Lindorm Princess

Chapter 18

I groaned as I felt fingertips cooly grace the skin of my forehead. My head pounded, like the morning after Christmas, after a night of too much mulled wine.

"That's it, my child." Mor's voice drifted in and out of my consciousness. "It's time to get up."

"I didn't hear the roosters crow," I grumbled. My nose twitched, as my eyes began to blink open.

I wasn't home in my bed. We were in a dark, dank cellar. I was laying on a pile of straw on a corner of dirt, and to my immense embarrassment, I realized I had soiled myself.

Startled, I jerked off of the ground, only to realize that my hands and feet were shackled. Sensation returned in full force now. The stench of sweat, of muck and of human soil filled the air in rank desperation. My wrists and ankles burned, the skin blistering underneath the metal.

I gasped at the sheer pain, as I met Mor's tired eyes.

"You've been asleep for days now. We are to wait here, until the magistrate comes," she told me. "He's coming all the way from Copenhagen, since no one really knows how to handle a case like this after two hundred years without witches."

"Is this the town jail?" I asked, incredulously. We were the only two women in the small cell, the door beyond bolted and locked.

"Of course," grimaced Mor. "You summoned a storm in front of most of our neighbors. They threw me into this hole as well, since everyone knows a witch learns magic from her mother." She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

My lip quivered, but I managed to keep the tears from pooling out of the corners of my eyes.

"Where is Far? The animals? Are they ok?" I asked rapidly.

"Far is fine," Mor said hoarsely. "He was faced with an impossible decision. Be imprisoned with us, or tend to the farm. He picked the farm."

I clenched my fist, and resisted punching the bars before me.

"What did he say?"

"That I was hiding you, without your knowledge, and that we both had always had an unnatural connection to the forest-"

I growled.

"Don't do that, Lise. It's so unladylike."

"Oh Mor," I sighed. "I'm sitting in my own excrement, and we're locked up. There's nothing dignified about this situation."

She was silent.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I would have cleaned you up, but they refused to give me any rags-"

"Mor, it's ok," I interjected. "You always do your best to help everyone, even if they don't deserve it." If she was executed because of me, then I hoped I would burn in fiery hell for causing her death. Guilt twisted my insides, and I tried not to think of what would come.

As I twisted to sit up, the metal shackles touched the edge of my wrist, singing the skin. I hissed angrily.

"What is this?" I asked Mor. She was also shackled, but her arms and ankles weren't puffy like mine.

"Iron," Mor said shortly. "My Mormor used to say that fae cannot cast their spells if they are clad in iron."

"But I'm not fae," I said, confused. "I'm still human-"

"But you can use magic," said Mor. "Their power is flowing in your veins, and so your skin is reacting to it. If you were fully fae, then it's likely your whole body would be a puffy red mess."