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Nelda knelt on the outskirts of the camp and listened. There was no sign of the king amongst them, and she closed her eyes to focus on what she could hear. The sounds of soldiers, the movement of horses, and two young men in the forest beyond. She tried not to sigh. The girl called to her, a longing in the way her heart thudded too fast.
She was young. Nelda wondered about her history, how she had discovered what she was, how she had fled to a convent. Or had someone found the girl and taken her in, as had happened with Nelda? Lost and alone and near to death, she had staggered close and fallen asleep in the trees surrounding the convent. The mother had found her and taken her in. She shook the thought away—the mother and the others lost, and all because they had helped her.
Now there was another who needed her help.
The girl was already battered. Nelda could feel the fight within her, although not the flame. Her lip was bleeding, her face bruised, her arms pulled. If she had been any other woman, these men might have done more, but they wouldn’t get that close to a witch if they knew her to be one. Always sought after and yet always reviled.
The man in red was someone she knew, or at least knew of—the cardinal, and a topic of frustration within the convent. Had she seen him there? Or had he been at Sunsong Castle all those years ago? The tree beside her leaned in, as though caressing her fingers with its leaves. When she opened her eyes to the young woman, her brilliant green eyes appeared to be looking at Nelda and her lips moved as though she was speaking. The man in red slapped her again, and the movement in the tree stopped. How was Nelda going to reach her? And even if she did, where would they go?
The girl slumped down and then cried out at the unnatural pull against her joints. Nelda sensed the uneasiness in the young men watching. Brothers, but there was something odd between them. Twins. Yet she had seen it in Jamie’s eyes—the lie, and the desperate need for her to believe him. They believed the lie. She wondered why he would need to lie about such a thing.
One of them was trying to move closer. Nelda was surprised by their trying to save the girl, but perhaps they didn’t know what she was. Witches looked like any other women, really. It was how she had managed to hide within the castle for so long, not fully understanding what she was, just knowing that she could help—that she had to help.
And then it was all her fault, the girl who didn’t burn in the fire that took so much from the kingdom. They knew what she was then, and she had to leave everything she knew, everything she loved.
Her own brother came to mind, his equally dark hair, his bright smile. Although it was lost quickly to the hatred that had crossed his face, the anger at what she was as she’d emerged from the flames. No matter that they’d been so close, everything to each other—he had been the first to try to kill her. He’d very nearly succeeded.
The loss of him still cut like a sharp knife through her heart, and she struggled to breathe. But this wasn’t going to save the girl tied to the post. If the girl didn’t have fire, then she would burn. Had they saved her for a reason? Nelda wondered as she stood in the shadow of the tree. Had they pulled this girl from a convent to parade before the king?
Although they were moving further and further away from the castle and where she thought the king would be. Who was this man of the God, and what did he want? Nelda was tempted to remain watching from where she was. There might be an opportunity to learn and save the girl at the same time.
The cardinal stalked off back towards his tent, calling for someone to follow. For a moment, the girl was alone amongst the sea of soldiers, leaning back against the post, her eyes searching the trees.
It grew dark quickly over the camp, but Nelda could sense the soldiers becoming more alert. They were clearly well-trained men; they knew what they were doing. Nelda understood then that they were using the woman to draw others out. Draw out witches. Were they still looking for her, or was it witches in general?
Witches had never been popular—feared more than hated—but after the fire at Sunsong Castle and the loss they’d experienced, the Kingdom of Burasal had changed. The hatred became focused. In the years following the fire, hundreds of women were tortured and murdered, many thought to be witches, but Nelda knew more likely than not they were innocents.
And despite the guilt that weighed on her shoulders, she was an innocent as well. No matter what her brother thought of her, or the king, she had not started the fire that had stolen so many lives that night. She had hoped the fire would consume her, ending her difficulties that night along with so many others, but it was not to be. In many ways, she’d found some peace with the Goddess, with the distance it gave her from the world and the fear of what she might have been capable of.
She took a deep breath and tried not to remember a past she had worked so hard to forget over the last fifteen years. It had been so much longer, but she had finally found some peace only to have it torn away by this man in red and his soldiers.
