Page 20 of A Time of Witches

A woman silenced by the world and crushed under the heel of the rich. She had turned away John’s affection, refusing to spend her life treated with such disdain.

That day, she made a different vow—that never again would she allow someone to treat her as less than. And though she’d intended to improve her station, even she had not expected to rise so high as when Henry proposed.

What’s more, he understood that her heart was not hers to give. He himself had lost a wife who’d died birthing a stillborn child two decades before and declared he, too, could never love again.

Theirs had been a marriage of respect. Rather than silence her questions, he encouraged them. He offered her education and knowledge.

She had been scarcely twenty when she first met him in her mother’s hut, when he’d come to learn from the local healer. Back then, Sybil had been filled with more questions than answers. While he was content to have her mother explain the creation of tonics and tinctures, Sybil had wanted to know the intricacies of the world.

He had gifted her with responses to all she’d asked.

Now she had even more questions, but had also gained the knowledge to understand that one would never live long enough to see them all answered.

No, Sybil had not been like Jacinda, who should be an adult, yet sulked like a child.

The hour was past noon, far beyond when Jacinda ought to be awake.

How she could sleep past the sunrise baffled Sybil. As soon as the brilliance of the sun peeked over the trees, the energy in Sybil’s body forced her awake.

But Jacinda needed to rouse. They had to discuss their argument the prior evening.

Sybil strode across the Great Hall, her shoes whispering over the rushes when a hard object underfoot hissed metallically beneath her shoe.

Sybil lifted her foot and bent to retrieve the item.

A single band of iron curled and twisted into a fine bracelet.

Even touching the thing made the world around Sybil go uncomfortably quiet.

Was it any wonder Jacinda refused to wear the bracelet?

Mayhap Sybil ought to confess all to Jacinda.

But then the memory of the blood moon surfaced in Sybil’s mind.

Ominous. Threatening.

A warning to heed.

Sybil glanced to the hearth, recalling how the fire mirrored Jacinda’s rage.

No, teaching Jacinda was far too dangerous. She would push past every boundary, eager to explore a power greater than Sybil had ever known.

With an irritated huff, Sybil climbed the stairs.

The fragrance of rosemary and sage hovered throughout the manor, notes of protection adorning every window and doorway, discreetly sprinkled by Sybil in the middle of the night. The barrier of those enchantments lent her a sense of peace.

The door to Jacinda’s bedchamber was closed, and dread slowed Sybil’s steps. There would be an argument, of course, the hurling of painful words, the frustration of Sybil trying to infuse sense into the girl. Before the ordeal even began, Sybil was exhausted.

Walking away would be so easy, so effortless. If she did not love Jacinda so much, she would have. The time had come to have a conversation with the girl, to finally admit the truth. About everything.

With the weight of what she must do upon her shoulders, Sybil pushed the door to the room open. “Jacinda, I…”

The bed was rumpled, unmade, but devoid of its occupant. Sybil glanced about the room with a frown. “Jacinda?”

No answer followed.

The kestrel’s perch sat empty, a single speckled feather resting beside the base.