"Mildred..." I breathed the moment I saw her.
She was bound upright against a heavy wooden restraint fixed to the center post of the tent, her wrists shackled high above her head with iron cuffs while chains kept her ankles secured to the base. It was a crude but effective Roman device, meant less for torment than to ensure a prisoner could neither flee nor lash out during interrogation.
I had seen the very same thing through drawings from Pippa's textbook, my best friend and roommate who also happens to be a historian.
Marcus remained at my side as several legionaries shifted into position around her, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. To anyone else, the precaution might have seemed excessive for a middle-aged woman.
But if she truly was the priestess Marcus believed her to be, none of them were willing to underestimate her.
"Good to see you again, Lady Helena," she said with a crooked smile. Her teeth were yellowed, her eyes brighter than I remembered, almost feverish. Gone was the gentle caretaker Gen had trusted like family.
In her place, stood someone who reminded me of the witches from old fairy tales, the sort that smiled before leading children into the woods.
"Or should I call you Elena instead?" she continued, tilting her head. "At least that is what your husband told me your true name was. Elena."
"How did you end up here?" I asked quietly. "Gen—"
"Do not speak of his name!" she shrieked, the words echoing against the canvas walls. "You faithless little bitch!"
She lunged as far as the chains allowed.
The iron restraints snapped taut with a violent clang.
I could feel Marcus's arm on my waist, gently pulling me back.
At once, two legionaries seized the lengths of the chain attached to her shackles, hauling them back until the metal bit into her wrists and forced her upright again. She hissed through her clenched teeth, pain twisting her features but the fury in her eyes never left me.
For a heartbeat, the entire tent fell silent.
Then Mildred laughed.
A dry, broken sound that sent a chill racing down my spine.
"How did you end up here?" I repeated, refusing to let her insults distract me.
Mildred let out a rasping laugh.
"How do you think, you foolish girl?" she sneered. "I followed you. The moment I saw those Roman rats surrounding the manor, I knew exactly where they were taking you."
Her gaze shifted slowly over me, lingering with unsettling satisfaction.
"So?" she asked. "Are you carrying his child?"
My stomach twisted.
"Lord Gwrgenau would be pleased if you were." Her smile widened. "He might even spare your life."
I felt Marcus stiffen beside me.
Without taking his eyes off her, he gave the slightest tilt of his head.
And the chains jerked tight, iron scraped against wood as Mildred cried out, her wrists wrenched higher by the shackles until pain forced the laughter from her throat.
"Enough," I bit out, my hand finding Marcus's forearm, fingers curling around it.
"You're hurting her," I murmured.
His jaw tightened beneath the flickering torchlight, but with a small motion of his fingers, he signaled the soldiers to release the tension.
The chains slackened.
Mildred sagged against the restraints, breathing hard.
"Tell her what you told me, witch," Marcus said, his voice cold enough to still the room. "And if I discover you lied, I will not hesitate to have those restraints tightened until your shoulders tear from their sockets."
Mildred answered by spitting at his feet.
A streak of blood followed the saliva, staining the dirt but then she threw her head back and laughed. The sound was hoarse, almost manic, sending goosebumps down my spine.
"No," she rasped, turning her fever-bright eyes toward me. "You tell me first."
Her smile widened. "Are you with child?"
I felt Marcus shift beside me.
"My answer depends on whether you are carrying my lord's heir."
"Why would that mat—"
Marcus started to interject, but I reached for his arm, my fingers curling around the fabric of his uniform.
"No," I answered quietly, never taking my eyes off her. "I am not."
For the first time since we had entered the tent, Mildred's smile faltered.
"Oh."
She lowered her head, letting out something between a sigh and a laugh.
"Too bad," she said, her gaze fixed squarely on me. "I was hoping you were."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Enough," Marcus snapped. "Tell us what you know."
Mildred laughed again, though this time it sounded weary.
"The longer you remain in this age, the harder it becomes to leave," she said. "But I am loyal to my lord. And truthfully, I think you would have suited him well. He needed an heir—"
Her words broke off in a cry of pain.
One of the legionaries had tightened the chains at Marcus's signal, forcing her wrists higher against the restraints.
"Stop it," I said sharply, grabbing Marcus's arm. "We're not going to get any answers if you keep hurting her."
The muscle in his jaw flexed.
For a moment, I thought he might ignore me until he lifted his two fingers, and the chains actually slackened.
Mildred sagged against the wooden frame, breathing heavily.
"Get to the point, witch," Marcus said coldly. "Your life means nothing to me. If you die, I will simply find someone else who knows what you know. Perhaps someone who knows more."
A flicker of fear crossed her face, but only for a moment.
Then it vanished beneath another smile.
"You Romans," she muttered. "Always believing knowledge can be taken at sword point."
She tilted her head and looked directly at me. "You want to know if there is still hope?"
The tent fell silent.
"There is only one way out," Mildred said, her gaze settling on me. "The same way you came."
She flicked her chin toward the scar hidden beneath my hair, the one she helped hide. "You arrived through blood and death. To return, the wound must be opened once more. The circle must be completed. Though I personally have never heard anyone from the future, coming back into the past."
My stomach turned.
"You expect me to die?" I whispered.
"No." Mildred smiled. "Not die. Merely stand where death once welcomed you."
Marcus's expression darkened, as Mildred turned to face him once more, the smile vanishing from her face. "As for you, Roman, you do not belong where she comes from."
The tent seemed to grow colder.
Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "I have lived there for a year."
"You visited it," Mildred corrected. "That is not the same thing."
Her eyes gleamed as she looked between us.
"You were born here. Your blood belongs here. Your ancestors lie beneath this soil, worthless they may be. Every road that led to your birth began in this age."
My throat tightened.
I had been born in this age. My family, my ancestors, everyone who had come before me had lived somewhere in this timeline. I didn't truly belong in the time I grew up in, I know this...but that can't mean I wouldn't be able to go back, would it? There must be another way.
Mildred continued anyway, not knowing that my biological family were the ones who betrayed her lord and colluded with the Romans.
"She is a branch torn from the tree, but you are the tree itself. So she may leave..." her eyes drifted to me, "but you may not."
Marcus's jaw flexed, her words striking harder than any blow.
"I will be outside," I said, my hand on his shoulder as I turned back towards the flaps of the tent. But I only made it halfway, when I heard laughter erupting behind me.
I froze.
"Have my words affected you so, Helena?" Mildred cackled, exaggerating on every syllable of the fake name I had once used.
The chains rattled violently as her laughter shook through the tent.
"Oh, I had thought your Roman husband would be delighted."
Her gaze flicking toward Marcus, before returning to me.
"After all, not only did he steal you from the destiny the gods intended, but he has managed to trap you here." Her smile widened. "It is all working in according to his liking."
I felt Marcus go rigid, as Mildred's eyes gleamed with vicious satisfaction.
"You have no home. No future. No world waiting for you beyond this one."
Then she tilted her head.
"And all so you may spend the rest of your days as a Roman commander's little whore."