“Coincidence is not proof.”
“Three fires in three days is no coincidence.”
The crowd shifts again. Their attention moves between the two women like spectators watching a quiet battle unfold.
“Then let us examine facts rather than fear,” Amelithe replies. “Has anyone witnessed Elowen setting these fires?”
Silence answers her.
“No,” someone mutters.
“But the timing?—”
“Timing proves nothing,” she says firmly.
A voice from the back of the crowd shouts suddenly.
“Then let her prove she’s innocent!”
The demand ripples outward.
“Yes!”
“If she’s not a witch?—”
“Prove it!”
The pressure of their attention tightens around me like a vice. Dozens of eyes, waiting and judging.
The bond pulses beneath my ribs. I will not let fear answer them with fire. Not today. Not when Threxian stands somewhere behind me watching this unfold.
If I lose control now… I know exactly what will happen.
A sharp splatter strikes my shoulder. For a moment I do not understand what it is. Then I look down. Mud. Someone in the crowd laughs harshly. Another clump strikes the ground near my feet.
“Witch!”
The word echoes across the yard. My heart jumps in my chest. Fear surges dangerously close to the surface. But I close my eyes briefly. Breathe.
The lifeline trembles. But no flames come. When I open my eyes again, the villagers are still watching and waiting.
Anger rises in my chest, sharp and immediate. But anger is not the same as fear. That distinction matters more than anything right now.
My hands curl slowly at my sides as I fight the urge to wipe the mud from my shoulder. They are waiting for proof that their fear is justified.
Instead, I breathe. The bond trembles faintly beneath my ribs, not with panic but with contained energy, like a storm held carefully behind glass.
I can feel Threxian somewhere behind me, unseen but watchful. The awareness of him presses gently against the edge of my thoughts.
Please don’t interfere, I think silently. I can handle this.
So I lift my head, meet the eyes of the villagers staring at me, and remain perfectly still.
No fire answers them. And the cottage behind me remains untouched by fire. Control is not just protecting me. It is protecting them. From him. From us.
16
THREXIAN
