“Elsa, it’s time,” a guard said.
Elise stopped knitting long enough to place a hand on her rebellious stomach when it heaved. She swept up the capes and grabbed the last fistful of nettles she had left before the guards could say otherwise.
The guards didn’t shackle her this time, and one kindly took her six finished shirts from her, letting her knit and carry the seventh cape.
“Whatever reason you do this for, I think it is time you admit the loss,” a guard softly said.
Elise ignored him. She was so close. She would free her brothers and leave Verglas, or she was going to die by King Torgen’s hand.
The guards led Elise outside and into a cart. Elise sucked in the fresh air, grating for the change after spending the night in the dank dungeon.
As the cart rolled along, Elise buried herself in her knitting. If she acknowledged the guards’ pity or her own fear, she would crumble.
When the cart stopped, Elise glanced up and paled. All warmth fled her body as she stared at the tool of her destruction, a massive pile of wood gathered around a pole.
She was going to be burned at the stake.
Elise tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry, so she yanked her head down and kept knitting as the soldiers helped her down from the cart.
“Good; you’ve brought her tools of witchery. Throw them in the fire with her,” King Torgen said, rubbing his hands as he gleefully inspected the kindling and wood.
Citizens of Ostfold left their homes, gathering in the city square where Elise’s burning was to take place.
Elise was tied to the stake by a guard who wrapped rope around her waist, leaving her arms and legs free. Elise inspected the seventh shirt. The front and back of the shirt weren’t stitched together all the way, but it would have to do. She was out of nettles and time. As Elise tied it off, she studied the crowd. Somewhere… she would be somewhere…there!
Brida was near the front of the crowd, a dark expression pasted on her face, and a sword strapped to her belt.
She was going to attempt a rescue. It was a valiant idea, but they stood a better chance if Elise’s foster brothers weren’t birds, and if she could talk. Elise tried to get Brida’s attention, but the captain was busy watching the guards.
A tremendous splash from the city fountain drew Elise’s attention. Floundering in the fountain was a large white bird. A swan!
When it looked at her, Elise desperately held up seven fingers and waved them in the air, but bodies moved in and the crowd stood in between them, blocking sight of the swan.
Elise hoped the swan was Falk—otherwise everything was going to be in vain.
King Torgen adjusted his crown and turned to the crowd. “Citizens, you are gathered here today to witness justice at its finest. It was discovered that this girl, whom many would think to be innocent or perhaps a little mad, practices dark arts.”
Elise’s lip curled in disgust as she cast her knitting needles aside and shook out the seventh cape.
A guard moved to put Elise’s six shirts on the wood at her feet, but when Elise stretched out her hand, he draped them over her arm.
“She has on her person burial shrouds knitted with foul intensions and made with the stems of the Stinging Nettle. We have no doubts of her crimes,” King Torgen said.
Most of the Ostfold citizens hung back in the city square, but several of the more blood-thirsty variety crowded to the front.
“Burn the witch! Burn her!”
“Let the fire crack ‘er bones!”
What a terrible place. No wonder the assassins guild is legal, Elise thought as she strained her neck and looked in the sky for seven white swans. Where were they?
“As you know, the penalty for practicing black magic is to be burned at the stake in accordance with the law, the burning is being held in a public place for all to see. Are there any objections?”
“Burn her! Burn her!”
“Death to dark magics!”
“No witches allowed in Verglas!”
Only a few citizens shouted insults, but the rest of the crowds knew what speaking out would mean. So they watched Elise with sad eyes that expressed their sympathy and terror.
Elise wanted to hate them for refusing to question their king. But when she glanced at him, his revolting smile made her shiver, and Elise supposed it was too much to ask for a people who were ruled by him.
“Then let the burning commence,” King Torgen said, gesturing to a soldier who held a torch.
Elise listened for the flapping of wings. Instead, she heard a very familiar shout—the one Brida uttered during her sword exercises.
Brida lunged at the soldier, her silver sword flashing in the morning light. The soldier dropped the torch when he dodged the blow. Other guards moved in, engaging Brida in combat.
“It’s the witch’s minion. Restrain her!” King Torgen said.
