Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,73

and with the current climate, well . . . it’s been a celebration. King Auguste invited Reid to dine with him yesterday, but Reid refused.” At my questioning look, she pursed her lips in disapproval. “He didn’t want to leave you.”

Suddenly much too warm, I kicked my blankets away. “There was nothing heroic about what he did.”

She and Ansel exchanged a glance. “As his wife,” she said carefully, “you’re expected to think otherwise.”

I stared at her.

“Listen, Lou.” She sat back, heaving an impatient sigh. “I’m just looking out for you. People heard your screams during the execution. Many are very interested in why a witch burning sent you into hysterics—including the king. Reid finally accepted his dinner invitation this evening to placate him. You need to be careful. Everyone will be watching you extra closely now.” Her gaze flicked to Ansel. “And you know the stake isn’t just for witches. Witch sympathizers can meet a similar fate.”

My heart sank as I looked between them. “Oh, god. The two of you—”

“The three of us,” Ansel murmured. “You’re forgetting Reid. He’ll burn too.”

“He murdered Estelle.”

Ansel stared down at his boots, swallowing hard. “He believes Estelle was a demon. They all do. He . . . he was trying to protect you, Lou.”

I shook my head, furious tears threatening to spill once more. “But he’s wrong. Not all witches are evil.”

“I know you believe that,” Ansel said softly, “but you can’t force Reid to believe it.” He finally looked up, and his brown eyes held profound sadness—sadness someone his age never should’ve known. “There are some things that can’t be changed with words. Some things have to be seen. They have to be felt.”

He walked to the door but hesitated, looking over his shoulder at me. “I hope you can find your way forward together. He’s a good person, and . . . so are you.”

I watched him go in silence, desperate to ask how—how could a witch and witch hunter find their way forward together? How could I ever trust a man who would have me burned? How could I ever love him?

Ansel had been right about one thing, however. I couldn’t hold Reid fully accountable for what had happened to Estelle. He truly believed witches were evil. It was a part of him as much as his copper hair or towering height.

No, Estelle’s death wasn’t on Reid’s hands.

It was on mine.

Before Reid returned that evening, I crawled out of bed and dragged myself to his desk. My skin itched and burned as I healed—a constant reminder of the flames—but my limbs were a different story. My muscles and bones felt stiffer, heavier, as if they would pull me through the floor if they could. Each step to the desk was a struggle. Sweat beaded along my forehead, matted the hair on my neck.

Coco had said my fever would linger. I hoped it’d break soon.

Collapsing into the chair, I pulled the desk drawer open with the last of my energy. Reid’s faded old Bible still lay inside. With trembling fingers, I opened it and began to read—or tried to read, at least. His cramped handwriting filled every inch of the narrow margins. Though I brought the silk-thin pages clear to my nose, I couldn’t focus on the scripture without my vision swimming.

I tossed it back in the drawer with a disgruntled sigh.

Proving witches weren’t inherently evil might be harder than I anticipated.

Still, I’d formed a plan after Coco and Ansel had left this afternoon. If Ansel could be convinced we weren’t evil, perhaps Reid could too. In order to do that, I needed to understand his ideology. I needed to understand him. Cursing quietly, I rose to my feet once more, steeling myself for the descent into hell.

I’d have to visit the library.

Nearly a half hour later, I pushed open the dungeon door. A welcome draft of cold air swept across my sticky skin, and I sighed in relief. The corridor was quiet. Most of the Chasseurs had retired for the evening, and the rest were busy doing . . . whatever it was they did. Guarding the royal family. Protecting the guilty. Burning the innocent.

When I reached the library, however, the council room door swung open, and the Archbishop strolled out, licking what appeared to be icing from his fingers. In his other hand, he held a half-eaten sticky bun.

Shit. Before I could shove Angelica’s Ring in my mouth to disappear, he turned and spotted me. We both froze with our