Free Myrren's Gift by Fiona McIntosh Page A

taken him by surprise with this jaunt. Wyl gathered he was here to witness something unpleasant; he too had heard the bells and Gueryn’s solid education told him what they meant. But he had not yet put it together in his mind that he was present to see the torture of a witch. Even now as a hush began to spread around the room, Wyl expected it would be the hasty confession of a criminal that Celimus’s warped mind felt he needed to see.
    Of course he wondered why so many would be present but his anxiety prevented him from exploring that notion. His question was answered when a man called Lymbert announced himself and the witch Myrren.
    Her arrival silenced the chamber and Wyl held his breath when he saw the attractive young woman raise her head and challenge her audience with a compelling gaze that saw most of the men clear their throats and cast their eyes toward their feet. It was a small win, Wyl felt, but he applauded her courage nonetheless and he hoped it fueled her obvious resolve to die bravely.
    Rough hands began to tear the flimsy garment from her body and Lymbert’s seeming generosity fell into place for the falsity it was: he had insisted on her being robed only in order to make the theater of her torture, beginning with nakedness, that much more dramatic for his audience. Wyl could not know this but he did not need further reason to dislike the man after watching the way he licked his lips at her nakedness and helplessness.
    The rents in Myrren’s robe revealed her body, just blossomed into womanhood, and the audience’s gaze no longer rested in discomfort by its collective feet but was drawn all too hungrily toward her bared skin.
    A squealing noise distracted them and Wyl, together with the rest of the onlookers, glanced above where a strange contraption was being lowered from the ceiling. His attention was quickly drawn back to Myrren, whom he also noticed did not give Lymbert the pleasure of her fear. She ignored both her Confessor and the contraption, instead fixing her focus on Wyl.
    He could not help but wonder what she thought of him with his crop of bright red hair atop a plain and lightly freckled face, which he knew was heavily written with despair. His own unremarkable eyes were riveted upon her. Not upon her bare flesh but on her own ill-matched eyes. He watched her expression soften as she regarded him and she even dared the barest of smiles. He was so petrified on her behalf he did not have the ability to muster even the hint of a smile in return.
    Wyl heard Lymbert making some announcement to those gathered, who nodded and made sounds of approval, led by her accuser, Rokan, but neither he nor Myrren paid attention. Wyl surmised she had lost all notion of embarrassment at her nudity but from her grimace was perhaps more acutely aware of her hands being tied tightly behind her.
    A cleric was brought to absolve her of her sins and as she turned her gaze on him, Wyl watched the man recoil at the sight of her eyes. Nevertheless, he prayed to Shar’s Gatherers to claim her soul and for that Wyl was grateful.
    “Thank you,” Wyl heard her utter to the cleric as he began his mournful prayer to guide her soul to Shar.
    She looked over the short priest’s bowed head, her attention drawn again to Wyl, who watched her gaze shift now towards Celimus and who heard Myrren’s sharp intake of breath. Her captors probably thought it was because they had just tested the ropes that bound her hands but Wyl was sure Myrren’s sound had escaped at the beauty of his companion and he hated Celimus all the more for having her attention.
    That same beautiful man leered at her nakedness and whispered something lewd to Wyl, who scowled with disgust and blushed furiously. Hitting his mark, Celimus laughed loudly and Rokan nearby joined in.
    Celimus muttered, none too softly over the prayer, that the trial had been his idea. People nodded and grinned.
    “And it was I who discovered the witch in the first place, my