“We can talk to her! Make her retract it!”

“I already spoke to my father. The courts would not accept a retraction at this point. Once a confession is made, it is taken as irrefutable proof.”

A sob ripped from my chest, and I threw myself into Victor’s arms. I had only pictured having to fight to get her name cleared. I had not imagined this. “I cannot lose her,” I said. “Why would she confess? I must go see her. Right now.”

Victor went with me, helping me into the boat. The ride across the lake was miserable, increasing the pain in my head with every dip and wave. As we hurried through Geneva, I was certain each window contained the face of someone who wanted to see Justine pay for a crime she never could have committed. I wanted to throw rocks through all the glass. Tear out their window boxes of lying, bright flowers. I wanted to burn the whole city to the ground. How could they not see her innocence?

And how could she claim guilt?

When we finally reached her prison cell, I found her in mean condition. She wore black clothes of mourning, and her chestnut hair, always so carefully pinned, was tangled around her shoulders. She was curled on a bed of straw, her ankles and wrists manacled to long chains.

“Justine!” I cried.

She rose immediately, throwing herself at my feet. I dropped to my knees on the cold stone floor, pulling her to me. I stroked her hair, my fingers catching in the snarls. “Justine, why? Why did you confess?”

“I am sorry. I knew how much it would hurt you, and I am sorriest of all for that. But I had to.”

“Why?”

“The confessor—he was here whenever I was not in the court, hounding me, screaming, shouting the same things my mother said. And I had no one here for me. I began, in my despair, to fear that my mother had always been right. That I was a devilish girl, that I was damned. The confessor told me that if I did not admit my crime I would be excommunicated, that hell would claim my soul forever! He told me my only hope was to be right by God. So I confessed. And it was a lie, which is the only sin I have to weigh on me. To avoid damnation, I have committed the only crime of my life. Oh, Elizabeth. Elizabeth, I am sorry.” She wept, and I held her.

“Victor,” I said, looking up at him. “Surely the confession cannot stand.”

He had his back turned to give us privacy. He did not turn around, but his voice was quiet. “I am sorry. There is nothing that can be done.”

“I will fight them, then! I will do whatever it takes! I will not let them hang you. Do you hear me, Justine?”