She looked out her window into the hall, trying to judge by the light. “It’s not quite noon, I’d guess. They’ll be coming for us in a few hours.”

  “Do you think we’ll die fast or slow?” someone asked.

  “Do not give up hope,” Mia said. “We don’t know what might happen.” Mia had courage to say this. She believed in miracles now, and in strange and wonderful timing.

  “I know what will happen, They will torture you.” The voice sounded like Mary, the girl from the village with the dry cow. “They’ll tell you that the Devil puts a spell on his witches so they can’t reveal his secrets. He erases their memory, makes them go mute. That’s when Bastion takes a hot poker to your body, or tears out your fingernails, or pulls your shoulders out of their sockets. Innocence is the worst thing you can claim when you go before them. It’s a trap.”

  Mia sat back on her bench next to Alma, covering Alma’s ears.

  She heard the jailer thanking someone. A hooded figure appeared at her jail window in profile. She could see nothing of the face, just shadows where the robe fell forward. Alma began to squirm in her arms, and she pressed her face into Mia’s stomach.

  Mia’s jail door opened, its hinges grinding, giving Mia a cold shudder. Bastion pushed the robe off his face and came to sit next to her.

  He put one hand on her neck and pulled her ear to his mouth.

  “When you stand before me, say nothing, and I will save you,” he whispered.

  Mia tried to say something, but he pressed a hand against her mouth.

  “Do not try to thank me. It would give us away.”

  She shook her head. He eased the pressure against her mouth, and she whispered. “Do you have any food? For Alma?”

  Bastion released her, pushing back and standing as if he had never seen the child before, a shocked look on his face. He began patting the bag on his belt, bringing up a nibbled rind from a bit of cured pork. Alma turned her back to him, refusing it.

  Mia took the rind and forced it to Alma’s lips. “You will eat this, Alma.”

  The jailer appeared in the square window, tapping his keys on the door. Bastion threw the hood back over his face.

  Mia used her sternest voice. “I said to eat this, Alma. Keep your strength. We do not know what will come. To starve is to die.”

  “I know what will come,” Bastion whispered before he stood to leave. “Remain silent. I will save you.”

  If deception had damned them, just as it had Eve, Stefan knew the one true cure. He led Bjorn to kneel at the altar, telling him it would be wise to pray for wisdom and strength. If Bjorn prayed for anything other than his own desires, Stefan could not guess. But it gave him time to slip to the cupboard where the Bible was kept. He had no time for anyone to teach or interpret.

  “I cannot wait for help to arrive, Lord,” he whispered, bringing the book out and laying it across the top of the cupboard. A wind blew through the hall, flipping the pages of the Bible, and Stefan turned, expecting to see the mother cat, come round to beg for food. The door leading outside was still closed. Stefan turned, slower this time, back to the Bible. It was open to the book of John. Jesus was speaking:

  I am come that they might have life and have it more abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. A hired servant sees the wolfe coming and leaveth the sheep. The wolfe catches them. The hired servant runs because he is a hired servant and careth not for the sheep.

  Stefan served as a priest, but he had chosen; he was no hired servant. He would be a shepherd. He would not leave his sheep, not while a wolf was here. Whatever happened, Stefan would never leave them.

  Bjorn was done praying. He called for Stefan. Stefan left the book open and out. He would not hide it again.

  Bastion’s face registered shock when he saw Stefan and Bjorn sitting on the church steps in the morning sun. Stefan held his breath, waiting to see what Bjorn would do.

  “Are you joining us, Stefan?” Bastion asked, watching Bjorn. “Did Bjorn finally win you over?”

  Stefan could not stay close to the women, but he could stay close to Bastion, which might prove of greater benefit to them. “Yes. I am looking forward to today. That may sound strange. But it was a strange night.”

  People began approaching from the square, most walking straight to Bjorn or Bastion with beaming faces.

  “Not a one of my hens’ eggs have broken since Dame Alice’s arrest,” one said.

  “My stomach hasn’t gone sour in days. Praise be to God for your good work here, Bjorn.”

  Stefan watched the two men receive the praise, his own stomach taking on an infirmity. More people came into the square, craning their necks to get a view of the condemned women waiting for their trial. Ava sat in her cage, watching the other women with a look of great envy.

  Bastion took Stefan by the elbow, surprising him. “So there will be no trouble out of you today?”

  Stefan tried to catch Bjorn’s eye before answering. “Not from me. I won’t even say a word.”

  “As priest, you will, actually. If the women are found guilty of witchcraft, you must concur with death by burning. A formality, but it must be indulged.”

  “I will not fail to do my duty today.” Stefan rested his arm on Bastion’s, as if to confirm his resolve.

  “It is good for a man to love his work. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”

  Stefan shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know it as I should.”

  “But you preach from it. You demand the people build their lives around it. And you don’t know everything it says?”

  “I preach what I was taught. I’m afraid I’m not a very good priest.”

  “You’re a fine priest. You’re just an odd man. I gave you the chance to win their hearts,” Bastion said, gesturing to the crowd, “to be their savior, and you rejected it.”

  “There is still time.”

