The rejected crown (book 1)

The pyre

Giovanna

Dawn arrived in a cold, gray light, casting a steely hue over the crowd that had gathered in the town square. They buzzed with barely contained excitement, their faces alight with fear and eagerness. At the center of it all, a towering pyre loomed like a dark promise, its crude wooden beams stacked high in anticipation of the fire. Giovanna watched it all from a short distance, her lips curled in a faint, scornful smile as she took in the faces of those around her. They were all the same—clinging to fear, desperate to believe in something to rally against, even if it was an innocent woman.

Giovanna felt the weight of her station pressing down, but there was no compassion in her gaze, only a sharp, calculating glint. She wasn't here to save Jane or her mother—she was here to make a point. If her uncle Richard thought he could stoke fear in these people, manipulate them like pawns, then he had underestimated her. The time for niceties was long past.

Jane's mother was dragged to the pyre, her face etched with a kind of resigned dignity. Giovanna watched with mild interest as Jane struggled against her captors, her cries echoing through the crowd. "Mother! Please don't do this! Someone—help us!"

The guards ignored her, holding her back with cold efficiency. The crowd leaned forward, their faces twisted with a dark kind of joy, eager for the flames to rise. Giovanna's gaze flicked to her uncle Richard, who stood near the front, his face lit up with sick satisfaction. He thrived on this kind of spectacle, feeding off the fear and obedience he inspired. It was almost laughable.

Richard raised his arms, his voice ringing out as he addressed the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would practice dark magic! Justice will be served!"

Giovanna rolled her eyes, a sneer pulling at the corner of her mouth. "Justice? This is nothing but theater," she muttered under her breath, barely concealing her disdain. She let her voice carry just enough that a few around her shifted uncomfortably. "Theatrics for the weak and the frightened."

As Jane's mother was led to the pyre, she turned to her daughter, her voice fierce, even loving. "Jane, remember that love is stronger than fear!"

Giovanna almost laughed aloud at the sentiment. Love stronger than fear? Perhaps for those foolish enough to believe it. But power—power was stronger than anything. And if her uncle thought his hold was secure, she was all too happy to show him how wrong he was.

As Jane's mother was forced onto the pyre, the flames crackled, spitting and hissing as the dry wood caught fire. The heat radiated outwards, a searing wall that stole the air from Jane's lungs even as she struggled against her captors, desperate to reach her mother. Her screams cut through the cacophony, her voice raw and ragged, as if each cry was being ripped from her very soul.

"Mother! Please!" Jane's voice was thick with desperation, every fiber of her being straining against the guards' iron grip. She reached out with trembling hands, fingers stretching toward the woman who had raised her, who had loved her fiercely, but they held her back, their grip cold and unyielding.

The flames climbed higher, casting dancing shadows across her mother's face, and Jane felt a fresh wave of horror and helplessness wash over her. She could see her mother's eyes, fixed on her with a sorrowful, steady gaze—a silent farewell that tore at her heart. Her mother's mouth moved, trying to form words even as the smoke swirled around her, but Jane could only make out fragments—"Be strong, Jane... I love you..."

The crowd, caught in a fever of fear and excitement, surged forward, shouting for the fire to rise, for the "witch" to be purged. Their voices blended into a monstrous chorus, their faces twisted with a dark glee, and Jane's heart shattered as she saw neighbors, friends—people she had known all her life—cheering for her mother's death.

The flames climbed further, licking at her mother's dress, her hair. Jane's mother gasped, her body instinctively jerking away from the heat, but she held herself with a strength that made Jane's heart ache even more. It was a strength that said, "I will face this so you don't have to."

"No! Stop! Please!" Jane's voice was hoarse, barely audible over the roar of the crowd, the crackling of the fire. Tears streaked down her face, her vision blurring as she watched her mother begin to tremble under the weight of the flames. Her mother's face twisted in pain, yet there was a quiet dignity there, a defiance that refused to yield to the agony.

Jane's knees buckled, her body collapsing under the weight of her grief. She sank to the ground, her hands still stretched out uselessly in front of her, her fingers clawing at the dirt, as if she could dig her way to her mother, save her from this nightmare. The world around her dimmed, her senses numb save for the unrelenting horror in front of her, the terrible finality of the fire.

Time lost meaning as Jane knelt there, her screams dying in her throat, her strength drained, until all that remained was an empty, hollow ache. The flames grew, consuming her mother's form, and the reality of it all—her mother's suffering, her own helplessness, the crowd's relentless cruelty—crushed her, leaving her a shattered shell, clinging to her last, broken whisper.

"Please... don't leave me..."

Giovanna took a step forward, her voice rising above the roar of the flames. "Enough of this nonsense! This is not justice; it's a mockery!"

The crowd stirred, caught off guard by her sudden outburst. Richard turned to her, his smile slipping as he glared, but Giovanna met his gaze with an icy stare. "You think these people want justice, Uncle? They don't even understand it. All they want is blood."

Richard's jaw clenched, and he spat, "You would defend witches, Giovanna? What sort of ruler does that make you?"

Giovanna scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. "A ruler who understands that the law isn't some plaything to wield as you see fit. This is nothing more than your pathetic attempt to control them through fear." She turned to the crowd, her gaze sharp as a blade. "You call this justice? This is nothing but weakness, and you're all complicit in it."

The crowd's fervor faltered, faces uncertain, shifting with the weight of her words. But the doubt was short-lived as Richard raised his voice, appealing to their basest instincts. "She would see you betrayed! She'd have you think witches are innocent, that their corruption won't seep into every corner of our kingdom!"

Giovanna's eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with venom. "And you'd rather keep them under your thumb, huddled in fear, rather than grant them even a moment's freedom from your paranoia. You don't rule them, Uncle; you frighten them like a tyrant frightened of his own shadow."

She watched him, unblinking, as her words settled over the crowd. Richard's sneer returned, and he looked to the guards with a smug confidence. "Take her. Let her stand trial with the witch. Perhaps then she'll learn her lesson."

Giovanna didn't flinch as the guards approached, her chin raised, eyes flashing with defiance. She let them seize her arms, and only then did she speak, her voice low, cutting. "Do you really believe taking me down will be that simple? I'm no lamb to be led to slaughter, Uncle. You may hold me here, chain me even, but know this: you'll regret ever underestimating me."

The crowd muttered, torn between fear and fascination. Jane, sobbing, was dragged back to the dungeons, her spirit broken, but Giovanna kept her gaze forward, her mind whirring with possibilities. As they led her away, she threw one last, withering glance at her uncle. "Enjoy your moment of victory, Richard. For soon enough, the flames you've stoked here will turn on you."

Her voice rang out, cold and unwavering, echoing through the square, and as they took her, she could almost feel the fear creeping into her uncle's eyes. She may have been bound for now, but her resolve was iron—and she knew, deep in her bones, that this was far from over.