Ansel did, wincing.
Edric glared. "Look at yer weakness," he spat contemptuously. "Would that ye had simply died in yer failure."
Keeping his head bowed, Ansel knew better than to argue. Hehadfailed, regardless of who had been at fault. The Macrae clan had escaped, and Nessa was gone.
The king stood and walked the few paces over to Ansel. He spat his next words with the force of a catapult, and with each point he kicked Ansel hard in the side. "Fallin' for a rebel ambush!" Kick. "Killin' one of mebestsoldiers!" Kick. "Losin'the O'Sullivan lass!"
Ansel toppled to the side as his father's boot drove into him, first his side and then his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. He resisted the urge to curl up on himself defensively, knowing that any further sign of weakness would only make this worse.
After what seemed like an eternity, his father backed off. "Stand," Edric commanded.
It took a few tries, but Ansel was finally able to struggle to his feet. His shoulder ached and his back was on fire, and with the new bruises forming on his side and stomach, his body felt ready to fall apart. Nonetheless, he stood straight, not letting the agony show.
"Yer punishment awaits in the dungeons. Come." Edric abruptly walked toward the door, and Ansel did not hesitate to follow.
His guts churned and, no matter how much he battled it, a spark of fear careened through his body. He knew what was coming. He knew that the pain he was feeling now was nothing compared to what was coming next.
Following his father along the corridor, Ansel passed Baldric again. His cousin now stood alone, the cook nowhere to be seen. Baldric stepped forward despite Ansel shaking his head.
"Uncle," Baldric said. "Perhaps another punishment? Ansel is already clearly injured. Maybe we can?—"
"Out of the way," Edric snarled. "Dinnae question me, lad, lest ye want tae face the same punishment."
Baldric grimaced. "Then let me hold the lash, Uncle. Allow me tae learn the ways of yer strength."
Edric laughed, a cruel, loud guffaw that echoed around the walls. "Oh, very good! Ye think I'm a fool? I ken ye have a soft spot for one another. Ye think I'll allow ye tae go easy on he who has failed me?"
"Uncle—"
Ansel stepped forward. "Father is correct, Baldric. I am tae face me punishment for me failures. Dinnae intervene."
Baldric looked aghast, but met Ansel's eyes, then gave a grim nod. He stepped backward, bowing his head. "Forgive me intervention, Uncle," he muttered.
The king gave Ansel a piercing look. "Hm. Perhaps ye're nae a total loss yet. Come."
Without any further words, Ansel followed Edric past Baldric and down the corridor. They reached the staircase leading to the dungeon and started down, every jolting step sending fresh stabbing pain through Ansel's wounds.
Edric led him through the dungeons in silence. Usually when Ansel came down here he heard the prisoners crying out for help or mercy, but today they were silent. No doubt they saw who had come. Edric led him to the darkest part of the dungeons, past the cells where they kept their most valuable prisoners.
"Ferda…" a weak voice muttered. "Run…"
Ansel turned to the sound and saw two women in the cell. He recognized them instantly: the White Sparrows they had captured more than a month before. They looked in a sorry state. The older woman knelt on the ground, her hair lank and tangled, deep circles under her eyes. The younger one was a thousand times worse. Her head lay on the older woman's lap, but she was so thin as to be almost emaciated, twitching and mumbling as the older woman tried to soothe her.
"She's goin' tae die," Ansel breathed, unable to stop himself. "What use will she be as a prisoner then?"
Edric glanced in the cage, contempt in his voice. "They're bein' kept alive until such time as I find the best value from them. If she dies, she dies. I only need the leader—and the spies and traitors dinnae need tae ken they're bargainin' for a corpse. Now,move."
They moved on, but Ansel locked eyes with the older woman as they did. She did not ask for help, nor did she show any anger. She simply stared with a gaze that he knew would haunt him far longer than his scars.
At last, they reached an empty room with manacles on the wall and floor and a small shelf containing the instruments of the torturer's trade. Ansel looked around, frowning.
"Where is he?" he asked. "Cartwright never misses a chance tae flay the skin from a traitor."
Edric moved to the shelf, pondering the tools there. "I will act alone. Remove yer shirt and go tae the wall. Do I need tae use the manacles?"
Ansel shook his head, his stomach lurching. He removed his shirt as instructed and walked to the wall, leaning his hands against it.
Edric approached after a moment. He prodded first at the wounded shoulder and then at his back, causing Ansel to grit his teeth and fight a scream.
