"You are hereby and forthwith found guilty of witchcraft."
The chief magistrate glared at her. Melanie was shackled, ragged, barefoot.
"I'm innocent."
"You don't look innocent to me.” He was sick of excuses. “So, it's either death by fire. Death by water. Or…"
"I can't stand fire."
"Or, you can marry my nephew, Mel."
Melanie knew him – Mel, who smelled so much of tarrow and smiled oddly.
"I'll take water."