Prologue
Chapter One
Ingrid
The smell of fresh hay envelops me like a comforting hug as I step into the stables. My favorite mare pokes her head over the stall door and whinnies a greeting.
"Keeping yourself out of trouble, Violet? Goodness knows I don’t need more," I say on my way to grab an apple from from the basket by the door. She snorts in response, munching away without a care.
The other horses start to perk up, their ears twitching, eyes bright with anticipation of the daily treats I bring once my chores are done. Animals are easier to understand than people. More even-tempered, too.
“Everyone present and accounted for,” I say with a sigh of relief after counting the horses.
At least Phillip hasn’t decided to run off with one today; that’s one trouble averted, though I know my luck can’t hold out for long.
That worry’s confirmed when I spot my brother's coat carelessly draped over the railing of one stall.
My breath halts, the first fingers of dread prickling at the nape of my neck.
It's too cold for him to be out on an errand without his coat. He's never been careless enough to leave it in the stables before, but there's always a first time, right? Probably got distracted with Lord Amond’s niece Ella again.
Phillip's fine. He's always fine. Even when he shouldn't be.
I snatch up his coat, my visit with the horses forgotten, and head back to the manor. On my way, I ask one of the stable hands, only to be met with a shrug. Winding my way through the corridors, I pause here and there to ask if anyone’s seen my brother.
“Tall? Skinny? Looks like trouble?” I ask the cook who barely looks up from the pies she’s stuffing. She answers with a shake of her head.
In the atrium, where he’s usually stealing a bloom for Ella, I ask the same question of the woman arranging flowers. “Lady Amond didn't send him off to town at this hour, did she?” I ask, softly petting Phillip's coat the way I’d stroke his hair when he's feverish.
“No,” she says. “I haven't seen him.” The tangle in my stomach winds tighter, colder, my nerves and my gut twisting, fighting against my best efforts to reassure myself.
By the time I’ve covered every inch of the grounds and arrived back at the barn, I’m repeating the question to the sheep and chickens.
If they could speak, they might be able to tell me what trouble Phillip has gotten himself into this time.
I pull my arms tighter around myself as the sky grows dim.
“Please, let him be all right,” I murmur into the wind.
Crying. I hear it faintly as I retrace my steps, cutting across the grazing field to get back to the manor as fast as I can.
Halfway up the hill, I stop in my tracks.
I’m not proud to say that for one brief, selfish moment, I hesitate, tempted to ignore the cries—there will be time to help others when I know Phillip is safe.
There will be time to breathe when I see him again.
Guilt washes over me before I can even really consider it, and I’m already on my way, already turning toward the wailing, pushing aside the stone and ice in my gut. My chest tightens when I spot the poor girl huddled in the garden against the steps of the shed.
“Ella, what's happened?” I ask, crouching beside the Lord's niece, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. Her cries soften with the familiarity of my voice but her body still shakes, and the sniffles don’t stop. “It’s all right,” I say, soothing, but unsure.
I give her shoulder a little squeeze. “Whatever's happened, we'll work through it.”
She looks up, eyes red, face streaked with tears.
Even now, she's a natural beauty; it's no wonder why Phillip's so smitten—or why her uncle is so protective of her. I hold her close, my heart pounding in my chest. Her hair’s a wild mess, and her dress is dirty and torn at the hem. Phillip wouldn’t leave her in such a state. He wouldn’t have let her cry like this.
The thought sends a jolt of worry through me, and I cradle her tighter.
As Ella's sobs subside, I hold her at arm’s length, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with my thumb and catching a bit of snot with my cuff. I should have been here. I should have been looking after them.
“What is it?” I ask gently, hoping for both their sakes it’s just a petty little spat between young lovers and nothing like the serious trouble I suspect. “What’s gotten you so worked up?”
“It’s—” Ella stops, gasping through another round of sobs. “It’s—he’s been—” Her words dissolve into a mess of tears and sobbing, and I pat her on the back. I take a quick peek toward the manor, telling myself there’s plenty of time, that I’m not going to hear something dreadful when I get there.
