“Make me,” the midwife said, smirking. “At least I’m not delusional about my family.”
It shouldn’t have made a difference. They were all here to judge me, and petty arguments meant nothing compared to that. But Elena’s anger went much deeper than I or anyone else had expected. Her pupils dilated until only thin rings of color remained. When she spoke again, each word dripped with venom. “Delusional? I’ll show you delusional.”
She shoved the midwife hard, sending her stumbling backward into the fire. The old woman’s scream split the air as flames caught her clothes. She rolled away, beating at the burning fabric.
“Elena!” One of Elena’s friends got between them and grabbed Elena’s arm. “Have you lost your mind?”
Elena whirled and slashed with the wool shears, opening a gash across her friend’s forearm. Blood sprayed in an arc, and the wounded woman staggered back with a cry of pain and shock.
“You’re all against me!” Elena shrieked, and the sound barely seemed human anymore. “All of you jealous hags!”
Melos stepped forward, clutching the same hammer he’d used to repair my loom. “Someone needs to put you down before you hurt anyone else.”
“Try it, you drunken fool!”
The blacksmith swung his hammer, but Elena ducked and drove her shears toward his throat. He caught her wrist, and they grappled, crashing into other villagers who had been trying to back away.
What was going on? These were my neighbors, people I’d known for years. Elena brought me wool every month, always stopping to chat about her sheep, her daughter, the weather. The midwife had helped deliver countless children. Melos had always been gruff but fair, never cruel.
People didn’t just turn on each other like this. Not over insults, not over old slights. But Elena had transformed into someone I didn’t recognize. And then, Melos brought his hammer down on her skull, and there was nothing left of her at all.
“Stop!” I screamed, but the sound disappeared into the escalating violence. “Gods, please stop this!”
But they were beyond hearing now. The crowd had become a pack of animals, and I was trapped in the center of their madness. Another villager grabbed Elena’s fallen shears and drove them into Melos’s back. The blacksmith roared and spun, catching his attacker by the throat and squeezing until the bones snapped.
It should have sickened me, and in a way, it did. But for the first time since this whole nightmare had started, Syagros turned away from me. With a bellowing cry, he launched himself at a nearby villager, his anger at me forgotten.
I had no idea why this was happening, but it didn’t matter. No one was watching me anymore. They were all focused on each other. This was my chance, and I wouldn’t waste it.
I twisted my wrists against the rope binding me to the wooden post. It would be difficult to break free, but not impossible. Syagros had been rough when he’d bound me, but he’d never intended me to be unwatched.
As I worked on the rope, the midwife picked up the log that had burned her and impaled our innkeeper with it. A nymph shrieked about stolen lovers and raked her branch-fingers across a human woman’s face. A dryad used her fingers to disembowel a screaming man. Glistening coils of intestines spilled onto the forest floor while she giggled like a child.
How was this real? How had a trial become a massacre? These people were farmers and crafters, mothers and fathers. They weren’t warriors or criminals. They had lived together peacefully for decades. They shared meals, helped with each other’s children, worked side by side through every season. It was almost perverse to use their insanity for my own freedom, but I had no choice.
I found a sharp splinter on the post and rubbed the rope against it desperately. The coarse fibers slowly frayed and weakenedwith each frantic scrape. My shoulders screamed from the awkward angle, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it.
Bodies hit the ground with heavy thuds. The air filled with a metallic stench so thick I could taste it. The peaceful village clearing became a slaughterhouse, illuminated by the hellish light of my burning life’s work.
Our village was lost to this incomprehensible insanity. Throughout it all, I’d remained forgotten in the center of the massacre. I stood there, invisible as my neighbors murdered each other with farm tools and household implements. And I made good use of the time.
With one final pull, the weakened rope snapped and my hands came free. I flexed my fingers, hardly believing I was no longer bound to the post.
Just like that, the strange spell that had kept me safe finally broke. Syagros shoved aside the man he’d just killed, his elegant clothes now soaked with gore. “Die with your cursed threads, barren whore!”
I scrambled backward desperately, my newly freed hands shaking with exhaustion. It was not enough. Surrounded by the chaos, I had nowhere to go. He lunged forward and tackled me to the ground, his weight crushing me against the filthy grass.
As he reached for my throat to strangle me, I tried to claw at his face. My human fingernails were a paltry weapon against his satyr skin. And then, I remembered. I’d been the one who’dcared for him when his people had dragged him into Agrion, wounded. I knew exactly where his wounds had been.
Praying to all the gods that this would work, I drove my fist into his left side. He grunted and doubled over, his grip on me loosening. That moment of weakness was all I needed. I grabbed his left horn with both hands and twisted with every ounce of strength I had.
Desperation gave me power I didn’t know I had. It snapped off with a wet cracking sound, and Syagros screamed, a sound more animal than satyr. He staggered backward, clutching the stump.
I scrambled to my feet, brandishing his broken horn like a dagger. “Come and get me! Come on, if you’re not afraid to die.”
I’d expected him to pounce on me like he had before. He was far too arrogant to consider me a threat, and that was another weakness I could exploit. But perhaps I’d been just as foolish, because what he actually did took me completely by surprise.
With a snarl, Syagros lowered his head like a maddened beast. In his fury, he charged at me with his remaining horn. I’d never seen a satyr fight like this. I wasn’t ready for it.
