Trial by Fire

“Bring in the prisoner,” Lillian commanded.

A tall, thin man was brought in. He didn’t look overtly Outlander. He had brown hair and eyes, but he wasn’t quite as dark as most of them were. Outlanders were a mix of many races. Some had even been citizens once and been expelled from one of the Thirteen Cities for one reason or another—usually for something criminal. It could be hard to tell where exactly someone came from. But Juliet saw streaks of red and black on the backs of the doctor’s hands and on his cheek. He stood tall in front of the long table, facing the line of judges. Proud. He was definitely one of Alaric’s painted savages.

“Michael Snowshower. You have been charged with practicing science,” Danforth said, beginning the proceedings. “How do you plead?”

Snowshower spared Danforth one disdainful glace, and then looked at Lillian. “How do I plead?” he repeated quietly. “I plead for the lives of my people.”

Juliet heard Nina, one of the senior witches of the Coven, make an exasperated sound and saw her roll her eyes. “After feeding them something that will only make the fever worse?” Nina asked sarcastically.

“The mold is an antibiotic. It saves some,” Snowshower replied defensively. Juliet looked at him carefully and saw truth in his eyes. This was no charlatan. He truly believed the mold helped.

“But what you don’t know is that the mold only kills most of the infection. Most. Not all,” Lillian said. “What is left is the strongest strain, and it multiplies unchecked, getting deadlier and deadlier with every misuse of your medicine.” Lillian said the word with such bitterness that Snowshower’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Yes, but we’ve learned that if the mold is taken at a higher dosage for a full two weeks, it does kill all the infection,” Snowshower argued back, if a bit uncertainly. “We’ve saved thousands—”

“And while you’ve been running your little scientific experiments about how long the mold should be taken and in what concentration, you’ve created a biological monster,” Lillian said, silencing him. “Because of you—meddling in things you don’t understand—the fever has become so deadly that half the Outlander children probably won’t survive the winter. Like all scientists, you promise a cure but you deliver greater hazards and more death. You are a murderer, Michael Snowshower.”

Snowshower dropped his head, nodding to himself as if he were accepting responsibility for all that Lillian had said.

“But what other choice do we have?” he asked, raising blazing eyes to meet Lillian’s. “The Covens will sell us spells, but few of us can afford them. Even if a whole family starved for it, most can’t pay what a witch asks for one tab of your magic-made antibiotics. Should the Outlanders do nothing just because they’re poor? Lay their sick down and let the weakest ones die?”

Lillian leaned forward in her chair, an angry red flush burning through the pink makeup on her cheeks.

“Yes.” Her eyes matched his for fire and her voice grated in her throat with passion. “Better a few die than to do what you have done. You have admitted your crime freely. No trial is necessary. Michael Snowshower, you will hang.”

While the court clerks scribbled down the judgment and punishment in their little books, Juliet stared at her sister in disbelief. Snowshower was only trying to help as many of his people as he could. He was a good man, albeit misguided. She looked up and down the row of dignitaries, sitting in their plush chairs, nodding their heads in agreement with Lillian’s decree. Not one of them tried to make a plea for the man.