Chapter 33 #2
It feels absurd to watch them cheer him on, to see them look at him as if he has done anything good for this town since he arrived, when all I’ve seen is pain.
It’s as if they’ve fallen under his spell. As if he has been whispering in their ears, telling stories of horrid witches and their evil magic.
I shake my head thinking of my mother that way. If she were a witch, if that is truly what this all is, I can’t imagine her that way. She was good. Inherently good. She wouldn’t hurt people—she would only help.
The music picks up once more as Hazel fills Cedar in on Hawthorne’s speech, but it isn’t the bard and his band.
Two men stand at the back of the stage, with flutes pursed between their lips as they play a light tune.
Hawthorne walks down the steps, shaking hands with Mr. Collingwood, the both of them with satisfied smiles on their lips.
They look far too pleased with each other, and I can’t help but wonder what deal they have struck to have Collingwood doing the mayor’s bidding.
Maybe he is part of the reason the town is falling into step—he and his convincing promises.
Like the promise he made to Rylan of arresting him if he didn’t comply with Hawthorne’s orders to build a jail.
We’ve never needed a jail here, so I can only imagine why he thinks it is necessary now.
I find myself looking around the room, my eyes searching for sandy blond hair, but Rylan isn’t here. He’s not the kind to be worried if anyone notices his absence. But I notice it.
I haven’t seen him since we got back, and I long for his presence, hoping he will appear around any corner I turn, and I scold myself for it. Things have changed between us, but I’m not sure what any of it means.
I still don’t know if he is telling me the truth surrounding what he knows about Arizaya and his mother’s journals.
I ache to believe him, to believe he is telling me the truth, but I can't be certain.
Maybe I only will be once I share everything that I am still keeping close, starting with that key.
“Evie.” I cringe as I hear that name slip from Silas’s tongue. As I feel his hand graze my shoulder. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what?” I say, not turning to face him.
Hazel and Cedar act as if they’re not listening, though I know they are both hanging on every single word.
“About us?”
That makes me spin. “What us, Silas? Ever since that kiss…” I shake my head, my voice low.
“Ever since I came back, you seem different. I barely recognise you anymore. Sharing looks with the mayor, scolding me for still hanging onto hope about Finnick.” I sigh.
“I don’t even know how you got that split in your brow.
” I nod to where dried blood cracks between the small hairs. I didn’t notice it yesterday.
Silas has never gotten into any fights I don’t know about, but it seems I know nothing about what is going on with him anymore.
I feel as though I cannot blame him. I can’t sit here acting as if I haven’t been keeping secrets of my own, as if I’m not following an entirely different path to the one I was on merely weeks ago.
I used to do countless things simply for his benefit.
I used to wait out on my porch for him when I knew he was coming for supper.
I used to pick out my skirts in the small looking glass in my bedchamber, deciding which colour he would like best. I used to drop muffins off at the stables even when I wasn’t going into the square.
Now, with so many other things on my mind, I cannot fathom doing anything solely for his benefit. Even having this conversation.
“It feels as if things have changed,” I say. “We have changed.” I shrug. “Things aren’t the same as they always were.”
He tilts his head, his eyes flooded with sorrow as he looks at me. “Evie.”
A swarm of black uniforms past Silas’s head catches my eye, and I shift in my seat so I can see better. I can hear people muttering, looking at a woman being fiercely held by the shields.
The young man from earlier stands outside of the fray, his eyes wide as he watches his superiors wrangle her up the steps of the stage.
People jeer from the crowd, men up near the stage. “That cat of hers attacked my stock!” a man yells.
“Three of my steers went down the day after she was at my house,” another man adds, a farmer from the very edge of town. “She told me they were ruining her crops. I told her to bugger off, and now look! They’re dead!” he yells, spitting the accusation right at her. “It’s the work of evil!”
“Oh, gods,” Cedar mutters. We all watch as the mayor shuffles over to Barton, the two of them exchanging gruff words. Hawthorne looks around the room, his eyes almost wary, but then he gives Barton a terse nod.
The captain stomps up the few steps, his heavy boots thudding against the wood before he walks over to the woman held on either side by two of his men.
“This woman has been accused of performing dark magic, tampering with things beyond the control of a mere woman,” he yells, his deep voice booming through the now quiet room.
