Page 236 of Vasmora

As I crept toward the old cottage, the scene around me shifted and blurred, the speed at which it moved forcing me to close my eyes. My stomach churned with a sickening gurgle, until the sloshing of bile finally settled, and I opened my eyes on a dark, dank cell. Lingering tides of nausea had me clearing my throat of the acids that crawled up from my guts, and I glanced around the dark space, noting the scattered straw and threadbare blanket, telling me it wasn’t the prison I’d just escaped at General Loyce’s.

No, it was a different kind of hell. One more terrifying.

A potent mix of urine and rot burned my nose, but beneath that godawful smell hung a familiar reek that twisted my stomach.

The stench of burnt flesh.

Sacton Crain had given me the last cell in the corridor, on the eastern wall, facing the square where the executions were carried out. That greasy stench somehow managed to permeate the stones, filling my lungs every time someone had been burned at the stake.

I trailed my gaze over the shadows, the cold biting into my skin, as I recalled the endless hours through which I’d tormented myself with grief and fear, wondering what might become of me.

Phantom screams carried through my memories, shattering my thoughts. I slammed my hands over my ears, eyes shutting out the images of female prisoners being dragged down the long passage to their deaths.

At the time, I’d been old enough to know what those screams had meant for them, yet still naive enough to doubt the world could be so cruel. A bone-deep chill snaked through my body, and I rushed toward the door, rattling the iron handle to open it.

It didn’t budge.

Panic scratched at my lungs, as suffocating as the black smoke that would linger for days after an execution, and I fought for breath, backing myself away.

“Let me out! Get me out of here!” Cold branched across my chest like frost on a windowpane. Being there meant I was due to burn for Lilliven’s death. Changing my fate would mean accepting my punishment. Frantic, shallow breaths burned my lungs, the air so thick with ice, I could hardly breathe. “Why couldn’t you show me Lilliven’s death, instead?” I whispered to myself. “I could’ve saved her this time. Changed everything!”

My skin prickled, imagining that first lick of flames, and my heart hammered against my ribs. “Let me out!” I screamed, slamming my fists against the door. “Let me out!”

Air arrived too fast, every breath wheezing out of me. Calm down. I needed to calm down.

I spun around for the dark corner of the cell beyond the trickling rays of light. There it was. The shimmer that shouldn’t have been. Not real. I screwed my eyes shut, letting the words stitch themselves into my head. None of this is real.

“I know this place well.” The familiar voice from behind jolted me out of my thoughts, and I turned to find my twin curled up in the shadows of the room. “This is where they kept me.”

I frowned. “You’re the fate I would’ve suffered.”

Tears wavered in her eyes as she sat fidgeting, just as I always had when I’d felt anxious. “He wasn’t an angel in my world. He was the blacksmith’s son. Betrothed to another.”

“In Vonkovya?”

She nodded and wiped at her face. “They branded me a witch for it. A harlot.” Arms crossed over her chest, she shivered. “It’s so cold in here. Warmth never reaches this place.”

The words she spoke struck me with the memory of my mother, the ghostly figure of her had said the same thing once. I crossed the room and knelt beside her, wrapping my arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Find a way out of here.” Gripping the sleeve of my arm, she turned to face me. “I want to stay in Caligorya. I want to stay with Zevander!”

A shadow flickered at the edge of my vision, and I turned to see a flash of red. Red Veil.

“You ought not speak of places that don’t exist, girl!” While most women in the temple had taken a vow of silence, their tongues severed to ensure as such, a few had remained the watchful eyes for Sacton Crain.

I turned back to my twin, lifting my hand to find a mark on her shoulder. The same one I wore. Frowning, I shook my head. Impossible.

I twisted around in search of any sign that Zevander had visited her, and when I raised my hands, the answer glowed across my palm. “I did this?”

“They told me I spoke with demons.”

I shook my head harder and pushed to my feet, backing away. “It isn’t possible.”

“I told you, it’s happened before.”

“She wears the mark of a witch! I must inform Sacton Crain at once!” The robed woman spun away from the cell, her red cape flowing behind her.

“No!” I bolted for the door, slamming my hand against it. “Come back!”