I hated him for being too weak and not going against his family.
I cursed him for not having the courage to choose.
Why should he choose me?
He barely even knew me.
But souls were wise things. They always knew before the brain or the heart. There was no discriminating—if you saw your perfect other...you knew—instantly.
There was something there from the beginning.
Just like there had been for us.
And it would remain there until Jethro successfully tore it out and killed it.
Because even though we were linked by this fragile, fluttering thing, it wouldn’t take much to ruin. It was already on the brink.
He’s sentenced me to pay the Second Debt.
How many more would he carry out?
Did I trust him to be strong enough to end this before my life was stolen?
Looking over my shoulder, his family glowered at me as if I’d killed their loved ones with a barely spoken curse. They watched with trepidation—as if they believed I’d descended from the witch they hated and would turn them to toads at any second.
Superstition perfumed the breeze. Hate bloomed from the roses. And impatience spiced the water lilies.
I missed the intimacy of the First Debt. I missed the throbbing chemistry between Jethro and me even while he did something so wrong. It had just been the two of us. Together.
Now, it was just me against them.
“Do you know what this is, Ms. Weaver?” Jethro asked, stealing my attention.
I pressed my lips together. My neck hurt from straining to look over my shoulder.
When I didn’t answer, Jethro recited, his voice silted and cool. “You’re sitting in a ducking stool. It was used traditionally as a torture method for women. Its free-moving arm swings over the river to extract truth and confessions by ducking into the freezing cold water.”
He looked away from me, pacing between the reeds. “The length of immersion was decided by the operator and the crime of which the woman was accused. It could last for just a few seconds, but in some circumstances, the process was continuously repeated over the course of a day.”
He faced me. “Do you know the crimes the ducking stool was used for?”
I didn’t answer. I refused.
I made an oath not to scream. I refused to entertain them with my cries.
Kes came forward, answering on behalf of Jethro. “Most common crimes were prostitution and witchcraft. Scolds were also punished by this method.” His lips tilted. “Know what a scold is, Nila?”
I couldn’t stop my head from shaking.
Shit, I didn’t mean to react.
Jethro’s eyes narrowed, his chest rising sharply.
“A scold was a gossiper, shrew, or bad tempered woman,” Kes said.
Jethro glared at his brother. “Even though I have experience with your temper, Ms. Weaver, I cannot say you are a scold.” Running a hand through his hair, he finished, “Regardless, this is to show you how death by water can be one of the most frightening things of all. This is how my ancestor died. This is how you will pay.”
Snapping his fingers, Jethro ordered, “Turn your head. Look away.”
