Page 76 of A Time of Witches

“I’ll need your confession.” Hopkins held the quill in his hand in expectation as she was plunked into the chair across from his desk.

Having the weight off her feet made them pulse in time with her rapidly beating heart.

“I said I did not kill my husband, and I have not cavorted with the Devil.” Sybil infused conviction into her voice.

Hopkins sighed. “We do have other ways to establish that you are indeed a witch if you do not confess.”

“More torture, I presume?” Sybil asked harshly.

Hopkins straightened, affronted. “My dear Mrs. Brantham, have you been subjected to thumbscrews? Have you had knives and hot pokers implemented upon your person?”

“Is being starved and left to die of thirst not torture? And being walked without rest to the point that my feet feel broken?”

“A bit of hunger is a kindness compared to being bowed in the Scavenger’s Daughter.” Hopkins shook his head. “Truly, Mrs. Brantham, your claims are nothing short of theatrical.”

Anger flashed like hot lightning. “You will get no confession from me,” she hissed. “I have had no dealings with the Devil, nor did I kill my husband.”

Heedless of retribution, she continued. “There is a child in the prison downstairs, starving and filthy. She is innocent, as is every soul beneath your feet, whom you torture with the intent to murder.” She locked eyes with him, allowing all the rage coursing through her to radiate from her glare. “What you have wrought upon the innocents of this region should bring you shame!”

Hopkins leaned back in his chair, his gaze hardening to ice.

A chill crawled over her flesh.

He addressed the guards behind her. “Bring in the searchers. Mrs. Brantham will be their first. Remove her stockings and shoes. Bind her feet.”

Sybil jerked upright, trying to stand, to escape, but the guards held her down. One of them tugged off her shoes, his efforts hindered by her swollen feet. Days might pass before she could fit them on once more.

A guard’s hand went up her skirt. She flinched away, but another held her in place.

“Nothing I want to see up there,” the guard muttered indignantly.

Sybil turned her head, unable to watch as he pulled away the woolen stockings from her calves, leaving her skin bare in a moment of brutal intimacy. A heavy clanking sounded from the floor and the chill of iron clasped around her skin, resting sharp upon her jutting ankle bones.

But in securing her feet, they freed her hands, removing the manacles there and revealing torn, angry flesh at her wrists.

“The searchers will find the truth.” Matthew Hopkins grinned at her with a cold, unfeeling malice.

Despite her resolve, whatever they meant to discover made Sybil tremble to her core.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Lilith

Sunlight pulsed through Lilith’s slumber, rousing her.

She stretched, letting the dormant quiet of her muscles flex awake against the cool glide of her sheets. Dragon was nestled in the crook of her neck. A purr rumbled from his warm body as he snuggled closer.

Opening her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling and felt… rested.

She absently pet Dragon and tried to recall what she’d dreamed the night before. There hadn’t been a single nightmare. No mirrors or fires or Jacinda begging for help.

Last night was blank, an empty canvas upon which her body could paint a restful night of restorative sleep. The bag of dried hops under her pillow was a miracle.

Or…magic?

Lilith sat up abruptly.

The manor and the pouch of herbs called to her with an urgency that sent her leaping out of bed.