For a moment, she was sure that the boy on the other side of the forest was going to run out to the girl and get himself killed, but the other kept him from doing anything foolish. What did they think they could do with her—take her back to their mother? Nelda wanted to laugh then, unsure even why Heath had followed her. His father would not have approved, and his mother certainly wouldn’t. Frayne didn’t agree, and Nelda wondered if he had only followed this far to take his brother home.
She refocused on the camp. They were settled in and had been for days, if not longer. She needed to get this girl out, but the only way might be to put herself forward, show herself to this man and see what it was he was after. She leant against the tree, taking in the texture of the bark, grounding herself one last time and sending a silent prayer to the Goddess that this was the right thing to do. Then a horse galloped through the forest.
The sound and proximity made her flinch. She moved around the tree to ensure she wasn’t seen. Given the dark night and her black cloak, she was sure she was nothing more than a shadow to the rider.
He pulled the horse to a stop and leapt down as it tossed its head around. The girl cried out, trying to get his attention, but he stalked directly to the red tent. His armour rattled as he went. Nelda wondered if he had ridden all the way from Sunsong. His horse was lathered, and someone stepped forward and led it away while he entered the red tent without so much as a knock.
Nelda crept closer. She was outside the tree line but still a shadow, she hoped. There was noise and conversation between the other soldiers, but not too much. They seemed to be occupied by what might be happening in the tent rather than watching the forest.
“I don’t care what he wants,” the older man said, his voice level and calm, if somewhat louder than needed. Nelda took a deep breath and stepped closer.
“He is your king,” the other man said. “How dare you defy him.”
“I do not defy him. I am doing his work as well as that of the God.”
“Burning women and children?”
Nelda liked this man; he saw the horror for what it was. But did that mean the king didn’t want the cardinal doing what he was? Had he not sent him out to destroy convents and kill children?
“I know what I do,” the older man said.
“Cardinal, I appreciate your position, as does His Majesty, but he has asked for you to return to Sunsong Castle.”
“I have captured a witch,” the cardinal said.
“As a pet?” the man quipped, and Nelda bit down on her tongue in fear she might laugh. There was much of Jamie in this man. A dedicated soldier, but a man beneath the armour, one with a sense of humour and common sense.
The cardinal growled something.
“You mean to draw others out?” the man asked, an uncertainty in his voice. “And what if you cannot stop them? What if they are stronger than you realise? One girl destroyed half a castle and killed...”
“I know what she did,” the cardinal interrupted. “And I know she is still out there, a risk to the kingdom and the king.”
“I do not doubt your intentions,” the new arrival said. “But if she has not tried to harm the king or the kingdom in all these years, it is thought she is dead.”
A scream filled the camp and was followed by an unnatural silence. The two men raced from the tent as Nelda pressed herself into the shadows against the its flexible surface. Another man had arrived, standing in the middle of the camp with a torch in hand. The light on his scarred face took Nelda’s breath away. “Nuris,” she breathed.
“General Graewyth,” the cardinal said, his voice demanding—as though in that title he asked what the general was doing, why he was there, and did he realise he wasn’t welcome.
“Are you sure this child is a witch?” the general asked, moving the flame close to the girl again. She tried desperately to pull away from it, and Nelda was tempted to step out into the torchlight. “She doesn’t appear to like the heat.”
There was something dark and cruel in the man. He was taller than she remembered, leaner than she thought he should be. Did he look after himself, or was he too busy running around enacting the evil will of the king?
“Please put the torch down,” said the soldier who had arrived. He wasn’t asking—he was directing—but she knew Nuris didn’t have to answer to anyone but the king. If he wanted to burn this girl alive here and now, there was nothing any one of them could do to stop it.
He lowered the torch, and Nelda had to hold on to the tent to prevent herself stepping out. All eyes in the camp were on the scene unfolding before them. A whisper moved through the soldiers that the great General Graewyth had been sent to end this.
