11. Chapter 11
11
Chapter 11
Bronwen
August was still alive, and because that wasn’t torture enough, I was at Market again. I couldn’t let my parents go without me. Not until the threat was gone.
As I looked for a tree to tie Shadow to along the other horses, the wind blew, carrying with it the rustling of leaves and something that sounded eerily like the word Winnie. I glanced around, hoping it was the magic playing tricks on me until I saw him.
The horses grew restless, pulling at the ropes that tied them to the trees as August walked past them.
“Hello, Winnie.” His voice was smooth, almost pleasant, but there was an edge to it that made my skin crawl. Shadow shifted uneasily beneath me, his ears pinning back as August drew closer. I tightened my grip on the reins, trying to calm him, but it was no use.
I scanned the woods. No one was around—at least, no one that I could see. The weight of the magic inside me pressed against my ribs, pulsing, waiting. If I was going to use it, I had only one chance. One moment to strike before he had the chance to stop me. But what if someone was here and watched me practice magic?
“Where were you last night?” I needed to keep him talking, to stall until I could figure out what to do.
August chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made my chest tighten. “Oh, I had . . . other things to attend to.” His eyes swept over me slowly, his gaze lingering like a physical touch. “But I smelled you. It was hard to stay away.”
My hands clenched around the reins. “You should have come,” I said through gritted teeth. “I waited.”
“I know,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And I drained six people trying to stop myself from finding you and ending our little game so soon.”
He reached out toward Shadow, his fingers hovering near the horse’s muzzle. Shadow reared back suddenly, throwing me to the ground before bolting into the woods. The sharp crack of my wrist breaking as I landed sent a wave of nausea through me.
August stood over me, his smile widening as he crouched just out of reach. “Oops,” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.
I bit down on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. He tilted his head, watching me intently. “You know, Winnie, no one’s around. You could heal that wrist with a single word.”
I stared at him, trying my best to control myself. The pain was overwhelming, my vision blurring at the edges. Nausea came from the pain, and I couldn’t bear it any longer. I closed my eyes as I gave in, feeling the warmth of the magic over my wrist.
I had allowed the magic to eat me alive from the inside—all for nothing.
August’s smile turned sharp. “Hmm,” he murmured. He rose to his feet, brushing off his coat. “See you around, Winnie.” With a wink, he disappeared.
With the magic gone and the pain subsiding, my mind cleared again.
But one thing stayed the same: I hated August.
I looked in the direction Shadow fled and let out a sigh of relief when I saw him eating grass not far from where I was. Making my way toward him, I ran a hand down his neck, feeling the tension still lingering in his muscles. “I need you to stay here, boy,” I murmured, gently taking the reins and leading him toward a sturdy tree. I tied him securely, giving him a final pat before stepping back. “I won’t be long. Stay put, alright?”
I made my way to town square, pulling twigs from my hair and brushing the dirt from my dress, seething. I pushed through the crowd, not bothering to apologize to anyone I bumped into. Anyone who looked at me the wrong way was testing me right now.
As I made it to our booth, the back of a tall man in a long black coat with almost white hair blocked my view of Mama.
Are you fucking kidding me?
I quickened my pace until I reached the booth. Without hesitation, I stepped in front of Mama, pushing her gently behind me as I planted myself between her and August.
His amused stare met mine, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but I didn’t waver. My glare was sharp, unwavering, and filled with all the hatred I could muster.
“Get away,” I spat, my voice low and venomous, my teeth clenched so tightly my jaw ached.
Mama gasped. “Winnie!”
“I’m sorry. I was interested in a new pair of,” August paused as he picked up the first thing he could grab from the table, “women’s stockings.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at his own mistake.
“Then buy them and leave.”
Mama came to my side looking over the mess that I must have been. She brushed her hands against the back of my dress. “What happened, Winnie?”
“Yeah, what happened, Winnie?” August asked, innocence painted across his face.
Mama stopped what she was doing and glanced between the two of us with scrunched eyebrows.
August gave Mama a smile that infuriated me. “Hello. My name is August.”
“Odelia Delvaux. It is nice to meet you. I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.” Mama extended her hand to which August glanced down before shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.
“Odelia, I am terribly sorry, but I was a very sickly child. I nearly died from a fever so I promised my dear, dear mother before she died that I would do my best not to ever get sick again, so I tend to steer clear of the touch of another.”
My mouth fell open at the amount of trickery that just came out of his mouth.
“Oh that’s quite alright, dear.”
I shot a look at Mama.
“It looks like Winnie may need to freshen up. I will come back later and finish my shopping.” And with that he turned around and waltzed his way to another booth.
Mama turned to face me, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Winnie, where are your manners?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth. “I just don’t like him.”
“Well the poor boy has been through enough. You should be nicer.”
That poor boy just broke my wrist and wishes to drain me of my blood, but okay.
Mama made me change, and unfortunately the dresses I like to wear usually didn’t sell very well at Market—because no one has taste—so I had to settle for something more common which meant more fabric covering my chest and a fuller skirt. It was like women didn’t want to show what they actually looked like.
When I made it back from changing, August was back at our booth talking to Mama. I kept having to tell myself that he wouldn’t do anything in public, and Mama never left home after dark. She was safe. He was just doing this to annoy me.
