Page 13 of Anathema

“I’m suggesting that you consider your choices. You have no future in Foxglove Parish, unless you long to live in the temple with your tongue severed. I’ve certainly no intentions of suffering the burden of your cursed existence, waiting for your knight in black armor to come and sweep you off. The best you can hope for is to marry a respectable man like Mr. Moros. And who knows, perhaps in time, he might help earn you favor in this community.”

“I don’t care about the favor of this community. Or Mr. Moros.”

“Then, what do you want, Child? For the Governor to strip you bare and prod you with a branding iron? Be careful. What little respect your adoptive father bestowed upon you, as a hero of the faith, can easily be swept beneath accusations of witchcraft. Be prepared to leave at noon tomorrow.” Sneering, she hobbled back toward the group of women standing off in a corner.

Ruffled by a flurry of new gossip they stared back at me, whispering amongst themselves.

I knew how quickly whispers could travel. How devastatingly serious they could turn. I lived it every day.

Agatha placed her hand on the arm of one of them and, with a glance back, whispered something that seemed to intrigue the woman, the way her brows lifted in surprise.

The betrothal, no doubt. It was sickening that it took a suitor to spare my reputation, my future. How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.

Having had enough social interaction for one day, I made my way up to the bedrooms. A figure at the top of the staircase brought me to a halt, and I gave a half smile in response to Uncle Riftyn grinning down at me.

“You’re not much for social gatherings, are you?” He plodded two steps down, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, and paused beside me. A thread of tension wound through me, as he remained too close, and I descended one step, clearing my throat.

Placing the cigarette between his lips, he smirked. “I don’t bite.”

“Excuse me,” I said, slipping past him, and made my way to the attic, where I skidded to a stop on finding Aleysia pulling on the sleeve of her dress. Frowning, I glanced back toward the staircase, where Uncle Riftyn had been moments ago.

She turned, smiling back at me. “Tired of haggard old women and men with wandering paws?”

“I just saw Uncle Riftyn a moment ago.”

“You did? Hmm. I had to take this wretched corset off. Couldn’t breathe. Do you remember the days when we’d roam around the house in nothing more than a shift? I can’t tell you how much I miss–”

“Agatha sold me.” I hated the tremble in my voice, the frailty in my words. That the wretched old woman could’ve so easily crawled beneath my skin that way.

“What?” The mirth on her face slipped into an icy stare. “What did you say?”

“She sold me to Mr. Moros.” Biting the inside of my lip failed to keep it from trembling and the sting in my eyes threatened tears.

Her jaw shifted. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” The urge to tell her more, that Agatha had planned to sell her too, tugged at my chest, but doing so would only upset her more, and I needed Aleysia’s level head to help me think of a way to get us out of this. I needed her to problem solve instead of clamping up into denial.

“She can’t do that. I won’t let her do this. That wretched snake of a woman! If only The Red God had spared grandfather for her.”

“Aleysia. Stop. You’re only making it worse.”

“Worse? Did you glimpse the man by chance? It cannot get any worse, Maevyth. I could feel the awful things that must’ve slipped through his mind. The vile things he would do to a young and innocent girl.”

“And so, what am I to do! Sever my own tongue and beg the Red Veils to take me in? That’d certainly be the easiest solution!” The harsh tone I cut loose revealed only a fraction of the chaos inside of me, but I instantly regretted raising my voice to her. “Please tell me.”

“Run. We could run away.” Even Aleysia had a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Running was foolish, after all.

“They’ll hunt us. He’s already paid.”

“There must be somewhere.”

It would’ve been principal for Governor Grimsby. He once had two men, lovers, hunted down and humiliated, tying them naked to a post in the town square, before he’d banished them to the woods. Two insolent women escaping marriage, what he considered to be a holy union of souls, would enrage the man. It would inspire a holy crusade after the two of us.

I shrugged and shook my head. “The woods? That is the only place they wouldn’t dare.”

Eyes stern, she crossed her arms. “Enough of that, Maevyth. You’re speaking of suicide. There are other options.”

“Like what?”

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