The lady was standing at the door, clutching a necklace in her hand.  Her eyes were wide with horror and then horrified comprehension as she looked between Anya and her husband who was lying unconscious on the floor.  "Anya?  What are you doing?" she shrieked.

But she knew.

How odd that Anya did not care in that moment.  All she could feel was the exciting thrum of enormous magic under her control.

Anya looked at her lady impassively.  She knew that she should feel something more.  She should feel sorry for how she was hurting this woman who had tried to be kind to her.

She could not summon the proper emotions, as if the river of power separated her from her feelings.  Moreover, she did not really care that she could not feel.  What had trying to be good ever gotten Anya?  What had caring about other people ever gotten her?  She had lost nearly everything and even what she had left was being stripped from her.

She and the rest of the peasant class were left to struggle to survive while nobles such as this turned their heads and ignored the injustice which permeated the world.  What did they care for the suffering of others?

In a just world, Anya would never have been forced into such a corner as she was now in.  She would never have been left alone to become Thorne's prey.

This world was not just.  Why should she let them judge her?  If she let them catch her, it was almost certain that she would die, whether she deserved it or not.

Even if she deserved it, she could and would not let that happen.  Even though she could not even feel her affection for her siblings under her euphoria, Damani and Kallie remained her true purpose.

Anya jerked Lord Wildwood's magic roughly, but he was already too gone to care.  Lady Theresa stepped further into the room as if she would attack Anya with her bare nails alone.

Anya took a portion of Lord Wildwood's magic and molded it into a weapon, as Jim had taught her to do with her own.

She would finish her task and flee.  She and the twins could leave the country, perhaps even the continent and never return. 

Then, Anya would never let any of them be vulnerable.  She and what was left of her family would never be at the mercy of any lord or ruler.

Anya moved to bring the magic to strike Lady Theresa.

Unbeknownst to the lady, it hung there in the air like the scythe of death, about to destroy her.

But instead of attacking her, the lady foolishly rushed past her with swimming eyes.

"Oh, Wildwood," Lady Theresa said in a voice so wretched that it pushed through the rush of power and hit Anya squarely in the heart.  Lady Theresa kneeled down beside him and her back was such an easy target that Anya could not miss.

Anya faltered.

The invisible weapon hovered in the air, but Anya could not do it.

All the things that Anya had known she should have been feeling flooded back into her.  She was miserable and despicable.

Damani and Kallie needed her.  She had no time to savor the euphoria of taking his magic.  There were only a few threads left.  Anya moved her magic to pluck them.  She had to finish everything and hope against hope that Thorne had even one spark of honor in his dark core.

Then Anya felt the impact of something like a boulder crush her.  The blackness was mercifully quiet and still.

* * * * *

Everything hurt.  Everything was cold.  Everything was hard.  Everything felt wrong.

Anya's head throbbed and she felt disconnected from herself.

Anya opened her eyes.  There was a ceiling of stone above her and stone walls all around her.  There were bars across the door.

Anya pushed herself up on the flat and hard cot she had been laying upon.  She was dizzy and everything took a minute to straighten itself out.  There was a heaviness around her neck, and without looking Anya knew it to be a magic inhibitor.  It was hardly surprising.  They knew what she was now.

She was clearly in a dungeon.  There was a small window, barely big enough to put her hand through if she were tall enough to reach.  She could see grass growing outside, so she knew that she was just below the ground.  When it rained, water would probably run in.

Not that it mattered.   After what she had done, she would be lucky to still be alive the next time it rained.

Anya wondered where she was. She had heard of dungeons in Wildwood in passing, perhaps she was there, or perhaps she had been moved to the capital and was now in the king's infamous dungeons.

Not that it mattered, nothing mattered.

It was obvious that she had reached the end.  She had nothing at her disposal to help her.  Her magic was inhibited, her freedom was limited, and she could not simply tell the truth and beg for mercy because she still had to worry about the safety of the twins.

Thorne was the root of her problems.  She would feel some satisfaction as she hung if she knew that he hung beside her.

But Thorne would escape any detection of his evil deeds.  Anya knew that he would let her take the fall for all the plots and plans.  He would probably even have a sardonic smile on his detestable face while she did.

What would he do with the twins if they executed her?  Would Thorne throw them out on the street, defenseless and alone?  Anya reminded herself that the twins had each other, but the sick feeling in her stomach did not decrease.  Would it be worse if Thorne continued to see to their care?  What if he forced them into his plots as he had with her?  They were just children, but Anya sensed that Thorne's cruel streak went far beyond mere practicality.

