Rage washed through her. Outside, the wind roared through the blackness. “I’m not talking about mistakes. I’m talking about crimes. You bedded Leah long before her cutting, taking her virtue while she paid penance here, under what should have been your protection. You sent my father to the pyre out of jealousy and spite. You’ve jailed your own son on charges you know are false. And the dungeons beneath our feet are filled with innocent girls you torture for the crime of having witch marks on their census files. There is nothing you wouldn’t do, no one you wouldn’t hurt, to keep power in your
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