It is so familiar, the sound of his voice echoing through my mind every night moments before sleep claims me.
“Since many of you demanded a trial of the Livingston women, we shall hold a test tonight, with all of you to bear witness.” His eyes meet mine, and I look away.
“We shall search this woman for the dark mark. Witches that are performing dark magic will have a mark on their body where they shall feel no pain. If she does indeed carry a dark mark, then it shall be undeniable.”
I gasp as I watch Barton tear at her dress, ripping it right down the middle. She cowers, trying to step back, but the shields hold her firmly in place as Barton strips her bare, up on the stage for everyone to watch.
The men calling for her prosecution cheer, watching with wide eyes and wicked grins as he steps aside, letting everyone see the woman as she shakes, tears streaming down her face, and her eyes screwed shut.
“This is despicable,” Hazel says, her eyes jumping around the room as if looking for help somewhere, but everyone’s gaze is stuck on the stage. Some with shame in their eyes, some with sorrow, but unlike the Livingstons’ execution, some are alight with satisfaction.
Barton bends down, holding his hand out to the young shield whose eyes are a concoction of guilt and concern. But he places something in Barton’s hand, something so small I cannot decipher it.
“We will now attempt to find the dark mark,” he says before holding up what appears to be a needle, showing all of us before he sticks it into the woman’s side.
She winces, another tear shining as it streams down her face. I feel sick as I watch, feeling just as helpless as I was all those weeks ago.
I shake my head as I watch him poke her again, this time in the top of her shoulder.
Sick steers and a cat don’t make this woman a witch.
How could it? It is absurd. It feels so far away from any of the things I have experienced, all the things I’ve seen over the last few weeks. How can this mark her as a witch?
Barton pokes the needle into the woman’s nipple, and she cries out. I push my chair out, standing on my feet before Silas yanks me back down into my seat. “You can’t help her.”
“Like hell I can’t,” I say, catching Hazel and Cedar’s attention. “Someone has to get her off that stage.” I’m done hiding, done waiting for someone else to fix this, when it is clear no one will.
So much for tonight being a fresh start for this town.
Silas grinds his teeth. “They have to do their tests.”
“Are you out of your gods’ forsaken mind?” Hazel says as the woman cries out once more.
Silas shakes his head tersely. “They do this test, she gets hurt some, but they can’t prosecute her if they find nothing.” I shake my head as I look into the eyes of the boy I thought I loved, the boy who cut down the Livingstons. The one who dug their grave. I don’t recognise him at all.
“What about a birthmark?” Hazel asks. “Or a lesion on her skin, Silas? When did you become so careless?”
Silas rears back, but I pay him no mind as the jeering gets louder, more people echoing their cheers as Barton sticks a needle into her inner thigh. She doesn’t make a sound, her cries silent as she gives up.
“No,” I mutter. Low voices fill the room, whispers and muttering as he does it once more, just to be sure. The woman shakes her head, but she doesn’t make a sound.
Barton and his men share a look, and I watch as pride spreads across their faces.
Gods, they are so wrapped up in this, so hysterical they will believe anything. Even the fact that this woman is so tired, she didn’t scream when they jabbed the largest muscle in her body.
“Scream,” Hazel yells out, and my heart jumps at the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls. “Tell them where it hurts!”
Everyone’s heads whip to where Hazel now stands in front of me. Her chin held high as shields begin towards her.
The woman’s eyes slide open, her gaze catching on Hazel. I see the moment she decides to fight, to live.
The world feels like it stands still as the woman screams, her yell raw, the sound rough like it’s scratching her throat to do so.
I see the grin pull at Hazel’s mouth, even as two shields make their way towards her, weaving through the crowd.
Mayor Hawthorne steps in front of them, a hand on their shoulders as he says something in their ears.
Hazel doesn’t even spare them a glance as she stares up at the woman in pride.
But I can’t help but wonder what Hawthorne has said, why he stopped his men. It can’t be anything good.
She turns to face me. “We do not hide.”
I catch Cedar’s eye, where a sparkle of pride shines as she looks up at Hazel.
The two shields holding the woman struggle as she kicks her feet out, fighting against the men who hold her captive, her naked body moving about, a flurry of pale skin and fighting limbs.
