Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Rain pours down on my cabin, the sound of it so loud you almost wouldn’t hear the kettle boil. You certainly don’t hear the repetitive drip where the water leaks through a spot in my roof, landing on the wood with a small splash over and over again.
I fix my hair back, keeping it out of my face as I stare at myself in the tall looking glass in the corner of my bedchamber.
My eyes look tired, gaunt, and my pale skin does nothing to hide the shades of blue that crest underneath them. I am tired, exhausted even, and my appearance cannot mask the way I feel inside my mind. Like my soul is overwhelmed, drowning in confusion.
But I have no time to be confused today. Today is the day of Hazel’s trial. The day that Rylan and I are going to get her out of this, even if I don’t know how.
I don’t know how we can fight against the mayor and his men, the people who have such a tight hold on this town.
Rylan should be here any moment to fill me in on whatever plan he has worked out. I have no idea what he is thinking, but I trust him to figure something out, to find a way to save Hazel, because there is no way we are getting out of this today without Hazel by our sides.
I haven’t so much as seen a flash of Silas’s shaggy hair since he stopped me outside Hazel’s practice yesterday.
Months ago, I would’ve imagined that Silas would be right here by my side, up all night trying to figure out how to help her.
But he’s nowhere to be seen or heard. He has disappeared—from my life, at the least.
I almost think I heard a knock on my door through the rain, and when I walk out, I see Cedar and Elara standing in my kitchen, their skirts heavy with water and dripping all over the floor. Their hair is soaked, and though their faces shine with water, their cheeks are rosy with heat.
“Hazel’s trial is supposed to be today, right?” Cedar asks me before I can utter a simple hello. Her voice is muffled by the rain plummeting onto the roof.
“Are you two all right?” I ask, her question going over my head as I take in the sight of them. “Let me get a blanket.”
“Everleigh,” Cedar’s sharp tone stops me. “Is it today?”
“That was what she said yesterday,” I say, watching as they share an uneasy glance. “Rylan is supposed to be here any moment to go over the plan. I—”
As if my words summon him, he knocks on my door, his hair plastered to his forehead. Cedar opens the door, but I don’t miss the tension in her shoulders, or the concern that has been written on her face since she walked in.
“So this is what it looks like in here,” Rylan wonders aloud as he looks around my small cabin. His relaxed mannerisms would normally calm me, knowing he obviously has some kind of plan. But I can’t take my eyes off Cedar.
The fascination in Rylan’s gaze quickly gives way as he takes in the silence in the room. His eyes narrow. “What is it?”
Cedar eyes him warily, as if she’s not sure what she wants to say around him. Just when I’m about to tell her to say it already, she opens her mouth. “Hawthorne’s councilmen have been in the town square all morning,” she says. “They’ve set up a pyre.”
I feel my face drop, and I watch as Rylan’s does the same. “They’ve set up a what?”
Elara shakes her head, her voice wavering. “I don’t think Hazel is being put on trial today. I think she’s being put to death.”
My head spins. She had to have confessed—but what did she confess to?
“We need to go,” Rylan says, his face all hard lines as he opens the door. “Now.”
Elara and Cedar don’t hesitate, hurrying out the door and down the steps. I pick up my cloak, tying it around my neck as I go to follow them out the door.
Rylan clasps his fingers around my wrist. “I didn’t know.” His eyes flit between mine, as if he’s trying to make me believe him.
“I know,” I say. “How could you?”
He just nods, his hand on the small of my back as he ushers me down the stairs, the rain toppling down on us as we step out from the shelter of my veranda.
“Take my horse,” Rylan yells out to Cedar as he unties the lead from around the post. I do the same to Merlin, his saddle already on his back from when I fitted it earlier.
Cedar simply nods in response, hiking up her skirts as she climbs atop Rylan’s black horse before reaching out her hand to help Elara up after her.
I mount Merlin’s back, and Rylan sits behind me, taking the reins in his grip and spurring Merlin into a gallop as soon as he’s turned around.
We fly through the forest, my heart erratic as Merlin’s feet pound against the wet ground. The rain doesn’t ease as we ride, my clothes soaking through and my body feeling the chill. But I don’t pay it any mind, not as I think of Hazel, and the way she feels right now.
Have they hurt her? Tortured her? Does she know what is going to happen, or does she still think she is going to trial?
Was there ever going to be a trial in the first place, or was this their plan all along?
To make her believe she had a chance to fight, a chance to win, only to rip it away from her.
“We should have seen this coming,” I yell through the rain, turning my head so Rylan can hear me. “We should’ve known a trial was nothing more than a fairytale.”
“We had hope,” he replies. “And if we can’t have that, then there is no point in any of this.” I shake my head, looking back in front of us. “Hold on to that, Rosie. No matter what happens.”
I remember the day I said something similar to Iris, but hope has never gotten me anywhere. I hoped that my parents’ accident was a dream. I hoped that Finnick would come back. I hoped that one day everything would feel all right again.
Hope has only ever made a fool out of me.
The closer we get to the town square, the worse I feel. My hands shake where I hold Merlin’s wet mane between my fingers. I feel sick with anticipation. Every single time we’ve been in this town square, it’s ended in devastation.
I promised Hazel we would get her out, that we would figure out a way to help her. But I don’t have a plan, not as we break out from the shadows of the tall trees and see the town gathered on the same wooden chairs that sat there weeks ago.
Only this time, it’s not the Livingstons at the end of a rope—it’s my best friend standing atop a pile of wood, a gag stretching across her mouth and her hands tied behind her back, fixing her to the stake behind her.
I vaguely feel Rylan’s body slip away from behind me, but I can’t take my eyes off of the crowd sitting in the pouring rain, waiting to watch the woman who has treated their ailments, who has delivered their babies, and healed the broken bones of their young die right in front of their eyes.
