CHAPTER 9
Beneath rolling storm clouds, the road to the homestead bordering Dariusz and Zofia’s manor disappeared. A crowd had gathered, so large that their dark mass swallowed the road whole.
Frenzied shouts, pitchforks, and sickles rose in the charged air as Brygida approached the—circle. They ringed something, surrounded it. Someone.
Between the shifting shoulders of the crowd, a blade flashed like a bolt of lightning.
Shuffling back a step, she flinched and clutched her scythe tightly. Mokosza’s great loom, they were going to kill Dariusz themselves.
Her heart raced, yanking her breaths along in quick, shallow pulls. The man was deplorable, but she couldn’t let a mob kill him. Once his guilt was clear, for the sake of the village and her own, it would have to be the rusałki.
Her
