But I clamp my mouth shut and scowl at him, fuming, drawing on the swell of anger his presence stokes.
I will not fear him.
“Kapitän? The site is clear,” one of the jägers says.
“Good.” He turns away from me. “Set up camp.”
He takes a few steps off into the forest before he adds, “Bring the witch.”
Relief sweeps through me, but it’s short-lived.
The wagon door opens. I stare out at two hexenjägers, their faces brittle mixes of fear and disgust, only to realize that while the wagon kept me in, it also kept themout.
And now, if I don’t manage to escape, I’ll have to spend a whole night in a hexenjäger camp, relying on their disgust to override any other impulses they may have.
One of the hexenjägers reaches in to seize the chain between my manacles. He yanks me hard, and I go careening out of the wagon, slamming to my knees on the dirt road, a cry bursting unbidden out of me.
The other hexenjägers laugh. Something breaks in them, tension evaporating for one terrifying second—I see the change in their eyes. Their fear is now aggression.
A jäger grabs a rough handful of my blond curls where they peek out beneath my hat and wrenches my head back. I whimper—I can’t help it, can’t stop it, my body reacting to this change viscerally.
If they don’t fear me.
If they aren’t repulsed by me.
I have no way to protect myself.
Terror is cold and consuming and splays through my chest in a sharp wave.
“Bertram!Stand down!” The kapitän’s shout thunders over the road.
I gasp an inhale, wincing at the way Bertram’s hand twists in my hair.
The men go stiff. They eye Bertram and take a noticeable step back.
The kapitän squares himself directly in front of me. His glare is fixed to Bertram’s grip on my hair, his cheeks stained red.
“No one,” he sweeps that glare across his men, “is to touch the witch. Understood?”
A pause, then the men sullenly agree.
Bertram drops his grip on me. “It’s just awitch, Kapitän. We’ve had our fun with others.”
The men shift, uneasy. Their fear is returning, and I can practically hear their thoughts.
Others, yes. Butothersnever used magic.
However brave these hexenjägers think they are, they haven’t dealt with real magic. A few of the older ones likely encountered real witches in the early days, but the first victims of the witch hunts were mostly true witches—now, after years of my people burning or fleeing to the Black Forest, the only victims that remain are innocents who are no more magical than the hexenjägers who condemn them.
My panic starts to ease, the tense muscles in my chest releasing slowly. I can see their unease creeping over them like frost over frozen ground.
The kapitän’s glare flashes to Bertram. “This witch is tainted with evil. It is a prisoner of Kommandant Kirch, and I will not have any of my men falling prey to its guiles. Understood?” He takes a threatening step toward Bertram, a silent reminder of how tall he is in comparison, the sheer weight of his presence.
“No one is to touch the witch,” he repeats.“Understood?”
“Aye, Kapitän!” the men say in unison.
Bertram bows his head. “Aye, Kapitän.”
