Page 75 of A Time of Witches

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, first with Hopkins, then with the guards who pushed and prodded at her, forcing her to walk on feet that ground brokenly against the floor with every step.

Had she, in her state of delirium, given up the source of her greatest guilt?

If so, they would see her burn.

Soon.

She was running out of time.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sybil

Sybil remained on the floor of the cell, face pressed to the filthy rushes despite Edith’s tender cajoling. At some point, Sybil’s body managed to produce several tears which leaked into the damp straw beneath her cheek.

“I think I gave them what they sought,” Sybil said miserably.

“Oh, lamb…” Edith stroked her back. “What did you say?” There was a hoarseness to her voice, exhaustion and defeat wearing her to nothing.

“I know not.” Sybil shook her head, cheekbone rolling over the floor. “My exhaustion was so great, my dreams blurred into wakefulness.”

Edith issued a pained exhale. “It was the same with me. As was likely their intent.”

“But what did I say?” Sybil’s chest blazed with a fire that could not be extinguished. One that grew greater as she whispered her utmost fear. “What will they do to Jacinda if I am accused?”

“Sybil Brantham,” the guard called.

She shrank into herself, wishing to be small enough to disappear.

She couldn’t go back. Not yet. She needed strength and had none left to give.

The gate squealed open. “Sybil Brantham.”

“You saw to her mere hours ago,” Edith protested in as strong a voice as Sybil had ever heard, pushing to standing though she wavered on her feet.

She knew what such defiance cost Edith.

“Quiet your mouth, hag.” The guard drew his fist back.

Sybil pushed herself to sitting. “I am here.” The room spun, but she remained upright.

“Don’t hit her.” Another guard nudged his elbow into the other. “That old witch is already ugly enough.”

Edith ignored the jeer, the same as she always did. But despite her seeming indifference, Sybil knew the cut of those sharp words. She squeezed Edith’s hand as her friend helped her to standing.

Pain radiated through Sybil’s feet, as if the bones were shattered and the muscle shredded down to the nerves. She wobbled, her weight shifting around agony.

“Be strong,” Edith mouthed.

Sybil closed her eyes in gratitude even as everything inside her shrank back in fear.

“Come on then,” the guard growled.

Sybil opened her eyes and stepped forward on soles that protested her weight. An unbidden cry came to her lips.

The guards, impatient with her slow movements, gripped her by the arms, setting the iron manacles at her hands clanking and biting into her wrists.

Once more, she was dragged to that hated room. The one where so many had been broken with starvation, thirst, and sleep deprivation. And where only an hour before, she was made to walk.