Chapter 1
The Trial
Callista
“Barren witch! How dare you deceive us?”
A rotten tomato landed on my cheek, and I flinched. Not because of the disgusting smell and taste of the fruit, but because I knew I was far more disgusting.
They’d bound me to a stake in the middle of the clearing near Agrion, and the tight rope around my wrists sliced into my flesh. It hurt, but I barely registered the pain. It couldn’t compare to the crushing weight threatening to tear my heart out of my chest.
Three years. Three years of careful lies, of dawn trips to gather herbs, of choking down bitter tea every morning. All destroyed by one satyr’s nose. I couldn’t even say I didn’t deserve it.
Syagros paced around me like a predator, his polished horns catching the sunlight. “Look at her!” he snarled. “This cursed woman’s presence among us brought death to our doorstep!”
He was still favoring his left side, every step he took lacking a satyr’s usual grace. My stomach plummeted. I’d always known he’d mention the recent massacre, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.
Just a week ago, the Korinos Wilds that were our home had been struck by the anniversary of the Shift.
For lucky settlements, that day meant nothing but a distant memory of the cataclysm that had torn the world apart.
But we lived in the shadow of the Blighted Lands, the terrible place where the Shift had struck hardest.
Every year, its plague seemed to expand further. Finally, Syagros had made the call. He’d gathered the strongest from multiple villages, hoping to contain the contamination. Only a handful had returned, wounded, lost, and terrified.
I’d tried to help them, bringing them into my cottage and tending their wounds. That was when he’d leaned close enough to catch my scent. And he’d known.
Just like that day, Syagros pointed an accusing finger at me. “The Blighted Ones came for us because of her! Her curse drew the Blighted Ones like flies to rot!”
The villagers sneered at me, their faces contorted with hatred. A woman in the crowd let out a wail. “My husband is dead because of you! The monsters tore him apart!”
I couldn’t breathe under the weight of their blame. They believed my barren womb had somehow called those creatures from the Blighted Lands, that my very existence had painted a target on their ceremony. How could I make them see otherwise, when I myself didn’t know what I’d done?
“I would never wish death on innocent people,” I croaked out. “I don’t understand why those monsters came, but I never called them. I tried to help the survivors when they returned wounded.”
“Liar!” The widow lunged forward, as if wanting to grant me the same fate that had befallen her husband. “Your evil has cursed us all!”
“There is proof that she premeditated her actions.” Syagros produced a bundle of familiar-looking herbs. The precious plants that had hidden my curse dangled before the crowd like evidence of murder.
“Moon-bane and bitter root, to mask the stench of a barren womb!” he explained. “She poisoned herself daily to lie to us!”
Melos the blacksmith spat into the dirt beside my knees. “Three years she’s been hiding among us, drawing curses down on our heads.”
My throat burned with the need to defend myself, but what defense did I have? I was exactly what they said I was, a woman whose womb would never quicken, whose body had betrayed every expectation.
I made one last attempt, because I couldn’t help myself. I needed to make them see. “I never harmed anyone. I worked honestly, kept to myself.”
Syagros stopped pacing. His furious eyes bored into mine, darker than the Blighted Lands themselves. “Honest? You’ve been spreading poison with every weave, every touch!”
With every word he spoke, the crowd’s outrage increased. Another tomato landed on my cheek. And then, the villagers decided even rotten fruit were far too good for me. An old man threw a stone that caught my shoulder, sending sharp pain down my arm.
Melos began tearing at his shirt, and the fabric ripped with a sound like breaking bones. “This cursed shirt… My forge work’s been weak since I started wearing it!”
He hurled the ruined cloth at my feet, and others followed his lead. Agrion’s aged midwife stumbled forward and threw down a baby blanket I’d embroidered with tiny flowers.
“My grandson burns with fever!” She collapsed to her knees, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I should have known… I should have known it was your fault.”
More fabric flew through the air. Wedding linens, work shirts, and winter cloaks all landed in a growing pile around me. Each thrown piece tore something loose in my chest. These weren’t just garments. They were my pride, my skill, my only value in a world that had no use for broken women.
A dryad stepped forward, her bark skin rippling with disgust. “The earth itself sickens where your fabric touches it!”
