“Devil’s payment?”
“The gold you offered the woman in the market for the handkerchief.” He looks at me as if I’m crazed that I don’t remember, or that he’s appalled that I’m lying to his face. “The gold the devil himself gave you for his favors, the coins that turned to poisonous mushrooms hours later so you might offer a sacrifice to the evil god you worship in exchange for your beauty.”
I am fully aware my mouth hangs open, and my legs threaten to buckle beneath me. The ludicrous lies that come from him, that must have come from the old woman in the square, are too much for me to bear. The room spins as one of the men walks to a table nestled in the far-right corner of the room. A number of iron tools and instruments lie across the white cloth. I watch as he slowly chooses one before turning back toward me.
Make them pay, my daughter! Make them pay and you shall live!
But my mother’s voice becomes tangled with the horror I feel as the man approaches me, and my eyes are filled with the image of the metal grips he holds in his hands. He reaches for my wrist and I jerk backwards to avoid him touching me with those dreadful things, but I’ve moved too quickly, and the cord of the drawstring pouch hidden beneath my skirt comes loose, letting the entire bag fall to the floor.
“What do we have here?” He bends to scoop the little sack into his hands.
“It’s mine. Give it back.”
All he gives me is a sarcastic little laugh. “Indignant little thing, aren’t you? Nothing belongs to you anymore. What was once yours is now the property of the Prince Bishop.”
I tremble as his hands roughly pull at the cording. He yanks at the cloth, pulling it out and handling it with such disrespect, then emptying it into his open hand. My heart sinks as I see the first stone.
“How interesting.” His eyes meet mine. They are so filled with anger and evil that I can hardly stand to hold his gaze. “These will go into custody immediately.”
He folds them back up into a disheveled bundle and hands it over to the man next to him. “They are marked with the sign of the devil, which I’m sure the bishop will be especially interested in. The Prince Bishop has long suspected heresy in these parts, especially the forest. He’ll be quite pleased to hear his suspicions have been proven correct.”
I stare after the rune bag, watching the man toss it onto the table with disgust. That was all I had left of home, all that was left to remind me of Mutti. All too soon, I feel the cold, hard metal close around my wrists. Grips are placed around my ankles. They squeeze my skin until I am sure I can feel my bones crunching beneath the pressure. My wrists are bound behind me, bringing liquid pain to my arms.
“Do you repent?” the man asks.
I don’t know what to say, or how to answer. I am so absolutely petrified that there is nothing I can do but stay as quiet and still as my body will allow me.
“Do you repent?” His voice is booming now at my hesitancy, which he probably assumes I’m doing on purpose, just to be troublesome.
“Forgive me, but I don’t understand. What should I repent, exactly?”
I hope he understands that I don’t know what it is he wants me to say. His hand comes down hard, and I hear it crack across my cheekbone, leaving the violent sting behind once he takes it away.
“You should atone for your sins, girl. Do you not see the church that stands in this village? Do you not see the statues of the saints surrounding it? Do you attend the Mass? Because if not, I suggest you pray that the Virgin takes pity on your soul.”
His breath beats down on me, but his hands are holding my arms so tight I can’t look away.
I wish with all my might that I’d spent my time with Matilde learning spells, casting…anything that might save me now, instead of wasting my time on silly things. I wish the stories of the forest were true, and that I might find a way to conjure and disappear altogether, or fly high into the sky, away from this place. Desperately, I try to remember anything Matilde could have told me to use to protect myself. And then it comes to me, as my eyes find the little bag of runes lying on the table across the room.
The runes. My fortune. She
did
see this coming.
Quickly, I try to remember the symbols. The woman, the man, the war that would be with words, and angry accusations, and lies cruel enough to cause death.
Make them pay!
My mother’s voice startles me, and I let out a little shriek.
I’m just a girl. I don’t know how!
I whisper back to the voice inside myself, only I haven’t been as quiet as I thought. The men have heard me.
“Whom do you speak to?” the man in the tall hat demands.
I say nothing.
