“What were you going to say,” Sindy asked, “before you wererudelyinterrupted?”
The hellhound’s middle head turned to give her an unamused look.
“I meant to ask if you’ve ever heard of Hera’s Whip.”
Sindy squinted, thinking hard, then shook her head. But beside me, Cerberus went rigid. A low, rolling growl vibrated through the bed, and plumes of smoke, dotted with tiny embers, puffed from each of his snouts.
“You know what it is, don’t you?” I whispered to him. “But you can’t speak.”
He whined, a sound of deep agitation, and shoved his central head against my chest. I sank my fingers into his ebony fur to calm him, though I didn’t feel calm myself.
Frantically, I scrambled for Sindy’s smuggled books, scattering them across the quilt. My fingers trembled as I clawed through indexes, flipped past chronicles of the Tale of Hera—searching for any mention of a whip, or anything even remotely connected. Nothing. The Queen of the Gods wielded a different kind of power. Her arsenal was politics and the careful venom of persuasion. She had bound Zeus once with Aphrodite’s girdle. Her warfare was psychological.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the grim picture, fear coiling in my gut. Kingsley would show no mercy.
I might have dozed for a minute, caught in an anxious twilight, and I startled when the door burst open again.
Morrigan filled the frame, her face carved from winter, her eyes accusing as they landed on me.
“It’s time,” she announced, her voice devoid of all warmth. “All students are required to attend. You will witness Professor Ravencrux’s discipline.” Her gaze held mine. “You have been given a front-row seat, a special request from Professor Kingsley. I am here to collect you.”
Chapter
Five
Bloom
Weight of Consequence
The blood drained from my face.
Nero was bound to an iron post, his wrists dragged high above his head by heavy chains. He wore only loose trousers, his torso bare and exposed. His back was turned to the crowd—to me—and between his shoulder blades, spanning the width of his powerful back, was a tattoo. A portrait of a crowned redhead, her features hauntingly like my own, rendered in ink. Black roses bloomed at her feet, thorny stems winding like swirling shadows. My breath caught. When had he gotten that?
I’d never seen it—I was always facing him when he fucked me, and even when his back was to me, it must have been concealed by magic or dim light until this terrible moment.
Students and faculty pressed together in a suffocating mass, their collective breath a heated fog in the air, their giddy anticipation an unwelcome weight.
Each House stood as a distinct island in the sea of onlookers. House Ravencrux—hybrids, shifters, and something else—formed a somber bloc. They wore asymmetrical mauve folds: the men in frock coats fastened with dark buttons, the women in high-collared gowns with charcoal embroidery curling along the bodice. I wore one as well. Heavy fabric, a constricting bodice, the skirt brushing the cobblestones.
Across the way, House Kingsley gathered, a wave of arrogance clad in deep blues and golds. House Stardust’s coven of witches and mages formed a third point, shrouded in purple.
A stifling silence fell, the air sharp with the metallic taste of impending violence. Every eye fixed on the brutal sight at the center of the gothic courtyard: Professor Ravencrux, chained to the whipping post like a fallen dark god.
Kingsley loomed behind Nero, clad in silver armor, Hera’s Whip in his grip. I could feel its vile, cursed power from where I stood. The dark metal seemed to writhe as if alive. Iron barbs protruded from its braided length, glinting with a sickly green sheen. Its hungry whisper crept over my skin like the voices of the damned. I knew instinctively it would not only inflict pain but drain the victim’s power. I could feel its unholy need to consume life force and power. This wasn’t meant to punish. It was meant to break.
Morrigan brought me to Headmistress Stardust, who sat upon a cushioned seat among a handful of other professors. Sebastian sat with them, surprisingly, though he was meant to be a student, or did he only pose as one? His eyes found me, and for the first time since I’d known him, they held no trace of emotion. The usual warmth, the practiced charm—gone. He simply watched.
The headmistress gave a slight nod. Two sentinels stepped forward and escorted me toward Nero, making me stand only a few feet from him. That was what they’d meant by giving me a front-row view.
I tried not to tremble. I tried to hold on to some dignity. But I shook like a leaf. I might not need an inhaler anymore, but I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t pass out. I dropped my gaze to the ground, afraid that if I locked eyes with Nero, I would shatter in front of him, in front of everyone. I scolded myself, forcing steel into my spine, but I had none, not when I saw Nero chained. Right now, I needed the hellhound more than anything, but he only ever guarded me at night.
“She’s not supposed to be here!” Nero snarled, the chains rattling as he strained against them. “She’s not supposed to see this!”
“Your little whore is exactly where she belongs,” Kingsley said, his voice smug and cruel. “You might have found a loophole to spare her the lashes, but she will witness this. If you thought her such a fragile flower, you should never have plucked her. This is all on you.”
“Go fuck yourself, you piece of shit,” Nero hissed with pure hatred. Then he turned his head and barked, “Stardust! Get her out of here!”
“She’s outvoted,” Kingsley chuckled. “The entire committee voted for your squeeze toy to watch your punishment. You wanted to play the hero in an epic romance where you rescued your lady? You got it.”