  Bastion’s face brightened at that thought. “Yes, Stefan, there is still time. Come and join me, won’t you?”

  He led Stefan up through the crowd to the chairs set at the top of the church steps.

  There was time indeed for a savior.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The women had been led out to stand below the church steps. Mia stood just below the spot where Catarina and Cronwall’s bodies had been dumped. The women said it had been Bjorn’s doing, but she still could not believe that, not with her whole heart. She had lived with him, and, while she knew he hid secrets, she never suspected he could hide something quite so terrible. Could anyone really be so depraved and yet appear so normal? Didn’t all devils look frightening?

  Mia searched the faces of the gathering crowd. She saw some of the men of the village and a few of the women brave enough to leave their homes, but mostly she saw strangers. Word must be spreading about the so-called witches of Dinfoil. A man she did not know pointed her out to his wife. Mia wondered what her reputation would become if she did not live—the witch who was married to the sheriff. She decided to ignore the crowd as she kissed Alma, willing herself to soak in every bit of her child, the softness of her cheek, the rough edges of her dress, her nose a tiny, perfect version of her own.

  “You are beautiful, Alma,” she whispered. “I see God in your face. It is a fallen world, Alma. But you have been God’s grace to me, my reason for believing that good was still possible. Pray hard, Alma. Pray for God to save you once more. Pray He will grant you one more miracle. He alone healed you, Alma, I believe that now. While everyone chased devils, while I slept and dreamed of these strange days, God walked right into our home and healed you. Do you understand? He didn’t need me to be perfect. He doesn’t want our perfection, Alma. He just wants our hearts.”

  Alma reached up her hands and touched Mia’s face. Mia closed her eyes. She would remember Alma’s soft touch. She would think of that no matter what happened.

  Mia handed Alma to Erick, who stood behind the condemned women. She met his eyes and tried to communicate the worth of her little girl. But Erick nodded, solemn. He understood.

  “Who shall be tried first?” Bastion called out.

  “I will.” Mia nodded at the three men seated above the church steps just in front of the doors: Stefan, Bastion, and Bjorn. Bastion shook his head at her, his back straight in his tall, unforgiving chair. No one sat in a trial except the judges, and they sat in high, stiff chairs, a sign to those not wise enough to attain such a position.

  “We are not ready to hear your case. The court would like to begin with another woman. Bring us Dame Alice.”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Mia took another step forward. “No. Try me first, or do not try me at all.”

  She saw the anger on Bastion’s face. Some would think him ready to burn her right there for her sins.

  “Mia, step back. I could have you flogged.”

  “Then flog me, but I will speak. This court accuses me of witchcraft. I stand before you to proclaim there is no power in me, save the power of God’s love. I have not the power to cast spells or make charms by magical means. But the power within me is far greater. I have the power to love the unlovable, to endure scorn and disdain, to abide hunger and loneliness.” Mia looked directly at Bastion. She wanted him to understand. She was not powerless. She did not need him, even if she was unloved.

  Mia realized she had never heard a woman speak in public to a crowd. Her knees turned soft from her boldness as she continued, facing the people. “Does a witch love? Does a witch tend the elderly and wipe the brow of the infirm? Does a witch bear beatings and scoldings and return for them love and good service? I tell you, that is who I am, and that I what I have done.

  “The women of this village say I blinded myself to my husband’s evil. Bjorn is accused of terrible things. If this be true, I cannot say. I only know what he has told me. I was wrong to not look deeper, to be so afraid of darkness that I had to pretend it was not there. The darkness in us, the darkness around us, is real. But we are not alone in it. I wish I had believed that much earlier. I wish I had never doubted that the power of love is far greater. I read it once, long ago, but I did not believe it for many years. Only now, when I may lose everything, have I come to embrace that as truth.”

  “An eloquent defense,” Bastion said, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair. “The court will set your case aside until we can consider it in depth.”

  “We should hear from her husband,” Stefan said, gesturing for Bjorn to speak.

  “Move on from this case,” Bastion said. “Bjorn is not on trial.”

  Mia watched as a look passed between Stefan and Bjorn.

  “Stefan is right,” Bjorn said. “My wife is accused. I should speak.”

  A round of applause broke out as Bjorn stepped down from his chair, walking down two steps to speak with the people. Stefan frowned, lifting his hands for the people to quiet. Mia watched Bjorn searching the faces in the crowd as if for an answer. He looked white, all the blood drained from his face.

  “We are proud of you, Bjorn,” someone called. “You are the reason we sleep in peace now.”

  “I did not want an Inquisitor brought to our village,” Bjorn said. “But much has changed.”

  At his words, the crowd fell silent. Stefan lowered his hands. Mia kept her eyes from meeting Bastion’s.

  “Mia,” Bjorn addressed her. He pulled the green vial from his belt bag.

  Mia had forgotten that vial. So much had happened, so fast. “No! Bjorn, do not drink it! It can’t save you. If you are bewitched, it is by nothing more than evil, the same evil that whispers to us all. And its curse has already been broken.”

  Bjorn looked like he had been slapped. He must have been stunned by Mia’s boldness. He looked at the women standing with Mia, the faces of his victims and the women who knew his secrets. Mia had thought he would be relieved to know he was no different than any other man, but he looked stricken.