Tell them. Make them fear you
, my mother urges me. Her anger boils inside me, and I fear her as much as I fear the men who wait for an answer in front of me.
The vice screws tighten, and I can bear it no longer.
“Who do you speak to? Is it the devil you worship, witch?”
My arms bend further behind me, twisting, threatening to snap…until finally against my will I open my mouth.
There is a terrible ringing in my ears, and for a moment, it is like I float away. A name I have never heard of comes to me.
Liese
. I think I am losing consciousness, or already have, and then I focus on the man’s face. The ringing slowly fades, and I realize to my horror the voice produced from my throat was not my own.
The men step back, wide-eyed, confused, silent, and then they begin to whisper in secret among themselves.
“You will be taken to the Drudenhaus immediately to await your execution, Witch. May God have mercy upon your soul!” the man in the black hat tells me.
The ropes slacken, and I am lifted beneath my arms and taken away to a place that is dark and blissfully quiet—a place where there are no accusations, a place where even the whispers cannot follow, and I slip away inside myself and dream of nightmarish things.
Chapter 22
Laurentz
T
he next morning I return to the tree in the forest, hoping to find her, but now, I am about to follow my instinct that perhaps Rune has returned to the cottage, or what’s left of it. When I arrive, I see that it is as empty and lonely as the other day. I turn and look toward the village. Could she have gone there? Was that wise of her, I wonder, and just as I’m about to head along the path that will take me to the hedge, I spy a dark-haired girl on the other side of the green. I cannot get to the border fast enough, tearing along, hoping it’s her. When I round the corner, there is no one but an approaching wagon and driver and I am convinced my mind has once again been tricked by the elusive Rune.
“Wait! You there!” I rush along the cobbled street, urging him to slow his pace. He pulls the reins toward his chest while skillfully shooting me a look that tells me I’ve annoyed him.
“What is this?” I ask, pointing to the cart he pulls behind him, seeing it is full of people, not animals.
“Prisoners, My Lord.” He answers as if the load he pulls is simple bales of hay on the way to the stables, and eyes me as if I am quite the fool for asking.
The cart holds about eight women, each crammed into the tiny space and equally wide-eyed and frightened. The ones closest reach their arms through the bars, begging me with their eyes to help them, while the others cower silently.
“For what crimes have they been arrested?”
The driver sticks a piece of wheat between his two front teeth. “Treason, I s’pose. I’m just following orders, Sir. I’ve been told to collect them from the guards and take them to the courthouse.” He gives a nod, silently conveying I’m done wasting his time, and with a snap of the reins, he and the cart roll off again. I follow at a distance and begin the slow climb up the road, ignoring those who eye me curiously. Once at the top, a large building of white limestone greets me, its grand staircase rising to where two of the Prince Bishop’s guards stand watch in front of a double set of heavy wooden doors. They don’t question me as I approach, and we nod to one another as they let me pass.
Inside, a long-mustached man greets me with surprise. “Welcome, My Lord,” he says with a curt nod. “It’s so rare the Electorate’s son pays us a visit.”
I follow behind him along a whitewashed corridor, past framed paintings of the Prince Bishop and others ordained before him. There is one painting in particular that moves me, and I find myself falling behind the man, slowing my pace to take a closer look. I am drawn to the lower portion of the canvas, where a gold and garnet ring gleams. It seems so real it appears to leap from the painting into the very hall I stand.
This is a ring I’ve been familiar with my whole life. My lips have kissed it in reverence on many occasions, and as a child, I struggled with the concept of being taught not only to trust it, but to also fear it. Something unnerves me, and I cannot figure out what it is.
“His Council will see you now, My Lord.”
I nod, overwhelmed by an intense feeling that I may not understand all that is going on around me.
“Lord Mayor.” My boots tap along the floor as I make my way toward the council table at the end of the room.
The Burgermeister, tall and impeccably dressed, stands and extends his hand. “Laurentz, you were a boy the last time I saw you,” he nods. “How is your father?”
“He’s well,” I answer.
