I stayed on my feet, refusing to cower, but the pain in my ankle was a black thread running up my leg. If I let myself collapse, I doubted I’d get up again. I scanned the walls, the windows above, the circle of torches set along the courtyard edge. Faces everywhere. Old men, children, women with infants strapped to their chests. Some stared as if hoping for a miracle, others with a sickly hunger that made my skin crawl.
Brother Tomas climbed a barrel and raised his hands for attention. The crowd hushed, as if a spell had been cast.
“These are the wages of sin,” he called out, voice cracking like a whip. “Witchcraft! Consorting with beasts! Defying the law of God and man!” He pointed at me. “She carries the devil’s tools. Herbs and powders, poisons for the weak-minded!” He shifted, jabbing a finger at Moab. “And him—a beast, branded with the mark, a vessel for the dark!”
The crowd hissed and spat. A rock hit the cage and rattled down to my feet. Moab bared his teeth, but didn’t move.
Brother Tomas went on, voice rising with each word. “Let all see that evil wears a face, and evil can be caged! But only fire will cleanse it!”
Sir Aldric stepped forward then, his boots as loud as the silence that followed. “By order of the Lord of Ashburn and the Church, you are sentenced to burn. Three days hence, at the rising of the sun. Repent, and mercy may yet be yours.”
He didn’t bother to look at us after that, just turned and strode away, the guards clearing a path before him.
The crowd lingered. Some threw things, mud, pebbles, once a handful of spoiled meat. Others just watched, eyes glittering with the thrill of it. A few faces I recognized, kitchen maids from home, a stableboy I’d once rescued from a horse’s kick, even oneof the girls who used to chase me around the millpond. None of them spoke my name.
As the light faded, the crowd thinned, but the cage grew colder. I slumped to the floor, drawing my knees to my chest to keep warm. My foot was throbbing, but I welcomed the hurt; it was proof I was still alive.
Moab shuffled closer, his movements slow and careful. He leaned against me, shoulder to shoulder, the heat of his body spreading through the cold iron.
“You alright?” he whispered, his breath just a ripple on my ear.
“I’ve had better nights,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.
He tried the bars again, this time using the heel of his boot to test a seam. Nothing. He hissed in frustration.
“You’ll break your foot,” I said.
He shrugged. “Worth a shot.”
We sat like that, listening to the torchwood spit and pop, the distant clang of hammers as the guards made ready for morning. Once, the bell rang again, a single mournful note that seemed to last forever.
“I’m sorry,” he said, after a long silence.
“Don’t be,” I answered. “I chose this.”
He nodded, as if that was what he’d hoped to hear.
Night deepened, the sky above the courtyard a slow swirl of cloud and distant stars. At some point, I slept, or half-slept, the aches and cold pulling me under. I dreamed of the oaks, of the circle, of running through the woods with the wolf at my side. In the dream, the world behind us burned, but we didn’t look back.
I woke to the sound of boots on stone. Two guards stood by the cage, arms folded.
“Time for you to pray,” one sneered. “Or time to piss yourself. Either way, you’ll be ash tomorrow.”
He laughed and spat, but the gob missed and ran down the bars instead.
When they left, Moab moved close again, his lips almost brushing my ear.
“I’ll get us out,” he said. “I promise.”
I managed a smile, then closed my eyes and leaned into him, letting the warmth and the weight of his body press the world to the edge of the cage.
Outside, the torches burned down, their light crawling in long, crooked shadows across the courtyard.
We waited.
We were not afraid.
Moab
