Page 169 of Maksym

Small. Almost nothing.

I did not turn. If I looked at her then, I might soften in a place where softness would do her no good.

“Did she ever tell you, in that conversation or any other, that she would ever abandon her bond with her fated mate?”

“No.”

“Did she ever indicate consent to a ritual intended to strip that bond from her?”

“No.”

“Were you aware of any such ritual?”

“No.”

“Were you present at the ritual site before Sage Lynch died?”

“No.”

“Did you see Nikolay Kozlov attack Sage Lynch first?”

“No.”

“Did you see the beginning of the confrontation?”

“No.”

I let the silence after that answer perform its necessary work.

Then I nodded once. “No further questions.”

The second witness was a woman from Ironwood, composed in the way people became composed when terrified of appearing disloyal. She wore a dark dress buttoned to the throat. Her hair had been braided tight enough that it pulled at the corners of her face. On direct, she testified that Maddie had appeared pleased during festival preparations. She had been dressed beautifully. Other women had attended her. She had accepted wine. She had not cried out. She had not asked to leave in this witness’s presence.

Ironwood’s counsel made much of the dress.

Men often did that. Mistook clothing placed on a woman as evidence of her intention, as if fabric could testify more truthfully than a mouth saying no.

When my turn came, I approached the lectern and set my fingertips lightly on its polished edge.

“You helped prepare Madelyn for the festival?”

“Yes.”

“You brought her clothing?”

“I was one of the women who did.”

“Did she choose the gown?”

The witness paused. “It was selected for her.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know.”

The spell hummed.

Her mouth tightened. “By the elders, I think. Or by someone acting for them.”