The Witch Hunter (The Witch Hunter #1)(15)

“What happened?”

He shrugs. “I told you. They wouldn’t let me in.”

His eyes meet mine and we both fall silent.

“What am I going to do, Caleb?” I say, finally. “Blackwell sentenced me to death. To be burned alive. I’m going to die—”

“No, you’re not.” He reaches through the bars, grips my shoulders, gives them a little shake. “Do you hear me? You are not going to die. I won’t allow it.”

“But Blackwell—”

“Isn’t thinking,” Caleb finishes for me. “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately, these damned Reformist protests…” He shakes his head. “When he realizes what he’s done, he’ll issue a pardon. I’m sure of it.”

I frown. Blackwell has never been one to forgive. To apologize. To admit when he’s been wrong, if he’s ever been wrong. Caleb knows this as well as I do.

“I’ll go to him today,” he continues. “Plead for you. Remind him how valuable you are. How good you are.”

“But I haven’t been good,” I say. “Not lately. You’ve had to cover for me four times in as many weeks. You’ve never had to do that before.”

“No, but there’s a reason for that, isn’t there?” He looks at me, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched in a hard, tight line. “Why didn’t you tell me? About the king, I mean? If you’d told me, I could have helped you. Stopped it, maybe—”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” I say. “You know that.”

Caleb goes quiet.

“I guess not,” he admits, finally. “But I knew something was wrong with you. I should have tried harder to find out what it was.” He winces and looks away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It just happened.”

“Because I wasn’t paying attention.” Caleb turns back to me. “I didn’t see what everyone else saw. What he saw. If I had, I would have seen that you…” He looks at me as if he’s never seen me before. “That you’re not…”

“That I’m not what?”

“That you’re not a girl anymore.” Caleb gestures at me with a sweep of his hand. “You grew up.”

If this were a different time, or a different place, I might have felt something. Pleased that he finally saw me. Displeased, maybe, that it took him so long. I might wonder what he thinks of me now, if things might change between us. But it isn’t. So I don’t.

“If I didn’t notice, I guarantee Blackwell didn’t,” Caleb continues. “He probably still sees you the way you were when you started. A small, scrawny little thing. Far more trouble than you were worth.”

He means to be reassuring, I know. But it’s so close to the way I see myself—the way I fear Caleb still sees me—that I wince.

“I’ll never forget the look on his face when I first brought you to him.”

I find a smile from somewhere. “Horrified.”

“I pleaded with him to give you a chance,” Caleb says. “I swore to him I’d make a good witch hunter out of you.”

“You were ruthless,” I say. “Waking me up in the middle of the night to train. Making me run until I threw up. Throw knives until I had blisters. Throwing punches at me over and over again until I could block them.”

He turns serious. “I know. You must have hated me for it.”

“I didn’t hate you.”

“I had to do it,” he says. “I had to make sure you’d survive. And you did. Look how strong you are now. Look at what you’ve become.”

What have I become?

Caleb grins then. And despite everything, I start to feel better. Start to feel foolish for doubting him, for thinking he couldn’t get me through this. He got me through training. He can get me through anything.

I smile back.

“That’s my girl.” He glances out the window, then gives my arm one last squeeze before pulling away. “I better go. I want to be first in line to see Blackwell.”

“Okay,” I say, though I can’t stand the thought of spending another minute in this cell. I glance at the witch in the corner. She’s lying still, her eyes closed, silent. I wonder if she died.

“I know it’s hard, but try to stay calm,” Caleb continues. “It might take some time to persuade Blackwell to free you; you know how stubborn he can be. But whatever you do, don’t do anything crazy, like try to escape. That’ll only get you into more trouble. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I nod.

“I’ll come back for you,” he says again. “I promise.”

Then he’s gone.





ONE DAY PASSES, THEN TWO.

Three.

Four.

No visitors and no guards, except when they came to collect the dead witch in my cell, her body stiff and cold and blue. If I’ve counted correctly, I’ve been in prison for nearly a week now, which means tomorrow’s Saturday again. Another burning. If Caleb doesn’t come back soon, they’ll be burning me. My stigma can’t protect me from turning into a pile of ash.

I kept my promise and haven’t tried to escape. For all the good it’s done. Caleb said it would take time; but time, I think, is running out. I have doubts about my ability to get away now, even if I wanted to. I’ve been without food for nearly a week. The only water I’ve managed is from the rain that blows in through my window. On top of that, I can feel a fever coming on. My hands are clammy and my throat hurts.