When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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As soon as I nodded, Wychthorn jumped from the broken tree trunk and ran back to the tithe prison to press an ear against the curved brickwork. The formidable structure was strengthened with adamere to confine the more lethal tithes we hunted on behalf of the Horned Gods—otherworldly beasts and lesser creatures.
I followed Wychthorn, my boots shifting through the damp blades of grass to the leaf-dusted flagstones surrounding the sinister building. Wychthorn began murmuring softly to the woman trapped within the prison. I blinked in surprise to hear speaking of an old tale about our goddess Skalki.
Leaning a shoulder against the stone, I listened to Wychthorn spinning an old tale we'd all grown up with—Skalki braving hells to find her mortal lover—except our tales weren't myth. They were our history. As I soaked in her words, my finger and thumb never ceased in movement. I paused, realizing I was mirroring Wychthorn as she worked her fingers through the string of adamere beads wrapped around her wrist as she told her story. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket and then noticed she was just in her thin nightie. She didn't pause in her tale, she just gave the slightest curve of her lips acknowledging me as I shrugged my jacket off and draped it across her shoulders.
After a while she stopped talking and slid down the wall to sit on the flagstone with her knees bent, resting her chin on her folded arms. She gave me a sidelong glance. "She's fallen asleep."
I offered her a hand. "Time for you to go to bed too."
The ends of her pale hair danced around her shoulders as she shook her head, shooting me a resolute look. "No. I need to stay with her. She needs to know she's not alone."
I huffed out a breath. Stubborn, so stubborn, Nelle Wychthorn.
Slowly spinning around I lowered myself to sit down beside her. We sat in silence. My thoughts drifted away to the tithe we caught. How I'd handed him over to my brother, Kenton, who would have taken him home to my family's estate and locked him up in our own tithe prison. He was a serial killer who liked choking little girls to death. I felt justified handing him over to the Horned Gods...but the girl in there, locked behind stone...she'd be innocent.
We'd sat in silence for so long that when Wychthorn spoke, I jolted. "Sometimes...I was put in there...the door shut and locked."
I grew still. Everything grew still. Even the soft breeze slinking through the woodlands seemed to die.
Locked in a tithe prison?
What had she done?
Anger sparked—Who would do that to her?
I frowned. "There's no windows, no light..."
"Absolute darkness," she said softly, still staring ahead, her gaze fixed on the undergrowth. "So dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face."
I wondered if that was the reason for her night light. The string of fairy lights she'd wrapped around her shoulders.
