“No—”
“Fifty, then? I can keep going but it’s getting pretty ridiculous at this point.” I kneel in front of him and tap the soles of his feet. “Fortunately for you, these are pretty big, so we’ve got a lot of room to work with. Fifty lashes, then. One for each female, or male, you’ve harassed or raped or whatever it is pigs like you do. Now, I’m not the best at math so I’ll need you to keep track of these for me. We wouldn’t want me to forget where I am and have to start all over, would we?”
His only response is another sob.
“Excellent.”
I close my eyes and concentrate. Bones crack and shift, tissue expands, my skin stretches and lightens, my eyes darken, and hair recedes, until I’ve created the precise shape I’m looking for. It aches a little, the change, but it also feels good, like stretching a muscle after long periods of inactivity. I settle back on my heels, then rip off the blindfold and watch Berezin’s eyes widen as he looks not ontomyface, but his own. I don’t often take the form of the men I torture, but it seemed fitting in this instance. Not only will nobody believe him when he says he was tortured by himself, but the events of today will haunt him every time he looks in the mirror for the rest of his life. That’s the real torment.
“Ready?” I raise the cane.
He screams.
10
Ididn’t get up quite as early as I'd intended. My first foray into hard alcohol resulting in the most miserable morning of my life. I’m still a bit queasy, but at least my headache is gone, and I managed to heal the bruises on my face with the sythra Mama gave me. I wish I could heal this damn hangover, but if there is a way to do it, I don’t know how. I’m honestly lucky it wasn’t worse, considering the way I spoke to Leodin. I must have lost my mind. I’ve always had a smart mouth, and it’s gotten me in more trouble than I can count, but that was a whole other level of stupidity.
Still, I’m doing what I said and visiting the princess. Hopefully, I’ll find a juicy bit of information that will keep my stepfather from ripping my head off the next time he sees me. One can only hope. Elsbeth’s room is down the hall on the right—that’s what the maid told me—but I would have known it, regardless. There’s no mistaking the sound of Elsbeth’s voice, which is so loud it’sleaked into the hallway.
I stop at the door, raise my hand to knock, then pause. Now that I’m closer, I can hear a male’s voice, as well, and he doesn’t sound too pleased. Maybe I should come back later. If she’s with the prince or worse, Lieutenant Aemon, the gods only know how they’ll react to me showing up at the princess’s door unannounced. Sitting beside Aemon last night, while he speared and chomped on his food like it had done him some personal injustice, was so uncomfortable, I’d almost have rather gone back to Berezin and his wandering hands. I’m just about to turn around and make a run for it when the door swings open and once again, I come face-to-face with Aemon Cregg.
Fabulous.
Aemon stops short, and he blinks, as though he’s as shocked to see me as I am him. Then that annoyingly attractive smirk spreads across his face and he leans his forearm against the doorframe, blocking my view inside. “You lost, witchling?”
“I… uh…”Good gods, Katya get it together.“I came to see Elsbeth.”
He scratches the underside of his cleanly shaven chin. “Did you? And here I thought you came to visit me.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I say, reaching up to tuck an errant lock behind my ear.
Aemon grabs my wrist. “Who did this to you?”
“What?” I attempt to pull my arm away, but he isn’t letting go. He twists it slightly, showing me what he sees: a mottled blue and purple bruise covering half my forearm. I hadn’t wanted to waste a sythra healing it. I didn’t think anyone would notice, truth be told.
I guess I was mistaken.
Aemon brushes a calloused thumb over my pulse point, his gentle touch at odds with his furious expression. “Who did this to you?” he asks again.
Heat floods my veins, and my drawers grow damp. Gods, can he smell it? I swear, if he says he can smell my arousal, I will die of humiliation. “Uh, I fell,” I finally manage to say.
“Katya.” The tone of his voice brooks no argument, but it’s the sound of my name on his lips that’s turning my legs to jelly. It’s almost musical the way he says it, Kat-ya, his deep baritone drawing out the word—dancing with it.
“Katya,” he says, more sharply this time.
That wakes me up. I jerk my hand free. “It isn’t a big deal. Really. I’ve had much worse.” That was definitely the wrong thing to say. If anything, he looks even angrier. His eyes are slits, jaw clenched so tight he’s sure to chip a tooth.
“Excuse me,” he says, storming off down the hall, and I’m left standing in the open doorway with what must be a befuddled expression on my face, watching him leave.
That was… What in the world was that?
When I turn back around, I find both the prince and princess looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Hi,” I say, with an awkward wave.
For a split second, the prince glares at me, his eyes so full of malice, I take a step back out of fear. Then just as quickly it disappears, and he’s smiling. It’s so sudden a shift, I’m not certain I saw it at all. He crosses the room, arms spread wide like he’s welcoming me into the fold. “Hello to you. I don’t believe we’ve met.” The prince takes my hand and cups it between both of his. I think it’s meantas a kind gesture, but it feels more like he’s making sure I can’t get away. Stupid, I know.
Elsbeth takes mercy on me and answers since my brain is not fully functioning yet. “This is Katya. Katya, this is my husband, Prince Troi.”
