Vivna slumped in front of them, hands tied behind her back, dark hair thrown across her face, a pyre of already-burning wood behind her.

Scattered in front of her, spilling across the snow, were the acidic dyes she’d used to burn the pigment from Ranka’s nails.

One of the older children from the village had a vial in hand. His pale, freckled face creased with hatred. When Ranka had pictured the humans who would come to burn them, they’d always been adults, well settled into spiteful lives ruled by fear. Humans who carried decades like weight, haunted by memories of family they’d lost.

But this boy was only a few years older than her. He’d probably never even met a witch until now.

“We found these.” The boy shook the vial. “I knew something was strange about her.”

“Didn’t trust her from the beginning,” someone in the crowd chimed.

Liars. They had all doted on Vivna at first, drank in her attention and returned it tenfold.

Vivna didn’t move from her spot on the ground. Her left ankle was twisted and bruised, her clothes disheveled and torn. They’d gagged her.

More villagers drifted forward, and more accusations flew. Suddenly Vivna was responsible for one woman’s sick dog, to blame for another man’s daughter running away with a miller from the town over. Their accusations rose with fury, growing more ridiculous, and then a thin, reedy voice split the air.

“There will be more.”

Ranka’s fingers tightened on the wood.

One of the older townswomen marched forward. Her gray hair was dusted with white, her face severe. Pale eyes flicked back and forth amid a sea of wrinkles and scars and sunspots from a hard life in the north. “I was here when that girl was taken. I was here when girls before her were taken. The witches come back. They always come back.” She shook her head, lips thinning until they were bloodless against her liver-spotted skin. “There’s only one way to show witches they’re not welcome here. One way to keep them out. Do you know why they fear fire?”

Vivna tried to scream around her gag.

The old woman’s suggestion seemed to give them all pause. It was one thing to accuse. It was another to kill.

But then one person murmured in agreement, and another.

I have to help her.

Pressure built under Ranka’s skin, behind her eyes, pressing in her hands. Her nails ached, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

The woman bent down and ripped out Vivna’s gag. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Tears streamed down her sister’s cheeks. “I told you, I’m not a witch! The dyes belonged to the Skra. I belong here. I’m human. Please!” Her voice cracked. She struggled, arms flexing, but the knots held fast.