“A mistake made due to desire,” pronounced Starling, his sneer twice as ugly with the ruined flesh on one side, his lips a grisly slit of blood and charred skin.
Gerard cried out, sustaining a blow on his arm from Reed. Reed had caught him in the same place Evangeline had, deepening the wound.
Torm turned from Starling, ignoring the priest’s protest, perhaps in a soldier’s response sensing a fellow man-in-arms needing support, forgetting the most dangerous person in the chamber was me.
Starling lunged for me, catching me by surprise. He grabbed my right forearm, dragging me close to him. “Do you remember when I held you like this before?” he asked. “We were standing in the wagon. We were about to watch the hag burn. And I told you—What did I tell you? Oh, yes. I said I would make your death the cause of my life.”
I struggled, frustrated by the man, older than me but still able to overpower me. Like it had on the day he referenced, my right arm felt torn from my shoulder. My left hand slapped at him, futile and desperate.
Above us, my right hand blazed.
Yet again, we were face-to-face.
“What are you going to do?” I challenged.
“Torm!” the priest called, eyes still locked on to mine. “Torm, get over here and beat out this demon fire. Or sever her hand from her arm.”
Iscreamed.
The lord, having fought Reed while Gerard got his bearings, left the fight as the captain had, though wounded, rallied himself to continue. Torm neared us and then took up my left forearm, yanking me so that I was between both men.
I flailed, but I was caught.
“Kneel, witch,” Starling crowed.
Torm swept his leg out behind me and forced me to my knees. The old lord was panting. “Father, perhaps you should be the one to stamp it out. You have borne for so long all of her abominations.”
Distantly, I heard Reed’s voice. “Hold on, Robbie!”
The lord brought his knee between my shoulders and forced me prostrate to the floor. Then he squatted to straddle my back, replacing Starling’s hold on my right forearm, and pinned me entirely.
My face was turned to one side, icy bone up against my cheek. I saw Starling’s boots circle me and step close, knew his heel would come down on my burning hand, which was stretched out along the floor now.
But as he did, I turned my hand on its side so that his foot slammed into the floor. My fingers reached out and cupped his ankle, squeezing, my forefinger gliding as high up his calf as I could manage.
Furious, he kicked my hand and then stomped down again, this time catching me fully on the fingers. Over and over he did this while I screamed. With each crush of his boot, my hand’s flame began to wane.
93
NOW: SINNER
“Get away from her,” came Reed’s roar, and I felt the weight of Torm lifted from me. I heard the wallop of the old lord’s big frame hit the river, again the spittle being too thick to make a proper splash.
Starling was hollering.
I was struggling to sit up, trying to reach all fours but unable to, my right hand now without fire, bruised, and numb.
Gerard had chased Reed and now clipped him on the back, and their fight began yet again.
Torm had surfaced in the river, but the slipperiness kept him from holding on to the edge. He was calling out for someone to pull him from the tongue’s slick.
I felt myself hauled up again by Starling, his hands around my wrists.
“You will now be cleansed,” the priest said, and that rather kind way he had of talking had returned, the one that always lulled most people into heeding him. “It is time. Will you go willingly?”
I glanced down, seeing what I had hoped to see. Then I said, “Yes.”
“Truly?” He was smiling, vindicated, certain.