He looked around as though taking in the appraisal, although Nelda thought he was a man more likely to spend his time in the shadows. His dark hair showed no hint of grey or his true age, and she wondered if he was more like her than he wanted anyone to know.
He looked in her direction, a stare that seemed to sense her presence. Then he dropped the torch and stepped forward. A hand closed around her arm. She nearly squealed, but she was being pulled back into the tent.
In the dim candlelight, the tent was quite opulent. Lush red fabrics. Tables covered in maps—and standing over one of them, a candle in hand, was Frayne. Running his finger over the ink lines.
He didn’t even look up when Heath dragged her inside. As he was about to speak, she held a finger to her lips and shook her head. She tugged at him to indicate they should leave, but Frayne motioned them forward.
Skilfully drawn in ink across a smooth skin was a map of Burasal. She had seen one once before. Town and region names were clearly printed against images of houses and forests. Red-circled towns were dotted across the kingdom, the red markings made by a different hand than the rest. It was a line, a clear line across the kingdom. Several towns had crosses through them, and a couple had numbers printed beside them, also in red.
Nelda’s eye fell on one. She was sure it was her convent, a cross overlapping the circle, although on a map that was a good six feet by six, the circle was only the size of her fingertip. As though she had pressed her finger in ink and then touched it to the map. She leaned forward and saw the number one clearly printed beside it.
She should have stayed in the chapel, allowed the smoke to choke the life from her. The drop of water on the map made her look up and see the two boys watching her. She wiped at her face, the tears a surprise. She was not as strong as she had been.
“What exactly are you doing here?” the voice of General Graewyth demanded. Nelda flinched, sure that he was standing over her shoulder. But they were alone in the tent.
“We have to go,” she whispered. “You are not safe.”
“Neither are you,” Frayne returned, his voice low. Something familiar in the way he looked at her.
“We have to save her,” Heath pleaded.
“They won’t kill her yet,” Nelda said. “They think they can draw out others.”
“Did Papa know what you were?” Frayne asked.
She shook her head, wondering how he had worked it out so quickly. Looking back to the map and the marked buildings and towns, she wondered if the cardinal had left fire and destruction in his wake.
“Will that man kill her?” Heath asked, watching the opening to the tent.
“Not if they think there is a chance she is useful.”
“And how will they think that?” Frayne asked.
Nelda smiled then, feeling the world crackle around her and the anger build in her chest. The fear of seeing Nuris pushed the heat from her fingers. Both boys stepped back from the table in the same instant as little fires lit up the circles on the map.
Frayne had Heath by the arm and was pulling him towards a slit in the back of the tent. Nelda ran her fingers over the table, and the little flames jumped to life. She walked towards the bed, too soft and large for an army to carry through the forests. The thick curtains that would keep him shielded from the cold nights were soft. She ran her fingers over them, and pulled the fabric towards her face.
She hadn’t experienced such lovely things in so long. It was almost a shame to see them burn. But the flames could not be held back now. The freedom and peace overwhelmed her as they slowly trickled over the fabric. As she squeezed through the slot in the back of the tent, she waved her hand and the little flames grew larger. Then they were running through the camp, unseen by the soldiers watching the man in the middle of it all. They were back in the safety of the trees as the tent, like a torch of its own, flared to life.
She stopped to watch the wonder of what she had tried to hide for so long light up the world. Nuris stepped back from the flames, but she could see him clearly. A nervousness she’d never thought she would see again possessed his features.
“What happened?” the cardinal screamed into the night.
“He must have knocked over a candle,” Heath murmured. And they turned and moved deeper into the forest.
“Is this a good idea?” Frayne asked, watching Nelda.
“The general will be looking for me now. I think he was always looking, but this will make him sure. They will move on, try to find more witches, and we’ll find a chance to save her.”
“They won’t kill her?” Heath asked.
“I think they know her worth,” she said.
“And the general—why is he looking for you?”
“He thinks I am responsible for what happened to him.”
The two boys looked at her, but she said no more. She wasn’t sure they would understand because she didn’t herself. He had always been her biggest supporter, her best friend; but the moment he’d learnt what she was, he no longer saw her as his sister.