But there was nothing that Anya could do to help them now.  There was nothing that she could even do to help herself.

There was the noise of shuffling, and Anya looked up to see a heavyset man standing outside the bars of her cell.  Anya did not recognize him, but he was clearly a guard.

He did not speak to her, but turned and left.  She heard a deep male voice say, "She's awake."

"Oi."

There was more noise as if someone was moving around and then the dungeon faded back to bitter silence.

Anya wished that the conversation would have lasted longer so that she could have gleaned more information from it.  She needed something to take her mind off of her situation.  Anything.

Apparently someone knew and was interested in the fact that she was awake.  Hopefully someone would come to interrogate her.  Then perhaps she might at least know where she was.

Or how she got there.  The last thing she could remember was a terrible pressure.  She was almost certain that it was magical in nature.  It could not have been Lord Wildwood, because she had held his magic firmly in her control.  He had been nearing unconsciousness and was helpless.  It was another wizard and it could not be Jim considering she had already dealt with him.  Her stomach sank with dismay.

Anya's mind slipped back towards how it had felt stealing Lord Wildwood's magic.  It was the last thing she wanted to think about, but it held an almost uncontrollable allure compared to all her other miseries.

It had been nothing like she had imagined, nothing like her nightmares had told her it would be.  It had been strangely exhilarating.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Anya felt sick to her stomach.  She should be feel horror at what she had tried to do.  She should not almost be wishing to do it again.

It was not as if she had enjoyed hurting him, but it had felt so good to feel in control, to hold such power in her hands.  She had not known how much she would crave that feeling again.

This was why wizards feared the powers of witches and warlocks.  Perhaps there was some bigotry, but this was the root of the unease.

It was justified, at least in part.

Maybe it had felt so good, because Anya had been constantly manipulated since she met Thorne.  She was so weak and powerless while he held the lives of her family in his hands.

Anya missed the days before everything terrible had entered her life.  It had been easy to do what was right when she was an innocent to the world.

She never would have suspected the temptation of such power.  It was such that it made decency and what she knew to be right hard to hold on to.  She had instinctively known she never should have allowed herself to try to kill Lord Wildwood in such a way.  She could never go back now that she had done it.

Not that it mattered.  She would likely never again be free to even have the opportunity to succumb to such temptation.

Anya threw herself backwards on the hard cot and tried not to think any longer.

* * * * *

"Miss Smyth."

Anya opened her eyes.  She realized that she must have fallen asleep.

Sir Thomas was standing just outside the bars alongside the heavyset guard she had seen earlier.  Anya looked away.  There was nothing that she could say to anyone.

There was a loud clank as the guard let Sir Thomas into the room.  He stood by the cot that she was sitting on.  "How are you feeling?" he asked in a surprisingly congenial voice.  She supposed that he was in healer mode.  The kindly physician visiting his patient.

Of course, Anya was hardly just a patient and Sir Thomas was hardly just there to heal her, if at all.  He was probably there to ask her questions.  His tone was belied by the sword on his hip.  "Are you in pain?" he asked again.

Anya would hardly give him the satisfaction of knowing that she felt out of sorts.  "I feel fine."  Anya sat up.  She did not look at him, rather studying the plain stone wall in front of her.

His voice registered surprise.  "Really?  You were hit quite hard."

Anya shrugged.

He spoke again and his voice had a harder edge.  "Well, I have a couple of questions that need answering."

At last they had arrived at the purpose for his visit.  Anya did not bother to reply.

"Were you the one responsible for Lord Wildwood's sudden depression?" he asked.

Anya wondered if she should not answer or if she should deny it.  What was the point?

"Yes," she said simply.

"And the poison at the wedding?"

"Yes."

"And clearly this latest attempt."

"Of course."

"There was an attack on Lord Wildwood some months ago.  He was stabbed in the back and nearly died.  Does that sound familiar to you?" he asked slowly.

Was he referring to the incident in which Gage had lost his life?  Thorne was probably behind that attack as well, but there was no way Anya was taking credit for any more of his crimes if she could help it.  "No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes.  I have no idea what you are talking about."  It might be true.  The details around Gage's death were not clear.  It could be something else.

"You didn't ask anyone to kill Lord Wildwood for you?"

