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The bells were ringing.
I stood in front of the tiny square window, running my fingers along the grooves in the stone. The gag lay on the floor behind me, crumpled and damp, and there was a smear of blood I’d yet to discover from my chin to my forehead. I probably should have noticed. I probably should have made more of an effort to put myself together. But from the moment that metal door swung shut behind me, I’d done nothing but pry the strip of cloth from my teeth and walk slowly to the window, staring with a blank expression as the silver bells clanged together across the square.
That’s pretty.
I’d always thought so—which was probably wrong, which was probably stupid. They rarely chimed in celebration, it was almost always a warning about something. The Riders are coming, get to the settlement. A raiding clan had been spotted, get to the settlement. There’s an outbreak of plague, get away from the settlement. Everyone else had an adverse reaction, stomach clenching and eyes flying towards the stone tower. But I’d always liked them. It was a lovely sound, pure and sweet.
Enjoy it, Liv. They’re ringing for you.
It was possible I flattered myself to think so. After all, it was the king’s birthday celebration; they had been chiming off and on most of the week. What was the life of a single witch when compared to all that? Yet, there might have been something to it. The window of my tiny prison overlooked the courtyard square, and there had been no shortage of people on the ground beneath me, pointing and whispering, loudly speculating as to in which manner I might die.
Would it be hanging—a relative disappointment? Or perhaps stoning? That way, everyone got a chance to participate. If they were fast enough. If the stones were big enough. Or perhaps it would be the classic burning. This was what most people were hoping for. You find a witch, you set her on fire. One thing effectively canceled out the other. It was such a longstanding tradition, we already had things in place to accommodate. Stacks of kindling, an extra stone platform that could be rolled into the courtyard on a set of wheels. I’d seen it once, behind an old shed where the blacksmith kept extra tools. Why such a thing had been placed in his charge had always struck me as a bad omen—yet here we were all the same. It would be burning, I had decided this. Our settlement hadn’t seen the death of a witch in my lifetime; they would want to do it proper.
Proper.
I let out a quiet breath, almost laughing. Yes, they would want to be correct about it. There was no point in roasting someone alive unless it was done by the book. I wondered if it would hurt, past the initial flames. I wondered if I’d go into shock, or black out. Perhaps I would choke on the smoke before the fire could actually touch me, and—
I dropped where I stood, dry-heaving on the floor.
The stone was slick beneath my fingers, damp, though from what, was anyone’s guess. My fingers cringed against it, nails raking down the grooves as I gasped for breath. Thank the gods the soldiers had released me. Thank the gods there was nothing in my stomach, I’d have no way to clean it off the floor. I lay there a moment, half-crumbled, pressing my forehead to the cool stone.
How did this happen? This morning, everything was fine.
Like the ripples of a dream, my mind drifted back a few hours, reflecting the image like I was seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I had gotten out of bed, same as usual. I had been angry, I remembered, though it was hard to recall the exact reason why. What did it matter—anything I’d done before this moment? In the blink of an eye it was over, it was done. No more chances. No more decisions. No more wondering about the future, it had already been set. The king was going to finish his hunt, and when he returned to the settlement, I was going to die. There was nothing beyond that, and everything before was irrelevant. What did it matter, if Trina and I had argued—
My mouth fell open, and my skin went cold.
I would never know why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier, how my mind could have erased an outline around that precise spot: Trina. How could I have forgotten about Trina?
I knelt on the floor, feeling like a stake had been driven through my spine.
I was wrong...THIS is the only thing that matters.
It wasn’t just the danger, and that would be enough. Witches came in droves, and covens must be uprooted, the bloodline wiped clean. When we’d fled the last settlement and come to this one, Trina and Karmen had decided to introduce her as my aunt. It had made sense at the time, but now, it was a death sentence. When she cautioned me each time I stepped out the door, when she waited until I made the required gesture, tucking my hands safely into my pockets, it wasn’t just my safety that hung in the balance. If I was discovered, her own life would be forfeited as well.