“Ah, good to hear,” he says with a cool smile. “And the Countess?”
I don’t tell him she has been on the brink of death since the loss of her baby, how each day spirals into the next, dragging my father along with her. It isn’t any of his concern. Instead, I nod and give a curt smile, allowing him to assume all is well at Eltz. My life after I fill my father’s shoes will be filled with moments like this. My father may think I have much to learn about the duties of being Electorate, but I know more than I am given credit for. I’ve learned that, while you keep allies close, you should always keep enemies closer.
“My father has sent me as favor to our Prince Bishop. I’ve already taken the liberty of addressing the village.”
“Yes, it’s a pity what’s become of Pyrmont,” he says. “But I have the upmost faith that we will be spared.”
Ringing through my mind are the bishop’s words from our meeting in the chapel—the precautions, the purging of evil that is the root of all disease, an ill-fated society, all at the hands of a witch. The people in the village placed blame on Matilde, and like a wildfire, the accusations spread fiercely. This is why I fear for Rune. Will the fingers point to her? I know I am treading where I should not, but I can’t keep what I learned earlier to myself any longer.
“I hear there has been a recent execution.”
I don’t miss the way his face blanches.
“If this town had fallen to the whims of a witch,” I continue, “then surely all order should have been restored upon the moment of her death.”
“Then you too believe this village is suffering at the hands of witchcraft?” His eyebrows knit together as he waits for me to agree. When I am too quiet for too long, he simply says, “Perhaps that was her plan. That her curse outlives her death.”
I give a shrug, letting him believe what he wants. “I passed a wagon of prisoners today.” My eyes survey the room. “Tell me of that. Is it coincidence that not a single male was among them?”
My attention diverts to the men working at a table in the far corner while I wait for an answer. The table is filled with strange devices I cannot help staring at. The Burgermeister notices what has me so captured and clears his throat in a way that makes me realize I’ve overstepped a boundary he has left loosely guarded. As the Electorate’s son, I should be free to ask what I want and demand an answer. But his sudden offense to my question proves otherwise; it proves that this is none of my business, and even though the bishop has asked me to relay a message to the people, I should not go digging into affairs that are not mine.
“They have been arrested for suspicious behavior, My Lord. It has come to my attention that the crone from the forest was responsible for corrupting the souls of some of the people of our town. We are simply removing something she so skillfully put in place.”
“What have these women done?”
“I am not at liberty to tell you, but perhaps your father might, if it is something he wishes to discuss with you.” He narrows dark eyes at me. “But take my word, this is for the best interest of the people. Once we have removed the threat of witchcraft, all shall be normal again.”
I lean across the table and stare straight into his eyes. “I’ll ask again, Lord Mayor. What have these prisoners done?”
“If you must know the details, each has displayed hostile behavior, and oddities, marking them as…not average citizens. One woman, for instance, has six toes. Another was in the presence of the tavern keeper and fresh milk curdled before his eyes. Trust me when I tell you all is not normal here, despite the old woman’s death. I assure you, each prisoner will be tried in the court, and we shall determine if they are fit to live freely among the rest of us.”
“You realize there may very well be explanations for what you hold them responsible for?”
“You are the Electorate’s son. Because I am employed by your father, who is a man I deeply respect and trust, I won’t argue with you. However, I do believe we may have found the cause for all that has gone wrong lately. One can’t be too careful, though, which is why we’ve made every effort to increase our search.”
“And what cause might that be?” I ask. I try to remain calm, but my eyes will not leave the table across the room. The men there are oiling iron gadgets of all shapes and sizes, making sure each instrument is in good working order—finger vices with nails, wrist and ankle constraints, rope, keys of various sizes. This table set in the middle of a courtroom is horrifying in and of itself, yet there is one item that sets itself apart from all the rest, and the men seem to find it of particular interest.
“You seem to disagree with our methods for finding justice, Sir. If you insist on knowing, I believe we have a most vile prisoner in our captivity, and we shall see a distinct improvement in things once she is destroyed.”