Chapter 45 Gaspard #2
I leaned forward, lowering my voice as if sharing a dangerous secret.
“The girl is a witch, Your Majesty. I discovered it only after taking her into my home. Strange occurrences. Objects moving without being touched. Plants growing out of season under her care. And her eyes...” I shook my head, as if disturbed by the memory.
“They glow when she uses her power. Like an animal’s in firelight. ”
Theron’s face had lost its drunken flush, his expression suddenly wary. The king’s features hardened into the stern countenance that had presided over countless executions of those found practicing the forbidden arts.
“You’re certain?” he asked, his voice dropping to match my hushed tone. “Magic is a serious accusation, Lord Coventry.”
“I would stake my life and reputation on it,” I replied solemnly. “When I confronted her, she attacked me with her powers. Threw me across the room without laying a hand on me. I subdued her and brought her to justice according to our village customs.”
“Which are?” Theron asked.
“The drowning cage,” I explained. “Water purifies the taint of magic. She was sentenced and executed. Or so I thought.” I frowned, as if puzzled. “I watched her sink. She should be dead.”
The king’s expression had turned to stone, all joviality vanished. “Yet she lives. Found in the very forest that claimed her father.”
“It seems her powers are greater than we realized,” I said gravely, avoiding some truths to make it look like I wasn’t obsessed with her. “She escaped somehow, used her magic to survive what would kill a normal woman.”
The older servant with the wine pitcher had stilled again, her knuckles white around the vessel’s handle. The thought of a witch terrifying her because she was taught to fear it.
“And now she has bewitched my son,” the king muttered, jaw tightening. “Used her unholy powers to ensnare him. No wonder he is so enamored by her.”
I didn’t correct his assumption. Better to let him believe Alain was under magical influence rather than admit the second son might genuinely care for the witch. It made what needed to be done simpler, cleaner.
“She’s clever,” I added, stoking his fears. “Presents herself as innocent, victimized. Claims to have healing knowledge passed from her mother, but it’s all a cover for her true nature.”
The king stood abruptly, wine forgotten. “We must deal with this immediately. The girl is already confined to quarters, guarded at my son’s insistence. Supposedly for her protection, but it serves our purpose just as well.”
Theron looked less certain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Father, if Alain learns we’ve moved against his pet witch without evidence—”
“What more evidence do we need?” the king snapped. “Lord Coventry is my most trusted advisor from the border regions. If he says she’s a witch, she’s a witch.”
I inclined my head modestly, even as triumph surged through me. “You honor me with your trust, Your Majesty.”
“Think this through, Father. If you go into her room with a sword drawn, Alain will never forgive you.” Theron rolled his eyes like he was the only one sound of mind, drinking more to prove that wrong.
“We’ll finish our meal,” the king decided, settling back into his chair with an air of finality. “Then collect the witch quietly. She’ll be tried according to kingdom law, not village custom this time.”
Kingdom law meant fire instead of water. A fitting end for the bitch who had humiliated me, who had dared to use her unnatural powers against her rightful master. I would watch her burn and feel nothing but satisfaction.
“A waste of such beauty,” Theron sighed, draining his wine cup.
I watched the servant woman refill him with the rest of the bottle and slip away, her steps just a touch too hurried to be casual.
She was heading toward the castle proper, probably to get another bottle before Theron’s temper came out over his cup being emptied and refilled.
He always did put on a show for visitors to know his standing with the workers.
An idea formed then, perfect in its cruelty. “Your Majesty,” I began, excitement building in my chest, “might I suggest an alternative to a standard trial? Something more... fitting for the tournament’s conclusion?”
Both royals looked at me with interest.
“The final event is traditionally the hunt,” I continued, warming to my theme. “What if, instead of mere game, we hunt the witch? It would demonstrate your commitment to eradicating magic from your lands while providing a spectacle worthy of the occasion.”
The king’s eyes lit with cruel appreciation. “A literal witch hunt. How appropriate.”
“And when she’s caught?” Theron asked, a gleam in his eyes suggesting he already knew the answer.
I smiled, imagining Isabeau’s terror as she realized she was prey.
As she ran through the forest that had sheltered her, only to be driven back into my waiting arms. The fear in those amber eyes when she understood there would be no escape this time.
It’d deal with the beasts later because this would free them when I had her again, but she would choose me or die.
“Justice will be served,” I said simply. “Publicly. Definitively.”
The king nodded his approval, raising his goblet in a fresh toast. “To justice, then. And to the finest huntsman in the realm.”
“To the hunt,” I echoed, the wine suddenly tasting sweeter on my tongue.
Isabeau Dubois had escaped me once. She would not do so again. By tomorrow’s sunset, her witch’s body would be ash, and her hold over Prince Alain—whatever its nature—would be broken forever.
If I couldn’t possess her, no one would. Especially not some soft-hearted prince who thought he could save what wasn’t his to protect.