She pulled back out of his grasp.
“Lis, please. At least then we’ll know what we’re dealing with. Sort of.”
He had a point. There was no use in ignoring it. She held her fist out and let Tristan gently unfurl her fingers. At the centre of her palm, a starburst blazed black as ink.
“What could it mean?” she uttered, staring in horror at the icon imprinted upon her skin.
“I don’t know.” Tristan brushed a thumb across it before she could tell him not to. Luckily, it didn’t seem to transfer to him. “Does it hurt?”
“No. It did, but not now.”
“All right.” He ran a hand down his face. “I’ll help you. The last thing I want is to see Fynn hang for a murder he did not commit. And we’ll try to figure out what this means as well. There may be tomes in the Temple’s library on these markings.”
Aloisia smiled. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course.” He linked his fingers with hers. “But, first, you see your ma. I’ll come with you, if you like. She must know. And it’s best she hears it from you first.”
Tristan was right, of course. He usually was, after all.
Aloisia trudged back towards the Hunting Guild, picking at the makeshift bandage covering her palm. Telling Ma the events of that night had been as difficult as she’d expected. There had been a lot of tears; both Ma’s and her own. Tristan had remained with her as he’d promised. But, when Ma had said she would go to Brighde’s family, they both accompanied her to Brighde’s parents’ house where she’d insisted on going in alone. At a loose end, drained and deflated, Aloisia had declined Tristan’s offer to go back to the Temple or escort her home, opting to go by herself.
As she walked the cobbled streets of Littlewatch, unaware of her surroundings, she mumbled apologies to those she bumped into. In a daze, she followed her feet wherever they took her, her mind too tired and too occupied with the events of the past day.
When, finally, she came to a halt, she was not in front of the Hunting Guild as she had intended. Instead, she stood in Execution Square. A large patch of dirt, which long ago may have held grass much like Temple Green, lay at its heart. Buildings surrounded it on all sides, narrow lanes running like veins between them. The magistrate’s estate stood on one side, and the prison opposite it. Beside the prison, the Watchtower loomed, casting the square into shadows. There was only one road in and out – a wide cobbled street, big enough for a horse and cart, which looped around the centre.
Execution Square rested at the top of the highest hill in Littlewatch, overlooking Feldkirk Bay. The prison was as deep as the Watchtower was high, buried within the cliffs. Aloisia had heard from Tristan’s brother-in-law Klaus, who was a watchman himself, that some cells were level with the sea and barred windows sat at the base of the walls to let in water as the tide drew in. She hoped Fynn would not be in one of those.
At the centre of the square stood an old, gnarled tree. Its branches stretched out as wide as it was tall, each one thick and strong enough to bear a grown man’s weight. Wooden platforms would line the dirt beneath the branches on an execution day. Aloisia swayed at the thought of Fynn standing up there.
An arm wound around her waist. Aloisia turned to see Tristan.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I wanted to make sure you got back home.”
“You followed me?”
Tristan nodded. “Coming here won’t help anything, Lis.”
Aloisia looked to the fortified walls of the prison, lined with guards and watchmen. Where within those walls would Fynn be?
“Don’t you have some ritual or something to attend?” she asked.
Tristan shifted, glancing away from her. “Actually, the rehearsals for the Ritual to the Huntress were supposed to be this morning.”
“Oh.” Aloisia closed her eyes briefly. “I forgot. Are we going to be late?”
“Hold on.” He gripped her arms, pinning her in place before she could flee towards the Temple. “They’ve postponed it. The high priest has… other matters to attend to. In light of what happened, the priests and priestesses are focused elsewhere, as you can understand. Particularly the sisters who are preparing Brighde… So, don’t worry about the rehearsals.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I suppose I should head home then.” Facing the other huntresses was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Aloisia hoped she could sneak into her home without being seen.
“I’ll walk with you.” Tristan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her back out of Execution Square.
By the time they reached the guild, Tristan had hoisted her onto his back. Aloisia rested her chin on his shoulder, allowing her mind to wander to images of the lily ponds of their childhood, when he would carry her like this back up into the town.
Tristan paused at her house, and she passed him the keys. She glanced over her shoulder towards Kaja’s house, the closest to her own, and was glad to see no movement. The door opened, and they bundled inside, Aloisia sliding down from his back.