I hand her a rag from my apron. “Just take a breath,” I say as she snuffles into it.
“Let’s see if we can make sense of this.
” I pray Phillip isn't the cause of these tears, and the thought makes the gnawing worry bite harder, taking chunks from my heart with every nightmare scenario I consider.
But I wait, saying nothing as she calms herself a little, giving her the time she needs.
“He's gone,” she finally gets out.
My stomach lurches at that word. “Who?” I ask.
The girl trembles as she clutches my hand, tears pooling again in her bloodshot eyes. “Phillip.”
I inhale so sharply it stings.
She must see the shock on my face because she rushes to explain, her words punctuated with half-chokes and gasps.
“It’s not what he says,” she whimpers. “I just... I just wanted to get my father’s blessing, and I thought we had more time.” Her cries intensify. “But he won't listen. The Judge...he...”
A chasm of fear, panic, and cold realization yawns open inside me. It’s worse than I imagined. Far worse.
“What about him?” My voice cracks, the world reducing to a pinpoint.
Her lips tremble. “You have to stop them, Ingrid,” she sobs. “The Judge wants to see him hang.”
I don’t wait for anything more.
"Wait!" Ella cries. "What if he takes you too?" she asks, clutching my apron in a way that nearly breaks me. "I don’t want him to get you too!"
"Oh, sweetheart," I say, pushing her back so I can look her in the eyes again. She can see it there: my resolve. My refusal to let anything happen to either of them. "He won’t. I’m coming back, and I’m bringing Phillip with me."
I hope she believes it, because I’m not sure I do.
"Stay with your aunt," I tell her, praying she won't do anything foolish. "I won’t be gone long." I gently pry her fingers free from my apron, hugging her once more before I turn and flee.
My mind races just as fast as my feet as I barrel out of the garden, fear closing around my heart with each step.
I let Phillip down, left him alone when I knew better.
The Judge’s patience is thin and his heart is colder than the bitterest winter, and it’s all my fault.
How could I let this happen? I’m supposed to be the one to protect him.
I can’t be too late.
He’s going to be fine.
He has to be.
The Judge wants to see him hang.
I’m halfway to town before the shock wears off, the echo of those words pushing me to run faster, harder, ignoring the pain in my feet and the burning in my lungs. I can’t be too late.
Phillip's been into scrapes before, but nothing that would have made him a real target for the Judge. What could have brought the Judge’s attention to my scamp of a brother?
Phillip likes to make trouble, but he has a charming way about him that normally saves his skin. And failing that, there’s always…me.
Oh no.
It should have been so clear. So obvious.
The Judge first approached me when I was younger than Ella is now.
He said it was a generous offer, a stable job in his house keeping books and records, taking stock.
Lord Amond was wealthy, he said, but had not a fraction of the Judge’s power.
He said he’d stop at nothing to bring me into his home.
I laughed him off. Didn’t dare take him seriously.
Not when my only priority was to be near my brother.
Truthfully, I expected him to grow bored and turn his interests elsewhere.
Instead, he got clever, going around me entirely.
An envelope of coins delivered to the housekeeper with a letter to me included.
Colorful dresses arriving with wagons, sent from other towns, other counties.
A scarf so fine it was worth more than everything I own combined, each silky thread heavy with obligation. And my fool brother told me to take it!
Phillip has always had me to extract him from any tangles he finds himself in. He doesn’t understand what the Judge is like. Not truly.
The man has a way of getting what he wants no matter what. I realize now that he never gave up; he was biding his time. And all I can do is watch helplessly, knowing he’ll catch me no matter which way I turn.
When I arrive at the center of town, a terrible stitch slices through my side.
Each hurried breath comes out ragged, painful.
My muscles ache, and my limbs are shaking, though I don’t know if that’s from fear or exertion.
My steps slow outside the courthouse where a handful of men mill about with their arms crossed and their noses turned up.
