“Well, would you look at that? Nothing like a knife into the back of your own people! Ladies and gentlemen, it seems in a stranger turn of events than even I could have orchestrated, the competition’s only witch has volunteered to kill one of her own. Dedication indeed.”
Raven Blade Knights approached her from either side. She should have fought. Should have done literally anything. But she froze, too shocked by this sickening scene.
The sky revolted as clouds moved in to shroud the courtyard in darkness.
The men coaxed her forward, hovering but not touching her as though afraid she might harm them. Reluctantly, she went along.
“I’ll even give you the first pick. What do you say?” Magnus teased as though he were offering his weight in gold and not a choice in which woman she murdered.
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
They walked her before the line of women, and none of them met her eyes. Not until she reached the end of the line, where an old woman stared straight into Hazel’s soul. Her skin was tanned and time-worn, her hair a tightly curled smattering of salt and pepper hues. She smiled softly at Hazel, thin lips pulling tight, wrinkles forming in the corners of her eyes. The woman reminded her of Agnes, and it hurt.
She couldn’t do this. She didn’t recognize a single face, but that didn’t make it any easier.
When the woman made the faintest nod, Hazel wasn’t sure if it was real, or if she was seeing things.
But then she tipped her chin high, exposing her throat.
Lightning split the sky, and the immediate crack of thunder announced the storm’s arrival.
Grown men scattered at the unexpected change in weather, and horses reared against their ties. Magnus had the audacity to look annoyed.
“Get it over with already!” he yelled. “We don’t have all night!”
One of the knights beside Hazel offered her a piss poor excuse for a dagger. She’d seen sharper butter knives.
She reached down into her boot and to the shock of those around her, withdrew a dagger of her own—Slaide’s dagger.
“Oh for the love of the gods! Enough playing around!” Clearly she was getting under Magnus’s skin. And for a moment she thought she might be enjoying it.
But the task at hand remained. She looked to the heavens as though someone would answer her, and was instead smacked between the eyes with a large raindrop.
Hazel stepped up to the woman, trembling, dagger held loosely in her hand. She knew the woman hadn’t chosen this fate, but clearly she’d accepted it.
Hazel would do no such thing.
She dropped the dagger to the dirt.
And all Hel broke loose.
Out of nowhere, seven masked horsemen infiltrated the courtyard, rushing into the crowd from different angles. The slaughter began almost simultaneously.
There he was—the familiar figure like a vision from her past—leading the charge, the Wolf Mask. He cleaved a knight in two just as another tried to cut him down. In an inexplicable burst of speed, Wolf Mask ducked, spearing the man in the gut with a hidden dagger. His assailant doubled over as the dagger slipped between the links of chain mail, and Wolf Mask brought his broadsword down into the man’s neck.
Hazel cowered in fear as she took in the horrors around her, but then she witnessed something that changed her perspective.
Wolf Mask’s six accomplices dashed down the line and scooped up each witch in turn, using whatever means necessary to break their chains and cutting down all who stood in their way. The women were tossed into the saddle, handed the reins, and given a command in a language Hazel didn’t recognize. But the horses did, and they bolted for the courtyard walls.
It wasn’t an ambush. It was a rescue.
With only six horses and ten women needing rescue, several of them were doubled up, but not a single steed balked at the additional weight.
Their riders continued the assault, but as Hazel watched, she determined they only went after the knights and any others who attacked them first.
Peopledoknow, Hazel. Trust me when I say they makeverycalculated moves behind the scenes and are near impossible to track…The rebels. She knew in her gut this was the rebel group Slaide hinted at. And yet, even with that knowledge, Hazel stared down death itself when she spied Wolf Mask charging straight for her.
So, she ran.
