Will looked away. Currently he and Laina were standing in the kitchen, he with two guards holding him. Laina was free to do as she pleased, but for some reason she remained in the room. Why is she here? Will wondered. Shouldn’t she retire? Darla had been taken upstairs already, where apparently the bodyguard already had a room of her own.
Lognion was in the next room, speaking with Mark and Agnes Nerrow while he waited on servants to fetch the required implements. Glancing around once more, Will caught Laina staring at him. “You should probably go to your room. I don’t think you’ll want to see this,” he told her.
She ignored the suggestion. “This was supposed to be my punishment. The least I can do is stay with you.” She hesitated before asking, “Are you scared?”
“I’d be lying if I said otherwise,” he admitted.
They stood in silence for a minute, then she asked, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“All of it,” said Laina. “Why did you follow me in the rain? Why were you watching my home? Why would you put yourself in this position for me?”
“I thought Darla was an assassin—” he began, but she interrupted him.
“I’ve figured that out. I’m trying to understand your motivation. A while back, before she disappeared, Selene told me you were crazy, but I don’t think that’s the case. There’s definitely a reason of some sort. What is it?”
He couldn’t tell her he was her brother. Even if he were willing the two men holding his arms would hear. Cudgeling his brain, he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for his behavior. “Remember the snake, when you were a child?” he said at last.
“Huh?”
Will pointed at the scar on his cheek. “When I got this? Maybe this is just a bad habit of mine.”
Laina seemed genuinely confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can you answer without being cryptic?”
There was a stir in the next room as the man who had gone out to find the necessary items returned. His waiting would soon be done. He wasn’t about to be executed, but Will felt a sense of urgency. “For Selene,” he said quickly.
“Selene?”
“You wanted her help, but she couldn’t be there for you. I’m just trying to take care of you in her place.”
His half-sister gave him a suspicious look. “I’m not sure if I believe that, and even if it’s true, I can tell you for certain she wouldn’t want you to take the whip for me.”
“I didn’t really mean to,” said Will. “I didn’t think he would ask about her.”
“But you could have told him,” insisted Laina. “Most would say there’s no shame in obeying your king, even if it means you have to break a promise.”
He gave her a hard look. “I’m sure she’s told you about her family situation. Would you have told him?”
A shadow fell on her expression. “I’m not sure. It depends on the reason. He is the king, after all.”
“Then I made the right choice,” said Will, firming his jaw.
“What do you mean?”
“About not telling you where she is.”
She looked as though she’d been slapped. “I said it would depend on the reason! Don’t start making assumptions about me.”
The commander called to the guards and they tightened their hold on him. It was time.
It turned out that Baron Nerrow’s house contained a small atrium. The area was tiled but contained a plethora of plants, some in large planters while others hung around the edges of the open space. In the center was a bench and a statue of Temarah, presumably so that anyone enjoying the garden atmosphere could reflect on the mercy of the goddess.
Although Will hadn’t been included in the discussion between the king and Mark and Agnes Nerrow, he had heard some of it, and much of it had revolved around Agnes’ objection to using the statue of the holy mother as a whipping post. The king had won the argument, and now Will stood in front of Temarah’s stone form, his arms up and his wrists tied together behind her neck. To a casual observer it almost looked as though he was embracing the goddess.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against the statue’s chest. The cool stone felt good against his skin as he tried to stay calm. He had been stripped to the waist and the cold night air sent shivers down his back. I have to relax, he reminded himself. Someone had once told him that the damage was worse if you tensed up. How the hell can anyone relax in this situation?
“At least give him something to bite down on,” protested Mark Nerrow. He and Laina stood on one side of the atrium to observe. Agnes had gone inside, unwilling to see her garden defiled. Tabitha, the younger daughter, had awoken during all the commotion and had wanted to be present, but her mother had refused.
Lognion waved a hand dismissively, then leaned in to whisper in Will’s ear. “That would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it, William? The best part is the screaming.”
Will didn’t reply, and as the king stepped away he tried not to hear the sound of the whip being removed from the bucket of brine. He was so scared he felt like vomiting. He’d never been particularly religious, especially after learning that Aislinn and Elthas weren’t actually gods but rather lords of the fae. Even so he found his attention on the statue in front of him. Temarah, I don’t know if you’re real, but if you can help me somehow, I will be forever grateful, he thought desperately.
There was a faint whistling sound as the whip cut through the air, and then the world vanished as his awareness was consumed by white-hot agony. For a moment he lost control of his body and his legs collapsed, but strong arms held him up. A voice filtered into his mind. I am here.
Temarah? Opening his eyes, Will realized the statue was gone. In its place was a woman of flesh and blood. His arms were still tied around her neck, but it was her arms that embraced him, keeping him from sagging in place. The woman was beautiful, but in an entirely human way. Unlike the depictions he had seen in churches, her hair and eyes were brown, rather than blond and blue. She seemed ordinary, but the warmth in her gaze radiated compassion—and sorrow.
If that is what you wish to call me—most do these days.
Please help me, he begged, then the whip whistled again, and his world filled with pain.
I can’t stop the pain of living. You must endure on your own.
When he opened his eyes again, he could see the woman was weeping. She held him tighter and pressed her cheek against the side of his head. Why are you here? he asked mentally, desperate to think of anything other than the next stroke of the whip. Blinding agony overwhelmed him again, washing away his thoughts.