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“He insists the law will make it right. I think he is too overwhelmed by William’s death and the potential of Justine’s betrayal to commit himself to either side.”

I was not too overwhelmed. I would stand in front of them all—judge, jury, damnable townsfolk—and force them to see that Justine was incapable of such an act. If only I had a suspect to present to them, other than my nightmare monster. I wished it were real, that I would find some evidence of it.

What bleak and dark days, that my hope was in favor of a monster existing!

I opened my door to find Victor with his hand raised, ready to knock. “I am ready,” I said. My head still hurt fiercely, but I could walk without losing my balance. My pale countenance would only amplify the blush of my cheeks and the blue of my eyes. I would be perfect testifying. “Take me to the trial.”

Victor’s countenance was heavy, his eyes mournful. “It is over.”

“Why? They cannot have made their decision already!”

“They did not have to. Justine confessed.”

I staggered backward. “What?”

“Last night. She confessed to the murder. They are hanging her tomorrow.”

“No! That cannot be. She is not guilty. I know she is not.”

Victor nodded. My voice was rising in tone and intensity, but his remained calm and steady. “I believe you. But there is nothing we can do now.”

“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?”

She calmed some and lifted her face. It was lined with tears, but her eyes were clear and lucid. “I do not fear to die. I do not want to live in a world where devils can take such perfect, beautiful innocence without punishment. I think I prefer it this way—to go on to my sweet little William so that he is not alone.”

The absurdity of her acceptance rankled my soul. She had been so convinced of her wickedness by her cruel and depraved mother that she would let a man convince her to confess false guilt simply for the sake of some invisible soul’s well-being!

I would lose my Justine for nothing. Would lose the one person I had tried to save in the midst of a life spent selfishly trying to make certain I stayed safe myself. The one person I loved because she made me happy, rather than because my security depended on her. And she was going to die because I had decided to help her that day in the streets of Geneva.

“I cannot live in this world of misery,” I said, the words harsh as they ripped from my throat.

“No!” Justine took my cheeks between her hands, the cold iron of her manacles brushing my jaw. “Dearest Elizabeth. My beloved. My only friend. Live, and be happy. Honor me that way. Remember me by having the life I dreamed of for you, the life you deserve.”