It had started to irritate me, when she did that.
I let out a broken breath, tears slipping down my cheeks.
She would have fled the village by now. She would have had to. Gossip traveled faster than soldiers’ boots, and there was little chance she wouldn’t have gotten out in time. It was a comfort I’d told myself many times before. In those early days, when the powers were difficult to manage; when I’d feel guilty for adding even the slightest degree of danger to her life. I’d reassured myself with the solid truth that if the worst should happen, Trina would flee and her life would be saved.
Because it’s true, I told myself, almost fiercely. She’ll make it out.
It was easier to do that sort of thing, with her face set firmly in my mind. It was easier to grit my teeth and stand tall before whatever was coming. When I lost the image, I lost my legs.
She would make it out, but it would be a hard life. Considering how sparse we were, news traveled surprisingly fast between settlements. She would need to travel a long ways before she got ahead of the stigma, reached a place where the tale hadn’t spread. Even then, she’d be starting from scratch, and in a land that was always just a season away from winter. If the king sent out soldiers—
I stopped myself, unable to consider that.
The funny thing was, I’d decided to follow her advice. I’d gone to the settlement that day with the intention of minimizing the risk. Of breaking things off with Erik...
My thoughts wisped away like smoke, as his face drifted into my mind.
While the edges of the memory had already begun to fray, it was one of the only things that remained clear. Sharper than clear, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to forget it: the look on his face when our eyes first met in the crowd. It was like I’d grabbed him by the shoulders and shaken hard as I could, like I’d plunged him into an icy sea. There was a strange paradox in his expression. The utter blankness of his face, set against the blazing wilds of his eyes. Like some part of him had been waiting for something terrible to happen. Another part couldn’t trust his own mind.
Just a fraction of a second, but it had sealed itself like an image set in wax.
Whatever he was thinking, had been impossible to say.
Perhaps he was merely in shock. Days, we had spent together. Wandering in the starlight, laughing beneath the sun. Days, we had spent. Yet he knew nothing. It had hung over us all that time, glinting like a blade, yet only one of us had ever known it was there. Perhaps he was angry, he had a right to be, though men were rarely punished for such things. Perhaps he was merely betrayed.
Never in my life would I have believed what happened next.
Not until the moment he’d fought his way through the crowd.
‘Let her go!’
His voice rang in my ears, and I let out a quiet breath, kneeling on the cold stone. It had been roughly cut, like everything else in the prison, and the jagged edges were already beginning to press into my skin. I wouldn’t discover the marks until later, fingers running over my knees. I was back in the courtyard, watching in amazement as he ripped a path through the crowd.
To speak in favor of a witch was a dangerous gamble. Even if you were the son of a great lord. Even if you were the darling of a king. At worst, they would believe you were under some kind of enchantment. My people had all sorts of terrible methods to remove such things. At best, you would have stood between a thousand Vikings and ruined their best possible version of a day.
Erik was neither a fool, nor a masochist. Yet he hadn’t just stood there, he’d argued before the crowd. He’d threatened a member of the king’s militia. He’d pleaded with his uncle—
For the second time in the space of a minute, my skin went abruptly cold.
His uncle is trying to kill him.
Despite the bustle and din of the crowd, it was another thing I recalled with perfect clarity: the glint of the knife in the sunlight, the scream of the horse as it reared into the air. A hundred times I had played it back. There was no other explanation for what happened. I had seen it myself.
I had seen it twice...
There was a bang somewhere beneath me. The murmur of voices and a shuffling on the stairs. A few seconds later, the door banged open, and a pair of towering men stepped inside.
One was holding a torch. The other, an axe.
“Put your knees on your hands.”
I hastened to obey, scampering to attention and wondering with a kind of detached bewilderment as to the miscomprehensions people had about my kind. We could wield immense power, but needed to wiggle our fingers to do it. We could hex you into a thousand toads, and drink the blood of children beneath the light of a full moon. I wondered if the men were gripping secret talismans in their pockets. I wondered if they’d said a prayer to Odin before opening the door.
