CHAPTER 875: A TASTE OF THINGS TO COME (PART ONE)

"St-stay b-b-b-back," Jocelynn said, shrinking away from the advancing Inquisitor and pressing herself into the corner of the small cell. The old, worn-out cot underneath her creaked as though the leather straps would snap because of her sudden movement but Jocelynn ignored it as she focused all of her attention on the crimson-haired man wearing the crimson and gold robes of the Inquisition.

Behind him, golden torchlight flickered and glowed in the hallway, shining off the polished armor of two temple guards who followed the Inquisitor into the cell, making it feel incredibly cramped as they placed a small stool in the room for Percivus to sit on along with a small folding table.

"Now, now, there’s no hiding from the Holy Lord of Light, and there’s no hiding from me," Percivus said as he stepped forward, reaching out to place a palm on Jocelynn’s pale, bluish tinged cheek while his thumb wrapped around her delicate chin to firmly hold her face in place as he inspected her.

Jocelynn wanted to jerk away from him, but his hand was so blessedly warm that she found herself unable to move as her icy flesh drank in the sliver of warmth offered by the imposing man’s grip.

"You haven’t died yet, girl," he said grimly as he turned her head in his hand, gazing at her as if he was inspecting livestock for defects before making a purchase. "But you aren’t far from it. Those wet clothes aren’t helping you stay warm, are they?" Percivus added with a twisted smile that didn’t match the piercing look in his hazel eyes. The eyes were intense, inquisitive and searching for something as they roved over Jocelynn’s face and body, but the smile on his lips was... content, pleased or self-satisfied.

"T-take me b-back t-to my ch-chambers," Jocelynn stammered as she glared at Percivus. Her seafoam eyes smoldered with a hatred more intense than any she had ever felt and she wanted nothing more than to claw at his disgusting, smiling face, but she kept her hands wrapped firmly around her knees, drawing her legs up close to her body to preserve what little warmth she had left instead.

"I d-demand-d a fu-full hearing," she stammered, glancing past Percivus to the temple guards and trying to make sure they could hear her. "I am the d-daughter of C-count Blackwell, a-and I have the r-right to b-be t-tried before a h-high p-priest," she insisted.

The trials of noblemen were always highly public spectacles, held before a tribunal of Church officials. Members of the public were allowed to observe and inspect the evidence that supported the church’s accusations and the family of the accused were allowed to dispute the charges so long as they could present evidence that the accused was innocent.

Right now, what Jocelynn wanted more than anything was a way out of this cell. A way back to her warm chambers where there was dry clothing and a hearth to drive the chill from her body. Since the Church wasn’t in the habit of humiliating members of the aristocracy, she was certain that they would let her change into fresh clothing before they brought her to the temple to stand trial.

Anything else, everything else, could come after that, but right now, the only way she would survive is if she could convince someone to let her out of this cell!

"Ah, I see the problem," Percivus said, clucking his tongue as he let go of the young woman’s face and turned back to the stool and small table where his men had placed a compact stove that provided a small trace of warmth to the chill room. "You think that you’re going to face a trial. Perhaps one day you will, but for now, I haven’t even begun to investigate you," the Inquisitor said as he took a seat on the stool and made a show of warming his hands over the iron stove.

"I brought you a change of clothes," he said as he retrieved the cloth bundle from atop his wooden case. "They might not be as glamorous as what you’re currently wearing, but they’re dry and they’re warm," he said as he casually tossed the bundle onto the cot beside Jocelynn. "Why don’t you strip out of that wet dress and put on something that will stop you from freezing to death?"

"F-fine," Jocelynn said as she snatched up the rough woolen bundle, clutching it close to her chest as if it were a shield that could protect her from the stares of the three men in the room. "L-leave me b-be and I’ll change."

"Oh, no, Lady Jocelynn," Percivus said as he leaned over to unlatch his case, retrieving a small earthenware pot that was the size of a large man’s fist. "I said I haven’t begun to investigate, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ignore the accusations you’re facing. You’ll strip off every last stitch of clothing, shift and all, so I can inspect your body for a mark of the witch. If I find one on your skin, then I’m afraid things will become much more serious."

"I d-don’t have a m-m-mark!" Jocelynn protested through chattering teeth. For a moment, she nearly blurted out that Ashlynn was the one with the mark but she firmly clamped her trembling lips shut before she said something that would only make matters worse. Eleanor told her that the Church concluded that her sister’s mark was only an ordinary birthmark, but that didn’t mean it could be mentioned in front of these men.

"C-confess-sor, Eleanor has s-seen my bod-dy," Jocelynn stammered as she prodded her slow and tired mind for anything she could do to escape the indignity of having these men ’inspecting’ her body for signs of a mark. "She can g-give w-w-witness that I have no m-mark."

"I told you last night," Percivus said slowly as he carefully set the earthenware pot on the small stove and retrieved a second, small crock that carried with it the faint aroma of cooked meat. "I plan to have a lengthy conversation with Madam Eleanor soon. I’m sure her testimony will be very useful once we’ve ensured that it’s accurate, but if you want to call her here to bear witness for you, I’m afraid it’s impossible."

"Now," he said in a tone that grew sterner and more menacing with each word. "Are you going to strip out of your dress and allow us to inspect you for a mark of the witch? Or," he asked, as he drew a thin, curved blade from the golden belt at his waist and set it on the table next to the small stove. "Do I need to come and cut your clothing off of you?"