Lord O’Meara demanded silence, his fist acting as his gavel one more. When the room quieted, his attention returned to me. “Thank you for your input, Sir William. You have certainly given this court a lot to think about.”
I bowed my head, sinking back to the unforgiving wooden chair.
O’Meara flicked through a stack of pages from his desk drawer far too quickly to actually be reading them. Not two minutes later, he set them aside and clasped his hands together, sitting back in his chair to make room for his swollen stomach. “In light of the evidence presented, I have found the grogoch guilty of theft. As he is Danú, he is subject to the harshest penalty and will join the witch at the gallows tomorrow.”
The grogoch. He couldn’t even say Charlie’s feckin’ name.
I couldn’t do a thing besides sit there and watch an innocent man be led away—not dragged like the witch, but hobbling, head bowed as if he’d done something shameful.
I shoved my way out of the hall, hatred swelling in my chest. It took everything I had to keep darkness from invading my eyes, giving away what I was.
Ruairi wasn’t where I’d left him. I searched the street, finding the bastard tucked between two buildings, munching on a scone.
When he saw me, he pushed himself off the wall. “How’d it go?”
I couldn’t even respond. The nerve of those feckin’ humans. I should’ve killed every last one of them.
Ruairi took another bite of scone. A large chunk dropped out of his mouth, tumbling toward his brown boots. “That well, eh?”
I glowered across the square toward the jail. “I have a few stops to make before I return. You can go back without me.”
I glamoured myself to look like one of the guards walking toward the corner pub. Without knowing his voice, I’d have to improvise. Before Ruairi could protest, I started for the jail.
* * *
The man standing guard at the jail’s entrance bobbed his head when I approached. “I thought ye were goin’ fer a pint.”
“Forgot something,” I mumbled in a gravelly voice.
The young lad unhooked the heavy ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door. Damp, dank air closed over me as I stepped into a narrow hallway. Most jails were built the same, with guard’s offices and quarters at the entrance and the cells toward the back. One way in, one way out, to minimize the chance of escape. I continued down the hall until I stumbled upon another guard digging at his grimy nails with a penknife.
All it took was a little magic to leave him unconscious on the floor.
Behind the bars of the first cell, I found Charlie curled in the corner, staring toward gray clouds drifting past the window’s iron bars.
“Charlie?”
He turned, and I dropped my glamour long enough for him to see my face.
He scrambled back against the wall, rambling and shaking his head. “I didn’t do what they claim. I swear it. I’d never—”
“I know.” He was to die for existing. “What happened? Why did you have her purse?”
He gave a humorless chuckle. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? My fate is sealed, and I’ll not let anyone else be dragged down with me.” He went back to looking out the window.
Fair enough. If he wanted to take this secret to his grave, I’d let him. I shifted a draught Eava made for such occasions, something that should help take away any lingering fear. “Here.” I set the vial between the bars next to a scrap of moldy bread. “Take this at dawn.”
Charlie didn’t turn back around.
“Oh, Rían,” a raspy voice called from down the hall.
The witch couldn’t see me from her cell. How did she know who I was? I stepped around the wall to find her clutching her knees in the far corner, her white hair and white eyes stark against the shadows.
“You’re looking well, Molls.”
Her head fell back, and her throaty cackle echoed around the empty cell. “I’ve always heard ye were a wicked thing.” Once she’d recovered, she crawled forward, her chains clanging on the stone floor. “Ye have questions fer me.”
“Mmmm . . . I don’t think I do.”