“Winnie! You changed.” His eyes swept over me, lingering a moment longer on my now covered chest. He snorted like he knew what I had on was something I didn’t prefer. “Wonderful.”
He lifted a goblet to his lips, the deep red liquid swirling inside catching the light. I hadn’t noticed it before—he must have acquired it in the brief time it took me to change.
“It’s quite early to be drinking, don’t you think?” I asked.
“It’s never too early for a drink, Winnie.” He glanced down at my neck, and I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, less at what he meant and more at that nickname.
“I am going to grab more men’s shirts from the wagon. They are selling fast today,” Mama said as she squeezed my arm .
I gave her a small smile before shifting my attention back to August.
Stepping out from behind the booth, I folded my arms. “What about that story you told my mother?”
August raised a brow, his smirk unfaltering. “And what’s to say it isn’t true?”
He held my gaze for a lingering moment before, with a flick of his wrist, he tilted the goblet in his hand. The deep red liquid cascaded over my new dress, the sharp scent of wine filling the air.
“Apologies, weak muscles from the illness.” He winked as he turned and walked away.
If there ever was a day that the rage inside me was at the point where one more thing would have me explode, it was today.
I didn’t just want to kill August anymore. I wanted him to suffer.
Immensely.
The crowds grew lighter, and the sales slowed as Market day began winding down. The air felt heavier, a suffocating tension settling over the streets as people moved sluggishly toward their final purchases. Then, the bell rang.
The sound sliced through the hum of Market like a blade, sharp and jarring. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, the entire square seemed to freeze.
It tolled again, deeper this time, reverberating through my chest. Each chime felt like a hammer blow, driving a spike of dread into my heart. I glanced at Mama, her face pale as she clutched my arm.
I pushed through the gathering crowd, dragging Mama with me. Every toll echoed in my ears, louder than the last, until the weight of it became unbearable. It was the sound of death, the sound that haunted my childhood.
They found a witch.
I remembered every night it had kept me awake, the times it had left me trembling with fear that someone I loved would be next. We had to find Papa.
I let out a breath when I saw Papa. He met us at the star etched in the stone below our feet, something that had become a tradition whenever we heard the bell tolling. Relief came over his face when he saw us. Mama gripped my arm tightly.
We stood, all clutching each other while we stared at the stage. It was a large wooden podium that sat much higher than the ground. The wood was darkened with age, its splintered edges stained from years of use. Across the stage hung ropes above trapdoors, each one ready to deliver its gruesome promise with the pull of a lever.
Above the platform, banners fluttered in the faint breeze, bearing the king’s insignia: a black raven with its wings spread wide over a blood-red background. It was a stark reminder of the crown’s complicity in the centuries of persecution. The king, safe within the fortress of his castle, upheld the laws that sanctioned these executions, yet he never had to witness the horror himself. The thought churned my stomach. He ruled over death with impunity, his hands never stained by the blood.
The stage was the centerpiece of the town’s fear-driven theater, a grotesque spectacle that drew the bloodlust of the crowd like moths to a flame. Papa said they used to burn witches, but over the years, we evolved. Fire could no longer touch us, so they adapted.
A few Legion soldiers stood on the stage, but one in particular caught my attention.
Adar held tightly to a woman with a sack over her head. His grip was firm, his knuckles pale, and his face a mask of stoicism. Yet, I could see the tension in the set of his jaw, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes as he stared out over the crowd.
My chest tightened as I watched him. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since he left, and for a fleeting moment, I wondered if he might be the one about to face death. But here he was, draped in full Legion attire, carrying the weight of his role like a burden he couldn’t shake. I felt every emotion he was trying to bury—anger, shame, regret. It was as though I were on that stage with him, feeling the same suffocating pressure.
This wasn’t just another duty for him. It was a battle within himself. Though I was not sure what all he had done during his time with the Legion, this was the first time he was on the stage.
As the final toll of the bell faded, I glanced around and realized the entire town had gathered. The oppressive silence that followed was thick, broken only by the hushed whispers rippling through. They all stood, eyes fixated on the hooded witch, waiting to see who it was—the one who had lived among them, tricking them every day.
Another soldier approached the witch and ripped the hood off of the woman. Gasps followed by whispers ripped through the crowd when they saw who it was. Cloth was wrapped tightly around her mouth, and her hands were bound behind her back to ensure there was no way she could fight back.
The woman shook her head violently, her eyes wide with terror as tears streamed down her face. Muffled pleas escaped through the fabric gag, but they were ignored. Adar grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to stand still as another wrapped the coarse rope of the noose around her neck. She twisted against his grip, her silent cries growing more desperate, but it was no use.
The sickening snap of her neck echoed through the square, cutting through the heavy air. For a moment, there was silence—an unnatural stillness as the reality of what had just happened settled over the crowd. Then, the cheers erupted, a wave of triumph fueled by fear and hatred. They celebrated the death of someone’s daughter, someone who had been loved, as if it were a victory worth cheering.
This had to come to an end. My hatred for the coven burned bright, fueled by their disdain and cruelty, but watching the execution unfold twisted something deep inside me. They didn’t deserve this.
The genocide had to end. I had to push past my anger and find the first vampire, to restore the balance before we all ended up on that stage, condemned by the very people we tried to protect.