they risk being caught?

These questions twisted back and forth, tangling around one another.

In truth, Sybil had her own doubts. But there was too much at stake not to try. Once she was free, she would take Jacinda and flee from this town. They would be safe.

For the first time since she had been arrested, there was a semblance of hope.

“He said to tell you he is grateful for what you said to him,” Margery whispered to Sybil after her meeting with John Griffin.

It was obvious Margery did not understand the message she conveyed, but to Sybil, those words were a balm to the ragged parts of her soul.

Were their places reversed, and he had kept the knowledge of their child from her, she did not know that she could be so forgiving.

But then, she had been the one to know what he missed, witnessing Jacinda grow from a babe to a beautiful little girl with curling red-gold ringlets. How her inquisitive nature evolved into defiance and a strength Sybil found equal parts inspiring and infuriating.

Hours later, the guards wasted no time imbibing the gift bestowed upon them. Mugs frothed with foaming ale, and the sweet scent hovered in the air, making every prisoner’s mouth water with longing.

By evening, the guards were staggering around the room, jabbing their cudgels into the cages and jeering at the prisoners. The one with the scarred eyebrow approached Sybil and wavered outside the bars, glaring at her.

“You do not have to be so cruel,” Sybil said boldly, knowing she would stoke his ire.

From behind her back, she waved a hand, the sign for the little girl to slip between the bars with her vial of valerian root.

“Oh, but I do.” He sneered, his face ruddy with drink. “You witch.”

“I am no witch.” Sybil lifted her head. “I am a woman. One who has never done harm to anyone.” From the corner of her eye, she caught the little girl’s slight figure slip between the bars.

A quick glance confirmed the other guard was busy harassing the male prisoners, his back to the table where the two mugs of ale sat beside the jug.

Sybil could not have planned their distraction more perfectly. The guard’s vicious natures would be their own downfall.

A scoff drew Sybil’s full attention back to the guard. “We’ll see tomorrow.”

Her body quivered in response despite her resolve. “What do you mean?”

What more could they possibly to do her?

“You are going to trial tomorrow.”

Sybil shook her head, scarcely feeling her own body. “Without the assizes?”

Bury St. Edmunds was too small to have their own court system—like many towns—and relied on the traveling court to oversee trials. With war ravaging the country, the men of the assizes were not traveling.

How could there be court with no men to act as judge and jury?

The guard simply lifted his shoulders in an uncaring shrug. “They’ll deal with the likes of you tomorrow. You and the pretty one.” He nodded to Margery, who stiffened at her side.

Behind him, the little girl hid under the cover of the table and poured half the vial into each mug with trembling hands. Just as she was returning, the guard began to turn back around.

“All of us?” Sybil asked quickly.

His brow furrowed. “Of course not all of you. No one has the time to see to the lot of you in one day.” He rolled his eyes, thoroughly convinced she was a fool.

When he turned round once more, the little girl was back in the cage.

He lifted the mug of ale, and drank so deeply, his entire body leaned back. When he lowered the mug, there was a scowl of disgust on his face.