“They’re going to burn my boy,” she said. “They’re going to send him to the pyre.” Immanuelle opened her mouth to respond, but Esther cut her short. “They’ve charged him with conspiring against the Church and holy treason.” “I’m so sorry,” Immanuelle whispered. “I don’t want your condolences,” she said, the timbre of her voice keen and high like a plucked harp string. “All I want is for you to know that if you let my boy die in the name of your sins, I’ll make sure you follow him.”
