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A black-shrouded figure emerges from behind the tree and smacks a rod against the top of Benedikt’s head. He topples over, limp as a sack of potatoes.
My stomach heaves. It’s all I can do not to hurl the remains of last night’s dinner onto the earth by my feet.
I did it. I won.
But every inch of my skin feels as clammy as if I’m about to die too.
My magic flails around me, desperate to deal out more vengeance, and I clench my hands as I drag it back inside me.
A couple of broken branches. Not too horrific for payment.
As if that’s the most awful thing about this situation.
The man who’s probably Torstem steps toward me, his voice unnervingly warm. “An impressive showing, Ivy. The gods must smile on you. It’s our honor to know your loyalties lie with us.”
Twenty-Seven
Ivy
Idon’t know where the conspirators got the dress from. They must have felt it’d be too suspicious to send me back to the college in a dirty, torn set of training clothes.
They had me change by shoving a bundle of fabric into my hands and sending me into the cave to put it on. I swapped my shirt and trousers for the simple riding gown as quickly as possible, wanting to be out of the dank space.
Now, the silk skirt whispers across my legs as I stride back toward the river, the man who might be Ster. Torstem on one side and the swordsman on the other. The fabric is light, but it feels out of place in the wilderness around us. The brush snags on it, tugging it against my legs.
I pop the last bite of the cheese-stuffed roll they gave me into my mouth and force it down my throat. I didn’t really want to eat anything these psychopaths provided, but it’s late enough in the morning now that my stomach was gnawing on itself with hunger.
And if I’d refused, they’d have questioned my faith in them all over again.
I’m not sure how many of the other conspirators are following discreetly behind us and how many have hung back to deal with Benedikt. One of them—presumably the same woman who healed my finger the other night—approached me to seal the wound on my arm before I left.
I doubt they’re giving the bastard’s bastard the same courtesy.
As if he can guess the directions my thoughts have gone in, the possible Torstem glances over at me with a rustle of his shroud. “We didn’t enjoy the process of judgment. With such a major accusation, the gods demand an equally intense trial.”
The gods demanded it. Sure.
That’s a heap of cow dung if I ever heard one, Julita mutters, and I’m inclined to agree. If there’s one thing I know about the scourge sorcerers, it’s that they encourage pain rather than shying away from it.
Does he think I’ve forgotten how they ordered me to rip apart a rabbit and provoke a fight between the guards?
Of course, he doesn’t realize I already know the worst of their crimes: the immense sacrifices they demand of the children they con into joining their cause. Eyes, ears, hair, arms… Everything they can remove while remaining alive. Who knows what else on the inside?
Just remembering the sacrificial accomplices who’d crouched around Wendos in the tower makes my stomach turn.
I keep my revulsion off my face and concentrate on playing the role of devoted recruit. Even a loyal applicant would have a few questions about what just happened—especially one who isn’t supposed to know as much about the Order of the Wild’s practices as I do.
“What will happen to him?” I ask. “The man who accused me?” Better if they think I’m not even sure of his name.
The shrouded figure gives a shrug. “The gods will decide on the appropriate justice for his crime, and we will carry it out on their behalf. We can’t let such a betrayal of our principles go unpunished, of course. Those of us who embrace the All-Giver’s true will must support each other.”
How convenient that the ones who have so little end up supporting the ones with plenty, and in much more drastic ways.
“You can be sure he won’t threaten you again,” the man says, as if he thinks my silence means I’m worrying about that.
He doesn’t seem to be concerned about revealing that much to me, but then, he isn’t explicitly saying that they’re going to kill Benedikt. And even if he thought I might report a possible murder to the authorities, what could I tell the Crown’s Watch at this point?
I don’t even know for sure that the man next to meisSter. Torstem, let alone who any of the other conspirators who participated in this charade of a trial are. I have no proof of anything, not even the tests I myself carried out.
