The flames guttered and died. The heat in my palm flickered once, twice, and went cold.
I stared at my hand in disbelief. The power that had been there moments ago—the fire that had leaped so eagerly to my rage—was gone. Snuffed out like a candle after evening prayer.
No. No, no, no?—
I tried again, reaching deeper, clawing for the well of fury that had burned so bright. But there was nothing there. Only emptiness, and the cold creeping certainty of failure.
The scarred guard laughed.
“Trying to play tricks, little witch?” He spat at my feet.
I ran.
I ran for the gate, but this was not their first arrest. They’d surrounded the entire garden. I made it three steps outside before they caught me. A hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so hard my vision went white. Another guard drove his fist into my stomach, and I doubled over, retching, the air punched from my lungs.
“Fight all you want.” The scarred man’s breath was hot against my ear. “They always fight at first.”
I did fight. I kicked and scratched and bit, tasting blood when my teeth found flesh. I screamed, thrashing against the hands that held me. I was not my mother. I would not go quietly. I would not make it easy for them.
But there were too many of them, and as I should have known, whatever power I’d found was not enough.
They seized my arms, wrenching them behind my back, and iron manacles bit into my wrists. I did not scream again. I simplystood there, breathing hard, staring at the smoke still rising into the sky.
“Katharina Müller. By order of the Prince-Bishop, you are under arrest for the practice of maleficium and consorting with the Devil.”
I almost laughed. This might have been the first time those words had ever been true.
A harsh shove at my shoulder, and we were moving. Buzzing filled the air, and for a moment I hoped—but the swarm flew off into the sky.
The Schergen hauled me through the convent courtyard, where the sisters stood in the shadows, passing whispers to each other. No one moved to help me.
We marched out onto the city street, and a small crowd had gathered, drawn by the arrival of the Schergen. More whispers behind raised hands, a cruel mixture of fear and delight mixing in the morning air.
And there, on the steps of the church, he stood.
Heinrich’s face was pale as bone. His hands were clenched at his sides, and somehow I felt the war raging behind his eyes—the demon and the man fighting for control.
“Stop.” His voice rang out across the courtyard, sharp with authority. “Release her. I command it.”
The scarred guard laughed. “You command nothing, Father. The Bishop’s orders supersede yours.”
“She is under the protection of this church?—”
“She is a witch.” The guard’s voice was flat. “And you would do well to step aside before we start asking questions about your known…association with her.”
Heinrich moved toward us. His body jerked forward, driven by something desperate and human. He grabbed the scarred man’s arm and tried to wrench me free.
Two guards slammed into him, driving him back against the church doors. His head cracked against the wood, and he crumpled.
“Heinrich!” His name tore from my throat before I could stop it.
He lifted his head, blood trickling from his temple, and our eyes met. For one moment, it was him—truly him, my Heinrich, the man beneath the monster. His lips moved, forming words I couldn’t hear.
Then the guards dragged me away, and I lost sight of him as the crowd closed in.
The last thing I saw before they shoved me into the cart was his hand, reaching out toward me.
And then the hood came down over my eyes, and there was only darkness.
