Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 848(@200wpm)___ 678(@250wpm)___ 565(@300wpm)
“It’s Dane,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “I…I want to help you, but you have to promise not to do anything bad.”
A small whimper escaped her throat and he quietly slipped the keys from the peg on the wall. The door to her cell opened with a creak and he crept inside. Looking back over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming, he pulled the metal door partially closed.
“I swear to God, if you try to pull anything I’ll never help you again.” He pocketed the keys and crept close to the cot. “I’m going to move your head. Relax.”
She winced the moment he touched her. The bridle was awkward and heavy, forcing her neck to bend at an uncomfortable angle. Her arms were bound behind her back so she had little control over her upper body.
He propped the weight of her head up with a threadbare blanket and helped her shift to a less strenuous position. The material of her underclothes was thick enough to protect her modesty, but not enough to hide how thin and frail she’d become.
He carefully loosened the knot of her blindfold and uncovered her eyes. She blinked up at him with a glassy stare. Her eyes squinted at the dim glow of the lanterns several feet away outside of her cell.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Removing the bread from his pocket, he showed it to her. “For later.” He stuffed the bread between her cot and the wall then retrieved the pitcher and basin from the floor. “The water will help your feet.”
He pushed her chemise up to her shins and frowned. The souls of her feet had looked worse when he saw them upstairs, but maybe his mind exaggerated the damage. They were blistered, but not nearly as bad as he’d initially thought.
He used the tea towel to soak up some water and gently pressed the cool rag over her injured feet. She sucked a sharp breath in through her nose and winced, her muffled cry tugging at his heart.
“Sorry.” Carefully, he cleaned away the dirt. “It doesn’t look like it’ll get infected, but you’ll want to keep them clean.”
He stilled when he looked up at her to read her eyes and saw a tear escape. No one deserved this.
He didn’t have much time, so he carefully focused on tending to her feet and tried not to waste time thinking about circumstances outside of his control. When he had done all he could do, he returned the basin and pitcher to the floor. He wanted to shred the towel and wrap her feet for protection, but then they would know someone had been inside her cell.
He couldn’t risk getting caught breaking the rules, not when the consequence might include losing his basement privileges. He felt bad for the witch, but nothing would keep him from looking after his sister.
“That’s all I can do. Their healer will visit you. When he does, he’ll probably bandage your feet so you can walk.”
He didn’t know why they burned her but figured it was to test her abilities. They’d done other things to try to trigger her magic, such as cutting her skin and binding her hands in metal mitts. He was beginning to doubt if she’d ever had any magic at all.
She was like him, from the modern outside world and educated by a regular school system, so she likely understood how witch trials went. Knowledge could be a terrifying thing and he took pity on her.
“If you just give them what they want, they’d probably show you mercy. They’re Amish.” He didn’t trust his own advice. “They just want you to help Jonas. Nothing will bring your aunts back, but you can save yourself. Just help him.”
She stared up at him with a hardened glare. He thought about Isaiah. Dane would never help the monster that killed his mother, so how could he expect her to help the one that killed her aunts?
“You know how witch trials end.”
The lines of her scowl softened with acceptance. No matter her pain, she seemed resolved to see this through.
“Stubborn.”
He’d always assumed the victims back in the day were just regular women accused of being witches because they were too seductive or too interested in modern medicine. Some were simply punished for actions meant to protect themselves from greater harm. Witch or not, most cases ended in the tragic death of a tortured innocent. Many of those unnecessary deaths included unimaginable suffering.
A mark on her shin caught his eye and he returned to her side. Frowning at the dark bruise, he bent to lift her chemise. She whimpered and he stilled, catching the fear in her watchful eyes.
“I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
She instinctively kicked when he lifted her chemise again, but the motion only irritated her injured feet. He’d seen enough anyway and covered her legs again.