Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. “She does not lie.” UNCLEAN There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped. “How many of you,” Asterin called out, “have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?” The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking—shuddering. Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine’s eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin’s womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known.
