Page 3 of Vipers and Vendettas
Toramun re-enters once his lord is gone, and his eyes light up in anticipation when he sees all my clothes are missing. I hide my emotions, going back to staring straight ahead. I ignore the guard as he chains my arms and legs tightly so I can’t move more than half an inch in any direction.
Grinel comes forward first, looking over the symbols they put on me last time. He puts a marker tic on a couple and an X on all the others. I know the drill, and my heart starts pounding as the silver knife is brought out. I grunt as all the new brands except the first two are sliced cleanly and deeply through.
Then, it’s Volrien’s turn. He’s already heated each brand over a brazier set on the table. Each one is on its own metal rod. Eight today. The most I’ve had at once is six. I swallow hard, but I’ll be vomiting by the third. I always do. That’s why they don’t feed me for twelve hours prior to these sessions. They don’t like it when I puke on their shoes.
‘The same as we discussed?’
Grinel nods. ‘I think that’s best, don’t you?’ He glances at Toramun. ‘Be ready to begin embedding the magick the very moment the last mark is made.’
Toramun nods, grabbing the first instrument he’ll use to make me scream for him. A short whip – his favorite for the first marks he puts on me to cause me the hurt they say is needed for their magick to take.
Volrien steps forward, and I look past him at the wall, steeling myself for the pain, breathing hard through my nose and clenching my teeth. He puts the first one on my ribs under my breast. I squeal as it touches me, the hiss and the stench of my own flesh burning, making me turn to the side and dry heave. The next two are put on my shoulder at the same time, and my body shudders in the restraints. The next four, he puts in a square on my hip, and my leg jerks a little as I try to escape the biting of the metal. He gets to the eighth.
The last one.
I’m sobbing quietly. The others he did quickly, but he makes me wait for this one.
I feel his fingertip brush my breast, and my tearful eyes fly open just in time to see him press the final one into the vulnerable skin above the nipple. My loud scream is followed by other squeals and whimpers as the heat of the burns dissipates, and all that’s left is agony radiating out from them. This is the pain of the magick burning through me.
As soon as he’s clear, I feel the first lick of Toramun’s whip on my back hard enough to split the skin.
I feel woozy, my eyes closing as I droop in the chains.
I hear one of them order something I can’t quite make out, and I hear a snap. I jerk awake as I smell the ammonia under my nose.
‘Idiot! Beat her unconscious too soon, and we’ll have to do these same symbols over again,’ Volrien is hissing at Toramun.
After that, my scarred jailor takes it easy, only making my blood splatter on every fourth or fifth strike. The other two fae watch for a while, making sure whatever they’ve done to me is working properly. I don’t feel any different. But I never do.
Toramun throws the whip to the side as soon as the fae are gone, choosing a switch instead. He begins to cane me hard, starting on the backs of my thighs and moving up to my ass, where he stays for a while.
By the time he stops hitting me, the shadows in the room from the light outside have changed dramatically. He’s shirtless and dripping with sweat. My cries have mostly ceased now, and he only draws a pained whimper out of me when he hits me extra hard. I know he’s tired now, and I’m not surprised when he stops, and the other two fae re-enter. They check my marks, and I’m given the smelling salts again. I’m released from the chains, and I sink to the floor.
I wonder if this beating has been worse than the ones before it. Usually, I can stand afterward, but I can’t get up today.
I’m dying, I realize. What they’re doing to me is killing me, and my body can’t take much more. I was going to bide my time, wait, and make my cache a little bigger, listen, and learn a little more, but it’s going to have to be soon.
Very soon.
Toramun nudges me with his boot, but I ignore him. With an angry snarl, he drags me to my feet by wrapping his meaty fist in my hair and pulling me up. He grips me like that until my legs finally hold me. A ragged shift dress is flung at me, and I put it on, shuddering as it touches the many new lacerations and burns decorating me. I’d rather have nothing on. Clothes hurt, and they mean I’ll be working in the house this afternoon.
The thought fills me with excitement and with dread.
It’s going to be today.
Toramun takes me by the arm and pulls me out of the room. When I stumble, he casually snaps my forearm and grins at my weak scream.
‘The price for not giving me enough of those pretty cries in there,’ he whispers. ‘We’ll remedy that once you’re in my bed, girl.’
Cradling my broken arm, I follow him meekly down to the kitchens, ignoring the humans who stop and stare. None of the slaves here are treated particularly well, but none of them are treated like I am.
They decided between them long ago that I must have done something awful to incur their lord’s wrath, so they handle me with the appropriate level of revulsion.
I’m taken into the scullery, and Toramun orders one of the lower fae overseers to fix my arm so that I can work.
She puts a healing conjure on it without a word, giving me a vicious pinch on my leg for her trouble when it’s done.
One of the cooks tells me to wash dishes, so I stagger over to the sinks and start clearing the mountain of washing up that’s likely been accumulating since last night.