  “I have struggled to know who and what to believe,” he said to the crowd. “I did not want an Inquisitor because I thought my own secrets would be discovered. But Bastion arrived and told me my sins were not my fault. Now my wife, even my priest, says Bastion is wrong. Who can a man believe?”

  The crowd murmured and nudged each other.

  His expression changed suddenly, as if someone had just whispered in his ear, and Mia recognized the set jaw and cold gaze that came into his eyes. He had made a decision. He pulled the vial and tipped his head back, drinking the contents. He grimaced as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then continued.

  “My wife was discovered at the home of a known witch. I believe that because I discovered her there myself, where she gave me this vial. It is a witch’s counterspell. She said it would set me free from all the evils I have suffered. She urged me to drink it. Now, standing as a condemned woman before you, she begs me not to drink it. Why? Because she hates me. She knows now what I did. She wants me to suffer, just as she surely will. But I have chosen what and whom to believe.” At this, he turned and nodded to Bastion. “I will live a good long life, and many will hear of me. Everyone will know my story.”

  Mia hung her head, shaking it with her eyes closed. She had been a fool to trust in Hilda, even for a moment. Charms and potions had no saving power against this madness. The old wound ached in her heart. Bjorn would not be saved, and he would know that she had failed him. Again.

  People began gasping, murmuring all at once. Mia opened her eyes. Bjorn had fallen to his knees, clutching his stomach. He began retching, eyes opened wide, his face in a tight grimace.

  “Mia?” he screamed, trying to crawl to her. “What did you give me?”

  Mia scrambled back, afraid to touch him, but someone in the crowd caught her, forcing her to face Bjorn, who fell onto his back, writhing, his face turning green.

  He looked up at her. “You said I would be free.”

  He arched his back one more time then collapsed, lying still. Mia could not see his chest rise or fall.

  Hilda’s words pierced her heart: It is the only way to set him free from his evil.

  Bastion jumped to his feet, his mouth opening and closing in his shock. Stefan ran to Mia, pushing her back from the crowd. “Get away from here, now.”

  “Witch!” someone screamed.

  “No. You did not understand what Bjorn was saying.” Stefan cried, trying to push Mia and face the crowd, too. “He wanted to confess.”

  “Witch! Burn her!”

  “Mia!” Stefan screamed to her. “Run!”

  But the villagers caught her, pinching and hitting. She tried to hold her breath after they began spitting in her face. She was shoved at Bastion’s feet, the crowd in chaos. Bastion grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up, turning her to face the crowd, his breath on her neck like a burst of steam.

  “Look at them, Mia. Look in their faces. They want you dead. There is no future for you here.”

  Mia could not see Alma in the crowd.

  “Friends and good Christians, patience.” Bastion called. “You do not know the law. We cannot burn Mia. Not yet.”

  “I’m offering you a chance to live,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll give them my witch Ava to burn. I’ll put a sack over her head and tie it at the neck. No one will know it is not you. Come with me and live.”

  “Make her die in my place? Crawl inside her cage?”

  “It is the only way out.”

  Mia searched the crowd again for Alma. She couldn’t see Erick, either.

  “I forgive you for disobeying me, Mia. We can still be happy.”

  Mia looked down at the angry, spitting crowd, her body starting to bleed from her wounds, her scalp burning as Bastion held her. She turned her head, wincing, to face Bastion. “I have lived my whole life in a cage. The bars were my own, made by my own hands from my fears, and all the lies in the world held it together. But I have been made free. I will never be caged again.”

  “You will die.”

  “But I will die free.”

  Bastion pushed her, and she tumbled down several steps, trying to catch herself.

  “What says the law?” someone yelled. “Why can we not burn her right now?”

  “A woman cannot burn until she has confessed,” Bastion said. “Do you want Mia to confess? Shall we know all her secrets?”

  Someone hit her on the back of the knees, and Mia fell to the ground.

  Bastion glared down at her. “We will break her. We will get what we want.”

  A hand shoved bread at her mouth. Mia spit at it as she came to, accidentally spitting on Dame Alice’s face. Her mind cleared, and she tried to sit up, reaching for Dame Alice, apologizing.

  “’Tis all right, Mia. I shouldn’t have tried to feed you so soon. But you asked for bread.”

  “Alma? Where is she?”

  “I cannot tell you.”

  “Please.”

  “You didn’t confess. Bastion will put you to the question again in a few hours. ’Tis better if you do not know about Alma.”

  Mia tried to press one hand down against the wooden bench she sat on to make the room stop spinning. She tried to move forward but her hand was limp. Pain screamed through her shoulder.

  “Why can’t I move my arms?”

  Dame Alice stroked her cheek. “Bastion tied them behind your back and lifted you off the ground by them. He did this three times, making all of us watch. Still, you confessed to nothing.”

  Mia lowered her eyes to look at her shoulder, swelling underneath her shirt.

  “Whose clothes?”

  “Mine,” Dame Alice whispered. “I won’t get cold in here like you. You’ve always been too thin.”

  Mia tried to focus on her. Dame Alice looked like she had tied herself up in rags.