Page 58 of Blood Coven

Azalea’s mind reeled.

Kõiv. She looked up at her son, a gasp escaping her lips. He tricked me.

Her lip curled in disgust; she wanted to shout and scream, but it would do no good.

It was her fault for being sloppy. In her confidence that no one would dare stand up to her, she had misjudged the ruthlessness of her righteous, do-gooder son. He had proven that he had the guts to kill an innocent. He’s not so different from me, after all.

She would not survive this day, but her son would. How did he do it? Azalea wondered. How did he fool me? He truly is my own flesh and blood.

“Just kill me,” Blaez said again, this time lifting his head and showing the utter despair only a truly broken man would reveal.

“Very well.”

Matthias stood with his hands at his side; his steely gaze penetrated through the crowd and burned into his mother. The discovery of Juniper horrified him—she was the only person he believed safe from Azalea.

Matthias spoke then. “This man is not guilty.”

Everyone looked at him, hushed whispers about him filled the snowy air. Some people began to shout their thoughts, but Matthias held up his hand to silence them. Matthias now stood with authority he never demonstrated before, as if determined more than anything to put all of the blame upon Azalea. To expose her for the years of torment she saw as survival.

“Explain yourself.” The tall man directed his attention to Matthias.

“This woman killed her daughter, my sister.”

A communal gasp echoed through the crowd.

“Yes, my mother is a witch. But I have never had any part in what she has done. Many of you recall I grew up here but left some years ago. To say I regret my return is an understatement. Azalea Luca may have birthed me, but she is no mother. She has killed so many innocents; perhaps someone you loved, perhaps a neighbor. She killed Juniper. Many of you knew my sister and were helped by her; she was a kind person. She killed this man's wife. He is not to blame for either death today.”

“No!” Blaez roared at last, then he began to shake, sobbing though he had nothing left in him. “I did it. I did it! Just kill me!”

He was begging for his death even though he was not to blame.

He had been shattered.

“He is right,” Azalea spoke at last, knowing she would not live either way. “I killed my daughter. I killed his wife. I turned him,” she jutted her head towards Blaez, “into a monster that will haunt each and every one of you—”

“Enough!” Matthias yelled. “She has admitted her guilt, this trial is concluded. Let us carry out her sentence.”

The man looked at Matthias, considering his words before nodding. “Would you do the honor of burning Ocleau's first witch?”

“The honor is well received.” Matthias's words were wicked. Matthias looked at Blaez first. “What will happen to him?”

Blaez looked up, his hollow black eyes pleading for a death he would not receive. He no longer begged because he no longer had the will to speak. His muscles were taut, his head hung in shame. He was not ashamed of his nakedness; he was ashamed of what he had become. Everything he had done in the last few days had been for his wife.

Azalea suspected that everything he had done since he had met her was for her benefit. He had no idea she tricked him, that she went behind his back with Matthias.

They used an innocent to appear as Ana’s corpse, defaced and desecrated enough to not be able to tell the difference, she realized. Blaez was not the monster that Azalea created; her own son was.

“Exile.” The man decided. Two men rushed to Blaez and cut the rope; he fell forward, hunched and devastated. Someone threw him some clothing, but he did not move. His messy hair hung in the snow, slick with sweat; his body had turned red in the freezing cold, but he made no effort to cover or warm himself. He did not look up when the man continued. “You are hereby exiled from Ocleau and surrounding towns. Your name will cross borders, and you will not find sanctuary here. Return, and your head will be ours to take. Consider this a gift; the blood on your hands is not your sin to bear.”

Blaez did not move.

“The torch.” Matthias reached out for the flame to light the pyre, eager.

“Matthias,” Azalea said when he was standing before her with the torch in hand. She was not going to plead for her life like Blaez pled for his death. These were to be the last words to her son and to anyone; they would not be wasted. “You are no better than me.”

He stared at his mother, his expression blank. He allowed her the last word, a small smirk crossing his lips. He won.

He said nothing as he lowered the torch. The dry wood caught quickly, smoke billowing in the wind before it moved towards Azalea.

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