“It looks like you’ll be staying with us a bit longer,” one of them declared, watching as I jammed my fingers under my legs. The second they vanished from sight, his friend stepped forward, looking as though he’d much rather have been gripping the steel than the flames. “The king decided to proceed with his trip, so we’ll keep you breathing for the next few days.”
Another paradox: the mindless hate beneath the fear.
I didn’t know these men, or their families. I’d never done them any harm. Yet they hated, without question, not only me, but every person who had ever touched the blood of mine. Hated to the point of dragging them from their horses. Hated to the point of burning them alive.
His friend snapped his fingers, pointing to the floor. I dropped my eyes and watched from my periphery as he procured a single manacle, attached to a long and rusted chain. While his companion ostentatiously twirled the axe, he knelt swiftly forward and clapped the cold metal around my ankle. The chain was secured to a ring in the wall, giving me about six feet of space.
A few days...?
“Must they wait?” I heard myself saying, stunned that I’d be so bold.
Yet I could think of nothing worse than the prospect of prolonging my sentence. I didn’t want to stay here, penned and chained like an animal. I didn’t want to linger at the window, listening to the whispers of the crowd and awaiting the executioner’s blow. If death was coming, then let it be quick. It was a particular kind of cruelty, dragging things along.
“Are you eager for it?” the guard with the axe asked in surprise. “You think anything better awaits you on the other side? You have been cursed by the gods. Damned for all eternity.”
Again, using words you don’t understand.
“How are they going to do it?”
My first question had made me bold. I’d spoken, and nothing had happened. Nothing could possibly get any worse. And while the soldiers were borderline offended by the impertinence, a part of them couldn’t help at being excited. When was the last time anyone had executed a witch?
“Do you have any preferences?” the same guard said, following the length of chain to my slender leg, then a little higher. “Drowning? Stoning? I’d be happy to pass them along.”
My face went still.
Drowning.
I hadn’t yet considered this.
I’d spent my entire life avoiding that river; taking the long way home from the settlement, pretending to be sick as a child to avoid swimming in it with everyone else. Almost seventeen years, I’d never once set foot inside. It would be a real irony, if that was where they decided to kill me.
They can’t drown me. I’d die of the irony before I needed any air.
“I’d expect it will be fire,” said the man with the torch. He spoke abruptly, strangely, like he was actively trying to hold himself back. His eyes flashed to mine, cold and dark. “That is the only way to cleanse the world of your evil. We are called by the gods to purge a witch by fire.”
I stared from the height of a child, still kneeling on my fingers. All my life, I’d been hearing that same script. We are called by the gods to do something violent, and strangely formal.
It was a simple fix, fire. Even by their outlandish estimations of us.
The wicked power of a hundred generations.
We burn, just the same.
“Why the chain?” I asked quietly, staring down at the iron links.
It seemed excessive, given my current location. In a lonely cell, in the tallest tower. Guarded by the royal infantrymen, and trapped behind a locked door. Must they really bind me as well?
“That is for your protection,” the man with the torch answered automatically, slipping into a soldier’s recitation. “So you can’t leap from the window and hang.”
My eyes lifted slowly, as they backed from the room—watching as they shouldered open the door, and slammed it shut again behind them. A rusted key turned in the lock, and they vanished as quick as they’d come, the fading clanking of their armor echoing up the stairs.
It wasn’t until everything was quiet, I thought again of Trina, playing back the last words she’d said to me. She’d been quoting our dear Karmen as we quarreled about Erik, providing the old woman’s missing take. Like we were sitting in the kitchen, her voice echoed back to me.
‘Be open to all life’s adventures, Liv...to the extent it doesn’t get you killed.’
I swallowed hard, looking at the heavy chain around my ankle.
Looks like I failed them both.
