Chapter Fifteen - WytchFyre #3
The people had risen from the carpeted floor and gathered in a circle around the pyre.
Rosamund had intended to navigate them away from Lavinia’s dais, but the red head had gestured them over to her.
The handsome lord she had been flirting with was nowhere to be seen, but standing to her right was Emrys.
Rosamund clocked his worried expression as he glanced at them, and then back to the pyre.
This was definitely not good.
“What’s going on?” she whispered to Emrys.
He gave her a small shake of his head as Lavinia snapped her fingers at the musicians. A hush fell on the room.
“As many of you know, my darling husband is instrumental in the protection of our realm,” said Lavinia, to a chorus of snickers from those gathered, she smirked, “hush, if it wasn’t for him then we wouldn’t have tonight’s entertainment.”
Surprise. Entertainment.
The Onyx tower. It was here. Her brothers were here.
In the heat, and the whisky, she had almost forgotten them.
They were so close. And now Lavinia spoke of ‘surprises’ and ‘entertainment’, just like Bastian.
Dread filled her stomach as the doors to the room began to open.
She dropped Marianne’s arm before the girl could feel her grip tightening.
Someone placed a steadying hand on her lower back, and though she did not look round, she knew it was Emrys.
Who would it be this time? Roland? Tristan?
The guards marched the bedraggled person into the room.
With a wash of relief she saw that it was a woman.
Her fear and relief were quickly replaced with guilt.
Her brothers may be safe, but this woman was far from it.
She looked to Emrys, hoping to see something in his expression that might indicate who she was or what was about to happen.
But his mask was fully in place. He stared at the pyre with a blank expression, the fire making his amber eyes look like they were glowing.
As the woman passed the gathered people they began hurling their insults.
Reaching out to strike her, spitting at her feet.
One even threw a goblet at her. Rosamund took a step forward and Emrys’ hand was on her arm, a strong grip for such a slight young man.
No one had noticed, not even Marianne. The young woman had already closed her eyes, the hand not holding Rosamund’s arm balled up into a fist. She was muttering a prayer to Liathern.
The woman dragged in front of the fire wore a dirty white smock caked in soot, mud and blood.
Her feet were bare and her dark greying hair had been badly cut, red welts in her scalp where the scissors were jabbed into her.
Similar red slashes were on her arms, legs and feet.
The guards at either side of her dragged her into the room.
Her face was weathered with hard work and age, and despite the damage done to her body, she retained a determination in her dark grey eyes.
When her eyes met Rosamund, they had a curious look in them.
There wasn’t the same rage that had been there when she had looked at the rest of them.
They had widened slightly, and a softness had entered her expression.
That was until Lavinia continued speaking, and the full force of her hatred was turned on the red head.
“Now, I don’t have the same religious flair as my darling sister in laws. I do not have Celeste’s elegance,” there was a tittering, “or Seraphine’s piety,” another round of laughter, “but I always thought a little pizazz was needed for a Witch Burning.”
A witch. She’s a witch. Like me.
The woman spat on the ground, a bloody glob landing at Lavinia’s feet.
The red head looked at it and smirked. She took a few steps towards the witch, goblet still in hand, and before the woman could spit again Lavinia had grabbed her chin.
The woman struggled, but Lavinia held it, “by our goddesses decree the witch shall be burned. No woman of noble or common blood shall hold the goddesses power. For it is hers alone.”
Lavinia struck the woman with the goblet, the contents splattering against the fire causing it hiss. The woman sagged forward, but the guards held her upright, one of them grasping what little was left of her hair.
“What shall we do with the thief?” asked Lavinia as she turned to look at those gathered.
The crowd bellowed and shrieked, “burn her!”
Marianne’s prayer grew louder as she turned her head away towards Rosamund, eyes still firmly shut.
Lavinia strutted around the pyre, goading the gathered guests, urging them to shout louder as a cacophony filled the room.
She slowly walked up the steps to her dais and called out above the noise, “any last words?”
The woman tried to speak, which is when Rosamund noticed that in place of a tongue there was only a short bloody stub.
Lavina shrieked in laughter and Rosamund fought to keep the disgust from her face.
With a snap of her fingers the woman was thrown onto the pyre by the guards, and the smell of burning flesh rose up with the wood smoke, cinnamon and Umber.
Accompanied by the braying laughter and shouts of Lavinia and her guests.