“Before today I would not have believed it.” Tristan stepped towards the guards. “But now, I am not as certain of my beliefs. At least, not these.”
“What did you see?” the first guard asked. He was a little older than Jarkko, his straw-coloured hair tied back in a leather chord. His nose was misshapen, as if broken a few too many times.
“Shadows. Silhouettes in the form of humans. They were swarming outside. Fynn saw the same thing, within his own home. That is what did this.”
“Shadows?” Jarkko balked. “You are telling us shadows killed this woman. Who did this shadow belong to?” He turned to Fynn, who still cradled Brighde.
Fynn didn’t answer. He brushed his fingers through Brighde’s hair, the strands darkening with blood. The molten glow had receded, leaving the scorched markings stark against her pale skin.
Jarkko sighed and raised a brow at Tristan.
“We don’t know,” Tristan said.
“And where did this shadow go?”
“Vanished,” Fynn interjected. “One second there, the next gone.”
Jarkko turned to the other guard. “We’re not going to be able to make heads nor tails of this, Kari. We should refer this to the magistrate.”
“What does that mean?” Aloisia asked.
Kari gave her an apologetic smile. His gaze caught on the beads in her hair, and his smile faltered a little. “It means you will all have to come with us.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong!”
“And, if true, I am sure Magistrate Vester will realise as much when he speaks with you. But a woman is dead, and all three of you were found at the scene. And we saw evidence of witchcraft ourselves. We cannot leave you all to go about your night.”
Jarkko raised his blade again. “For all we know, you could be in league with the Damned. All of you, move away from the body. You’re under arrest for suspected murder and witchcraft.”
Aloisia blanched, eyeing Kari, who seemed the more reasonable of the pair.
The guard’s hand was still on the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw it. “As he said. Move back.”
Tristan retreated, towing Aloisia with him. Fynn did not hear, still holding Brighde close.
“Fynn?” Aloisia approached him, only to find Jarkko’s sword pointed her way.
“Stay where you are,” Jarkko said.
She looked back at Fynn. “Brother, please. Move away.”
He shook his head. “I won’t leave her. I can’t.”
Jarkko moved forwards, but Kari caught him at the shoulder, stepping past him to kneel beside Fynn.
“Come on, lad,” Kari said. “We need to take you in for questioning. And the priests will need to examine her.”
“She needs a physician,” Fynn murmured, though the force in those words had waned.
“I think we both know a physician can’t help her now.”
Fynn’s fingers tightened around Brighde’s face, his shoulders tense, as if bracing against that knowledge.
“If you all go willingly with my friend there,” – he gestured to the other guard – “then we can sort this out civilly, all right?”
“They weren’t here,” Fynn muttered.
Kari raised a brow. “What did you say?”