More men have joined the crowd near the stage, their shouts booming through the space as chaos takes over.
Rushed footsteps sound near the back of the room, and I turn to see Coral shooing children out of the hall.
I am surprised to see her at all, but she doesn’t hesitate to make an escape, almost as if she can sense what’s about to happen.
A few women follow her, their eyes wide as they push on the doors, escaping out into the night.
The man complaining about his cattle climbs onto the stage, pointing his accusatory finger towards the woman as he yells. A shield blocks him from getting to her, but the men crowding behind him echo his sentiment.
My eyes catch on the young guard as he holds an older man back, his eyes wide as if he’s never been faced with such a thing.
I don’t let myself feel bad for him. He chose this for himself.
An uneasy feeling washes over me, the kind where it feels as if everything stops. I stand mindlessly as I watch Barton walk over to the woman. He doesn’t hesitate for even a second before he puts his hands on either side of her head and snaps her neck.
My ears ring as I watch her body slump to the floor, the shields dropping her like she’s nothing more than a bag of wheat.
I think I hear someone scream, and then I’m being shoved as bodies fly past me, people rushing to find the nearest exit.
I see Hazel collapse in front of me, and Cedar slips a hand under her arm to hold her up. But I can’t take my eyes off the woman, her body crumpled up on the ground, her hands hanging off the edge of the stage, almost as if she is reaching out for help, even now.
Mayor Hawthorne and Sir Barton exchange a look, one I can’t decipher, before Mr. Collingwood lands a hand on the mayor’s shoulder, a small smile on his face as he looks at the woman’s limp body. I feel ill.
I bite down on the inside of my lip to hold my tears at bay as Cedar looks at me. “We need to leave. Now.”
Someone runs into her, sending her and Hazel flying forwards. I hold my arms out to steady them, but they’re weaker than I remember. I help steady Hazel’s unresponsive form into Cedar’s arms as we look for a way out.
Silas starts making his way through the crowd. “Come on,” he yells, beckoning for us to follow.
“Right behind you,” I say, but he gets swallowed up by the stampede in less than a second.
I look around the room, seeing a flash of golden hair as Maeve rushes out the door, followed by the masses.
But one person moves in the opposite direction, one person forces their way into the hall, pushing through the people like a fish swimming against the current.
I let out a shaky breath when Rylan’s familiar green eyes meet mine as he breaks away from the crowd pushing out the door.
Those mossy green eyes linger on me, like he’s checking my body for injuries before he looks around the room, his heaving chest stilling as he sees the woman on the stage.
I don’t bother stopping the tears now as I watch the understanding on his face, as I watch him realise what he just walked in on.
It might be worse watching someone else see it than seeing it myself.
What have we become?
Hazel finds her feet, but her eyes are stuck on the woman still lying on the stage. “It’s my fault,” she mutters.
“No,” Cedar says firmly.
Hazel shakes her head. “I told her to scream.”
I pull my eyes away from Rylan to push a short strand of hair from Hazel’s face. “He was going to kill her no matter if you stood up or not,” I say. “You are not the one who did this to her, so don’t you dare take any of the blame.”
She only shakes her head, her eyes drifting shut.
“Rosie?” I feel Rylan’s hand on my arm, and I nearly collapse at the sheer sound of his voice.
He pulls me around to face him, his eyes frantic and his hands pushing my hair back as he cradles my head. “Are you okay?”
I nod, even as tears stain my cheeks. He wipes them away. “But she…” I look to Hazel.
“I’ve got her,” he says, slipping his arm around her back, and the other under her legs, picking her up effortlessly before he pushes his way back out the door. My trust in him at this moment is unwavering.
“That’s Rylan?” Cedar asks.
I nod, forgetting she has never met him, let alone seen him before. “That’s him.”
The room is suddenly quiet around us, Rylan and Hazel being some of the last to leave.
“We can’t leave without her, Everleigh.”
I meet Cedar’s watery gaze. “I know.”
The two of us look to the stage where only Mayor Hawthorne, Captain Barton, and Mr. Collingwood stand. Mr Collingwood is clearly not afraid to show where his loyalties lie. He might as well be a councilman himself.
Hawthorne’s eyes catch mine. “Well then,” he calls out, shrugging before he looks down at the woman. “She is all yours, my dear.”