Rylan pulls me from Merlin's back. “What do we do?” I ask mindlessly. Rylan just shakes his head as he looks at her.
“Gods, help us.” Elara places a shaky hand over her mouth as a sob cracks in her throat.
“What do we do?” I ask again, turning to face a dazed Rylan. “What do we do!?” I push on his chest, and he staggers back.
“Everleigh!” Cedar yells, her voice cracking as tears roll down her face. She tilts her head, defeat written all over her face. “We have to watch.”
“No,” I shake my head. “We need to do something!” I turn and walk up to where everyone sits as Mayor Hawthorne finds his place in front of Hazel. One of his councilmen places down a block of wood so that everyone can see our mayor perfectly clear, even through the pelting rain.
“You are here today to witness the execution of the healer and witch Hazel Hart,” he yells out, his voice muffled by the sound of the water lashing against the bricks. Everyone else is silent, not a word whispered, not a murmur of discontent. Just silence.
“Miss Hart has exhibited behaviours over the last month that prove she is a witch living among us. Fighting against the authority at every chance, and branding herself as a sympathiser in attempts to save those that have faced prosecution.”
My limbs go numb, my fingers tingling even as I clench my fists beside me. This isn’t how it ends. This cannot be how it ends. We promised each other.
“But yesterday she performed such an act that could not be labelled as anything other than witchcraft at its finest. She performed a resurrection.”
Murmurs break out through the once silent crowd. Cedar and Elara find a spot beside me. “Resurrection?” Cedar murmurs.
Elara shakes her head. “She saved someone, a walk-in from out of town. He wasn’t well.
Two of his friends brought him in. He could barely walk.
A fever was consuming him. He had some kind of infection,” she says.
“I can’t remember the name, but it was bad.
But Hazel did what she always does…she saved him. ”
Hazel has always been an incredible healer. She could identify a sickness simply by a glance, always figuring out exactly what a patient needed.
She’s lost a small number of patients over the years, only enough that she could count on her hands, and every single one stung. She cared—cares—for people, for this town, and this is how they are going to repay her.
“The evidence was witnessed firsthand by a number of men, including Captain Barton. The charge is incontestable, and for this transparent act of despicable and undeniable witchcraft,” his eyes roam over the crowd, landing on the three of us standing behind the chairs, “she will burn.”
I feel my body moving before my mind can catch up, my legs propelling me down the aisle between the chairs heading straight for where my friend stands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears and her skin slick with rain.
She thrashes against her restraints, her cheeks red where the fabric gagging her has been rubbing against her skin. At this moment, I don’t care about looking like a sympathiser or going toe to toe with Hawthorne. I can only see Hazel.
“Hazel!” I cry out, and her eyes meet mine.
I watch as a sob racks her body before she’s shaking her head at me.
I know she’s telling me to stop, but I can’t.
Not until Captain Barton is pushing me back, his firm grip stopping me from getting any closer as I watch one of the councilmen light a torch.
“No.” I shake my head.
Hawthorne’s face is all pride and contentment as he watches his lackey light a fire at the base of the pyre.
I fight against Barton as I watch Hazel squirm, her eyes screwed shut as she yanks on her restraints, fighting until the end to get away.
I try to get to her, to go through this man who’s holding me firmly in between the rows of people, watching shamelessly as the flames climb the wood beneath Hazel’s feet, getting closer and closer to her. But it’s no use. He’s too strong.
I look over his shoulder to see Hawthorne looking straight at me. I spit over Barton’s shoulder. “You are such a sick bastard!” I scream. But I don’t see his reaction, not as I feel a splitting pain in my cheek, and I hit the bricks with a thud.
Pain rings in my ears as I roll against the wet bricks, my head pounding as I hear the faint sound of people around me.
I force my eyes open to see Rylan pushing against Barton’s chest. I try to read his lips, to focus on the sound of his voice. “…her again, and you won’t have any fingers left, and I know how much you like to beat your prisoners.”
My eyes fall closed again as a jolt of pain spears through your head. “Evie?”
“Silas?” I breathe, confusion swimming around in my mind.
I feel arms beneath me, and I open my eyes as I am being lifted off the ground to see the fire biting at Hazel’s ankles. Her eyes filled with terror as she tries to pick her feet up. Her screams pleading.
I groan, trying to escape Silas’s arms. I need to get back to her. He can’t take me away, not again.
That’s not how our stories end.
The promise echoes through the space between us, and I force my eyes open, holding them there and forcing my mind to clear as I fight against his grip. “Let me go,” I mumble, my words slurred.
I see Rylan’s form in front of me, his hand reaching out towards me, but then I am being pulled away from him. “You aren’t safe for her!” Silas yells.
A sharp scream pierces through the rain. “Let me go!” I struggle out of Silas’s arms, falling to my knees on the brick as Hazel writhes against the flames.
The fire sears her legs as she screams, the sound haunting as it echoes off of every surrounding building, her cry bouncing all around me.
An acrid smell fills the air, carried on the smoke that fans the flames. The smell of burning flesh suffocates my lungs, and I have to hold back the bile that rises in my throat.
Hazel fights against it, throwing herself back against the beam as if to break it, but it stays steady as the flames crawl up her body, her pants disintegrating within seconds.
I can feel my heart tearing inside my chest, can hear it screaming out as my nails break on the brick beneath me.
I can hear people crying around me, can hear the water splashing as someone falls to the ground behind me.
But I realise I can only hear those things because the screaming has stopped, and when I look back up, all I see is a flash of her dark hair before the flames engulf Hazel entirely.
And then the rain stops.