I recognize a few who've joined the Judge's recent campaign to protect the village’s virtues.
Do they truly think dragging my brother away in chains will do anything to tip the scales?
No; it's like the Judge told me before: sheepherders and spinsters like me are in need of a firm hand from those who know better. This is about power and control, and I have none.
The men make no move to stop me as I push past them and shove open the heavy door.
The smell of roasted meat assaults my senses, and nausea nearly overtakes me.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and force my feet to move despite how weighted they feel, propelling myself through the entry, stumbling toward the main hall.
The thought of Phillip sitting alone in a cold, dark cell renews my resolve.
My brother might be beyond the reach of my help already, but if he isn’t, then I have to keep trying.
The courthouse interior is dimly lit at this hour, the fire of the torches struggling against the encroaching night, casting the rooms in heavy shadow. No one greets me or ushers me in. The Judge either trusts my desperation too much, or he doesn’t care if I even make it there. He wins either way.
I freeze when his gaze lands on me, stopping where his eyes slice through the flickering light.
I feel like a hare caught in the fox’s den.
His cold eyes assess me like a rare prize, and he barks out a command to the bailiff, telling him to wait before moving my brother to the gallows.
He says nothing, savoring my helplessness more than the roasted bird in his hand, and I can't hide my shudder.
The world tilts, and I swallow back bitterness, forcing one foot in front of the other, forcing myself closer to the Judge as he reclines, enjoying this moment just as much as his lavish meal.
I clench my fists and move in, trying to still the tremble I know he sees anyway.
The greedy look on his face gives it away.
"This," he says, shaking his head, clicking his tongue like he’s dealing with a wayward child, "is what your meddling has earned you.
" He tosses a stripped-clean bone to the ground, and it clatters on the stone as he wipes grease on the embroidered tablecloth.
"I'll make this simple: you can claim your brother’s corpse, or your place in my household. I’ll give you one. "
My knees buckle, the weight of that choice heavier than anything Phillip has ever made off with. It crushes the breath out of me. I know the life waiting for me in the Judge’s home is one made of horrors I’d rather die than face, but when it’s Phillip’s life?
I want to shout that he’s not guilty, that this isn’t fair, but the look on the Judge’s face keeps my lips sealed. He's already enjoying this too much. I won't give him more satisfaction.
Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve done to try to protect my brother—it’s crumbling like the bones beneath the Judge's heel.
My world shrinks more, snuffing out my courage, forcing a small sound from the back of my throat. The Judge hears it. I can tell by the way he looks me over as though he’s deciding what part to indulge in first.
"You’ve gone pale, Ingrid," he says, tearing another piece of meat from the carcass. "Need time to think?"
He enjoys the bite while I struggle to find my breath.
"You know my terms," he continues, sucking his fingers clean one by one. "Agree to be my bride, and I’ll spare your brother’s life. I believe that’s a fair trade. Don’t you?”
My hands tremble. The world spins around me. He looks at me, calm, indifferent, dispassionate. The hint of a smile plays again at the corner of his mouth, and I can barely force myself to stay on my feet as he repeats his offer. My only way out.
“I’ll do it,” I say, breathless. A whisper of surrender. “I’ll do it.”
Finally, he stops picking at the bones. His gaze travels down before lifting up to meet mine.
What have I done?
Worse, what will I have to do next?
The Judge leans forward, his cold smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I was so hoping you would,” he says casually, his interest fading the moment it's agreed.
The bailiff re-enters, beckoned in by a dismissive wave. “See her to the boy,” the Judge says. "He should hear the good news."
There’s a sound as I leave, a loud, echoing clang. The iron door. The certainty of the Judge’s triumph. It burrows in my mind the same way his lecherous looks do, both impossible to forget. As I follow the bailiff through the dim corridors, my eyes are blurry with tears, making it hard to see.
Hard to stay upright. Hard to go through with any of it.
The only thing I can do is cling to what matters:
Phillip will live.