Someone struck flint near the pile. Flames caught the cotton and spread quickly to the wool. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. Frozen in horror, I took in the sight of everything I’d ever created turning to ash.
It shouldn’t have been possible for things to get worse. But what little luck the gods had given me, I’d spent throughout these past three years. It was time to pay the price.
A group of mothers, led by a woman I recognized with sinking dread, pushed through the crowd.
It was Elena, whose sheep provided the finest wool in the village.
She’d been bringing me fleeces for my weaves, always proud of her animals’ soft coats.
We’d spent countless hours discussing which wool would work best for which projects.
Elena’s eyes burned with a fury that went beyond Syagros’s hatred.
In her hands, she carried that beautiful dress I’d woven from her wool.
“My daughter wore this to the bride market.” She trembled with barely controlled rage.
“Because of your weaving, your cursed needlework... The monster sniffed once and turned away!”
Other mothers nodded, their expressions grim. “Three markets ruined!” one of them shouted, her hands clenched into fists. “Our girls go unchosen because of your taint!”
I wanted to deny it, to defend myself, like I had before.
But in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. All those beautiful gowns I’d labored over…
I’d thought I’d been helping, thanking these people for sheltering me.
Instead, I’d been marking innocent girls as corrupted.
Every careful stitch had been a brand of shame.
I’d passed my curse onto other women, without even knowing it.
“I didn’t know about the weaving,” I whispered, and every word tasted like ash. “I never meant for anyone else to suffer.”
Elena threw the dress onto the fire, where it caught and burned with unnatural brightness. “Intent means nothing when our daughters face spinsterhood because of you!”
The smoke grew thicker, acrid and choking. Elena and the other women formed a tight circle around me. The peaceful woodland clearing had become a tribunal, with ancient oaks bearing witness to my judgment.
“My Lydia was beautiful!” Elena screamed, shaking with outrage. “Perfect! She would have made any monster a fine wife!”
There was a pause, as if the air itself was holding its breath. And then, Melos laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the flames. “Your Lydia? That plain girl? She wouldn’t have gotten chosen even without the curse.”
Elena went white. “What did you say?”
“I said your daughter’s homely as a mud fence. No monster would want her even if she smelled like roses.”
“You bastard!” Elena’s frame shook with fury. “How dare you—”
“It’s true though, isn’t it?” The midwife spoke up, her own grief making her cruel. “My grandson may be sick, but at least I never fooled myself about his prospects. Your girl looks like the back end of a mule.”
Elena reached for her wool shears, drawing them from her belt. “Shut your mouth, you dried-up crone!”
“Make me,” the midwife said, smirking. “At least I’m not delusional about my family.”
It shouldn’t have made a difference. They were all here to judge me, and petty arguments meant nothing compared to that.
But Elena’s anger went much deeper than I or anyone else had expected.
Her pupils dilated until only thin rings of color remained.
When she spoke again, each word dripped with venom. “Delusional? I’ll show you delusional.”
She shoved the midwife hard, sending her stumbling backward into the fire. The old woman’s scream split the air as flames caught her clothes. She rolled away, beating at the burning fabric.
“Elena!” One of Elena’s friends got between them and grabbed Elena’s arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
Elena whirled and slashed with the wool shears, opening a gash across her friend’s forearm. Blood sprayed in an arc, and the wounded woman staggered back with a cry of pain and shock.
“You’re all against me!” Elena shrieked, and the sound barely seemed human anymore. “All of you jealous hags!”
Melos stepped forward, clutching the same hammer he’d used to repair my loom. “Someone needs to put you down before you hurt anyone else.”
“Try it, you drunken fool!”
The blacksmith swung his hammer, but Elena ducked and drove her shears toward his throat. He caught her wrist, and they grappled, crashing into other villagers who had been trying to back away.
What was going on? These were my neighbors, people I’d known for years. Elena brought me wool every month, always stopping to chat about her sheep, her daughter, the weather. The midwife had helped deliver countless children. Melos had always been gruff but fair, never cruel.
People didn’t just turn on each other like this. Not over insults, not over old slights. But Elena had transformed into someone I didn’t recognize. And then, Melos brought his hammer down on her skull, and there was nothing left of her at all.