Chapter 32
Filip cursed loudly as I turned away and retched.
Through watering eyes and choked breaths, I asked, “Do you think that’s her? Basia?”
“I don’t know who else it could be,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to keep his voice even.
Bracing myself, I turned and faced the room again. It wasn’t any less grotesque the second time.
Filip inspected the corpse, his face a shade paler than usual. “I’d say she’s been dead for at least a week now. Maybe even two.”
With some effort, I nodded. I didn’t ask him how he knew that, I was too focused on not heaving my lunch all over the dusty floorboards.
I watched from a safe distance as he examined the body methodically. “It looks like someone nullified her with silver yew. She must have been very powerful for them to use this much. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was already dead by the time they decapitated her.”
A lump formed in my throat at the sight of her body, butchered and bristling with death’s needles, like a pin cushion of flesh. There was no doubt in my mind that the silver yew arrows would have killed her. To sever her head from her body was an act of unnecessary cruelty.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Apparently done with his examination of the body, he turned his gaze to me.
“She’s not the murderer.” I said weakly.
“Exactly. Which means the true murderer likely killed her too. But why?”
There was silence as we both contemplated this revelation.
Maybe it was fueled by cold-blooded hatred? It could have been an act of revenge. Or maybe she knew something and the murderer wanted to keep her quiet? Or…
“Basia had something the murderer wanted,” I said, thinking of the mess in the other room. Someone had obviously ransacked the cottage—I didn’t know why we hadn’t realized it sooner. “And I think they killed her once they found it.”
“You’re probably right,” he agreed solemnly. “Which means we’re wasting our time searching for anything here.”
He turned away from the body. “We should head back to the campsite; the hunt will be finishing up soon.”
“And the body?”
“What about it?”
“We can’t leave her like this,” I said, remembering the fox’s corpse. I couldn’t let her body decay and become fodder for the maggots.
He folded his arms, readying for an argument. “What do you propose we do with it?”
“We burn it, obviously.” I wasn’t sure why I cared about what happened to her remains. Perhaps I felt sorry for her for meeting such a gruesome demise.
We stood and argued about what to do, both becoming heated.
I was adamant that she should have the appropriate Rites, and Filip was equally stubborn in his belief that we didn’t have the time.
When I made it clear that I would not take a single step into the forest as a dishonorable heathen, he finally gave in.
He wrapped up her body and head in the quilt and lifted it outside with ease, while I moved the cauldron, sitting it down by the wood pile.
He whittled two sticks together to make sparks in the outdoor fire pit. At first, they were tiny, tentative flickers but soon they grew into hungry flames that devoured the logs, dried twigs and leaves. They spread quickly and demanded more.
Once the fire blazed, he fed the flames with Basia’s body.
For a few moments, I watched, entranced. Eventually, I said, “You need to say the prayer.”
His eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “Why me?”
“Because I’m not going anywhere until you do.” I took a seat on a nearby tree stump. “Go on.”
He released a sigh of long suffering and muttered something that sounded like, “Damnable woman.”
Keeping my eyes trained on the witch-shaped quilt engulfed in flames, I listened as Filip spoke the sacred words to grant her soul safe passage to Yvora. The same prayer that had been said only two days ago at Lord Hywell’s Ceremony of Rites.
Once he was finished, I nodded at him. Now we could leave. The late afternoon sun was dimming, and I didn’t particularly want to be out in the woods at night.
“Come on then,” he said, understanding my unspoken confirmation.
Wordlessly, I followed him into the trees and up the mound. It wasn’t until we were back amongst the thick canopy that Filip spoke. “Why did you insist upon saying the prayers for the witch? She was a stranger to you. Her body was burning—we could have left it at that.”
I bit my lip, contemplating. “I’d like to think that if I died all alone someone would do me the honor of performing my Rites. Even if they were strangers.” He looked at me as if I was a puzzle he couldn’t make sense of. I quickly added, “And they say it’s bad luck not to honor the dead.”
We continued on in silence. Though we’d left the cottage behind, images from Basia’s bedchamber followed me through the forest. I tried to wrestle them out of my mind; when that didn’t work, I forced myself to think of something else.
The notebook. I put my hand in my pocket and ran my thumb along the jagged outline of its engravings.
The magic hummed in response, like a cat purring under the caress of a loving hand.
It was an incredibly bizarre experience—I had never been able to feel magic emanating from an object before.
Was the power of this notebook so potent that it called to magical beings?
It couldn’t be all that special if the murderer left it behind. Which posed the question: what was so valuable that it was worth slaying a witch for? Something in the missing jars and vials?
Filip went motionless.
“Shh,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. “I hear something.”
I strained my ears but, even with my hearing abilities, I couldn’t make out any unusual sounds. Not at first.
But then, a howl rippled through the air, curdling my blood.
“The hounds from the hunting party?” I suggested, although the unease rattling in my gut told me I was wrong.
He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like any hound I’ve ever heard. Come on, let’s keep moving.” He unsheathed his swords and continued through the trees, moving with more urgency than before.
I wasn’t about to argue with that. Even though my blistering feet still ached, I forced myself to keep pace with him. It was much darker in this part of the woods, and I didn’t see the root at my feet until I was on all fours.
“You alright?” Filip asked, holding out a hand. It was astonishing to see concern in his eyes. Perhaps he despised me a little less than before.
“I’m fine.” My right hand was stinging and bleeding. My pride had definitely been bruised, but my body shouted at me to get up and move.
Filip was helping me to my feet when we heard another howl. This time it was much closer. It sounded as if it was coming from the trees behind us.
My pulse pounded and my heart thrashed. We exchanged worried glances. Without letting go of my hand, Filip pulled me forwards in an almost-jog.
“Can you run?” His voice was low but urgent.
I was just about to tell him yes when we came to a halt. The ice in my veins froze my muscles and glazed my skin in a cold sweat.
Waiting beneath a tree stood death given flesh.