Page 16 of A Time of Witches

She joined Jacinda and made a point of looking under the table. Jacinda’s toes wriggled against the rushes, dirt creasing the dimples between her toes.

Sybil sighed as she straightened. “Another pair of shoes?”

Color touched Jacinda’s cheeks. “I don’t like wearing them. I can’t…” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “They are too heavy.”

What she meant, of course, was that she could not sense the power of the earth through the thick leather soles.

In truth, Sybil ought to be teaching Jacinda the ways of their gifts. She ought to have years ago, the way Mother had with her.

But Sybil recalled all too clearly how such powers had been difficult to control, how easily life’s struggles could be swept away with the right spell. And her abilities were a mere fraction of what Jacinda possessed.

No, such teachings were far too dangerous.

“I think my shoes are near the stables,” Jacinda hedged.

“Are you wearing your bracelet?” Sybil asked. If Jacinda was vexed about not feeling the earth beneath her feet, she clearly was not wearing the iron jewelry, which silenced her gifts.

Jacinda slid her hazel eyes to the side, as if the conversation were as easily averted as her gaze.

“Jacinda, you know you must.” Sybil’s words were harsher than intended, infused with a frisson of fear.

“I know only what you tell me,” Jacinda shot back.

The hearth spit out a shower of sparks.

One of the servants entered, a middle-aged widow Sybil had hired the previous year when the woman’s husband—one of their best weavers—had passed.

At least Jacinda had the good sense to quiet in the company of others.

The woman brought in a platter of roasted chicken along with potatoes and string beans. A second servant followed with bread and wine, spiced by Sybil herself with ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon to aid with digestion.

When they left, Sybil regarded Jacinda with a stern expression. “I tell you what you must know to ensure your safety. It is why I insist you wear the bracelet and why I must now tell you to remain indoors.”

Jacinda’s pretty mouth gaped with outrage and the candles flickered in their sconces. “Indoors? Why? For how long?”

“I’m not certain.”

Jacinda shook her head, splotches of red blossoming on her neck and chest. “Henry always said knowledge was power, and yet, you see me disarmed.”

The words were a barb and they struck home in a tender place within Sybil’s breast. How could Jacinda throw Henry’s words at her like a weapon?

“You tell me it is not safe, but you do not tell me why.” A spark snapped in Jacinda’s expression. “You know I am different, but you do not explain.”

A peal of thunder rumbled outside, and sparks floated up from the glowing red logs in the hearth.

“Jacinda…” Sybil said in a warning tone.

“How do you know about the iron?” Jacinda demanded. “Why do you make me wear it?”

“You aren’t ready.”

“I am ready,” Jacinda cried.

There was a strange shift in the air, a weighty pressure, and flames burst to life in the hearth, sending a wave of heat washing toward them.

Sybil stood abruptly. “Enough.”

Jacinda was right. Henry touted learning and knowledge, and he would have encouraged Sybil to instruct Jacinda. But Sybil knew the girl too well. Knowledge would only whet her appetite for more. Jacinda would fall upon her gifts with an unrelenting zeal—pushing, testing, taking—all with a force that challenged anyone to stop her.