The Hawk girl had died to protect my ancestor. She would’ve been petrified and so betrayed. Why was I any better than her? Why did I deserve to be freed when she was killed for a lie?
I swallowed as Jethro faced me completely. His hands were fisted by his sides, his face blank and cold. “Do you repent, Ms. Weaver? Do you take ownership of your family’s sins and agree to pay the debt?”
His voice echoed in my ears. I wished he were asking me anything but that. I fantasised about a different question. So many different questions.
Do you want to run away with me?
Can you forgive my family for what they’ve done?
Have you fallen for me, like I’ve fallen for you?
Infinitely better questions. But ones I would never hear.
I’d delayed as much as possible.
I had nothing left to do but get it over with.
Bracing myself, I locked eyes first with Jethro then with each member of his deluded family. He didn’t need to ask me twice—regardless of my stalling. I knew my role—my part in these theatrics.
If there was any power at all in the pentacle, I summoned it now. I summoned age-old wizardry and asked for one thing:
Let me endure, so I may pay the sins of my past. But let me survive, so I may put an end to those who hurt me.
The wind howled, fluttering the hem of my shift...almost in answer.
Balling my hands, I said, “Yes.” My voice carried loud and clear with a touch of defiance. “Yes, I accept the debt.”
Cut’s forehead furrowed as if he were pissed with my strength and ownership of something so terrible. He looked robbed. He looked furious.
Jethro, on the other hand, looked stricken. His face went white and he nodded. “In that case, let’s begin.”
I closed my eyes, taking one last moment to fortify my soul.
You can get through this, Nila.
You can.
They won’t kill you. Not yet.
Another bout of shivers overtook me. It could be entirely possible that after this, I would wish they would. I might want them to kill me and put me out of my misery.
Jethro gritted his jaw and moved toward the ominous looking contraption that remained hidden beneath a black cloth. Every time the breeze caught the edge, I tried to see what it was. The brief glimpses of wood and leather gave me no hint.
Wrapping his fist in the fabric, Jethro tore it off with a flourish.
My heart instantly suffocated.
I stepped back, scuffing the salt line and breaking the pentacle boundary. Thunder boomed on the horizon; heavy clouds inched closer.
I’d seen one of those things—a long time ago—in a book calledFifty Ingenious Ways of Torture.Vaughn had checked it out from the local library. I’d hated the book so much. He’d chased me around the house with it, flicking pages of blood and gore and absolute pain.
I didn’t need water to drown me. My fear did that spectacularly well on its own.
It was a seesaw.
A terrified giggle bubbled in my chest. I liked seesaws. V had double-bounced me more than once as we played on them as children.
But this wasn’t just any seesaw.