"No.  Of course not."

Out of the corner of her eye Anya saw Sir Thomas nod, but she kept her gaze straight ahead at the blank wall.  Reverting to his kindly physician voice, he asked, "Why did you try to kill Lord Wildwood?"

Anya did not answer.  She could hardly explain without possibly bringing Thorne's wrath down on the twins.

"Miss Smyth?  I need to know this."

She turned her head.

"Things will be better for you if you just confess."

Anya laughed grimly.  "I truly doubt that."

Sir Thomas shrugged.  "Were you working alone?"

Anya copied Sir Thomas' shrug.

"Did someone hire you to do this?"

She said nothing.

"Did Lord Wildwood offend you in some way?"

"No."  Anya suddenly wished that he would just leave.  She did not have answers that she could give him.

"So then why did you try to murder him?  What was your motive?  We need to know if this is an isolated incident."

"Why?" Anya asked.

"Why did you try to kill him?"

"Because it needed to be done."

"Why did it need to be done?"

"I don't know.  No reason."

"You know that is just not true."

"Yes."  Anya shrugged again.

"Then why won't you explain?"

"I can't.  I'm sorry."  That at least was true.

Sir Thomas started pacing around the small cell and the movement set Anya's teeth on edge.  She pretended to ignore him.

He stopped abruptly and spoke again.  This time he used a conversational tone.  "So, you're a witch?" he asked.

"Yes."

"That's interesting.  But I saw you work as a wizardress?"

"Yes."

"Then what are you?" Sir Thomas asked.

"I guess I'm both now."  She shrugged.

"Both?  Can someone be both?" he wondered.

"Apparently so."  Anya felt very tired at that moment.

He sounded confused.  "How is that even possible?"

"Witch magic is not so very different from wizard magic as everyone thinks.  The only difference is what you do with it," Anya explained.

"And the fact that witches steal their magic," he pointed out dryly.

Anya was sick of hearing about how terrible witches were, whether it was justified or not.  She was sick of the treatment that she had suffered since she was old enough to understand why people were afraid of her.

She could accept if they hated her because of what she had now done with her magic, she could understand if they hated her because she had tried to kill someone innocent, but the fact that people could so blindly hate her because of who she had been born and how she had been raised left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She had tried to rise above the scorn of the villagers, she had tried to be the bigger person, but it had gained her nothing.  She felt her repressed anger at a lifetime of rejection well up inside her.

Even if she did stop using her power, it would not change who she was inside, a person who would be reviled with or without just cause.

Sir Thomas wanted her to speak to him, did he?  Then he would have what he wished.  Anya looked towards him.

"You say that witches steal their magic?  How do you think that we take the magic out of plants and other ingredients?  Do you really believe that we use our hands to do it?  Does that make sense, wizard?  We witches use our own inherent magic to weave and bind the magic of plants and other creatures together to create the desired effect.  I don't even need to harm them." Anya said, her frustration leaking into her voice.

Sir Thomas looked back evenly.  She wondered if he would look so calm if her magic was not being inhibited by the collar on her neck.  "Weave together ingredients?  Such as Lord Wildwood?"

Anya felt his words drop like lead along with her anger at the reminder.  She could hardly blame them for fearing witches when they had seen what she had done.

"That's different," she said.

"How?"

"It's not something that I did for enjoyment, or that I ever plan to do again."  Even if it was one of the best feelings of her life and she somehow had the opportunity,

"Were you removing his magic?"

"Yes."

"Would you have killed him if Lady Theresa had not interrupted you?"

"Yes."

"How does that work?"

"Magic is entwined with life.  Perhaps life is magic.  Either way, you know as well as I that it's not something physical or tangible.  If Lord Wildwood lost all his magic he would be dead."

"I see.  So why did you attempt to steal all Lord Wildwood's magic?"

Anya smiled grimly.  "No reason."

Sir Thomas frowned.  "It's not as if we aren't aware of your guilt.  It will make everything easier on yourself if you simply tell us your reasons."

Anya shrugged.  "I just don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I can't.  I'm sorry."

"I see," he said, but he clearly did not.  He moved towards the door.  "Marvin."

The guard moved to the door and opened it.  Sir Thomas walked out and the door was shut and locked firmly behind him.  Anya did not watch him walk away.  The guard also moved out of sight around the corner.  Anya lay back on the hard cot and tried not to feel anything.

* * * * *