Ycken nodded once, and the door opened, admitting two men carrying a barrel filled with glowing embers. Specksof ash floated behind them on the air as they lifted it onto the platform, right next to Khayrivven, who had unfrozen from his spot and was checking the hem of his sleeve for loose threads rather than to meet Lory’s gaze.
When she turned to Aiden, his bruised features twitched in a facsimile of a smile, and a mountain crumbled from Lory’s shoulder as she realized he might have been the only person in this room who truly understood what it felt like to choose murder over failure.
“Hand it to me.” Lenya stood from his chair, holding out his hand toward the barrel, and Khayrivven’s fingers seemed to be trembling as he picked up an iron poker from the heap of embers and carried it over to the Master of Whispers.
“Hold her down.”
Two pairs of hands grabbed Lory by the shoulders so fast she couldn’t duck under them, smashing her onto the table so hard the bowls clattered to the floor, and her teeth sang as Brunn and Ycken pinned her down.
A broad grin dominated Lenya’s face as he held up the poker in front of Lory’s wide eyes, showing her the V-shaped end with little swirls on top. A branding—this was a branding iron.
Fingernails dug into her shoulders and arms as she strained against the steel grasp, the weight of two trained and skilled fighters who’d learned to restrain armed enemies. No way out—there was no way out for Lory, and as a knife ripped through her shirt, tearing it apart from the neck down along her spine, she knew the branding iron wasn’t just for show.
Like a leonthor ripping into her with needle-sharp teeth, white-hot metal bit into the sensitive skin stretching over her shoulder blade, and Lory’s breath left her in an ear-splitting scream before the pain knocked her unconscious.
“Careful with her shoulder,”someone whispered as Lory came to, her eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings. She’d seen them once, over a fountain in one of the richer districts of the city, a creature of glimmering cerulean and emerald, its little body suspended mid-air by those tiny, powerful wings. She’d wished to be like that bird—that she could fly away, lift across the sand and misery, and disappear wherever the winds would carry her.
That had been before she’d lost all hope.
“Why is it still bleeding?” someone else asked, a female voice Lory recognized to be Anees’s.
Firm, professional hands tilted her sideways on a hard surface, the bare skin of her chest slithering over wet, smooth ground.
“She shouldn’t be bleeding.” The mild fear in Anees’s tone was a comfort as much as the pressure someone put on the throbbing spot on her shoulder where Lenya had shoved a branding iron into her skin.
How could that have happened? How could they have burned her?
“Lenya wasn’t particularly careful,” Khayrivven whispered, and Lory’s stomach constricted as a sob built in her throat.
Biting down on her tongue, Lory refused to let it hatch.
“He burned her down to the bone.” A light touch grazed the side of her shoulder as if mapping out something—a cool touch.
“Aiden,” Lory rasped, and the finger on her skin trembled.
“I’m here, Lory.” When Lory peeled her eyes open, the ice wielder was crouching beside her, one hand on her arm while the other wiped a strand of sweaty, sticky hair from her cheek.
She didn’t care that she was half naked, only that she wasn’t alone as the pain pierced deeper with every heartbeat.
“Try not to move. We’re just checking the wound and making sure it won’t get infected.” Khayrivven’s voice came from behind her, and another, warmer set of fingers ran along the edges to that throbbing area on her shoulder. “It looks all right so far.”
“How—” A cough broke out of her, followed by a cringe of agony. “How can a branding look all right?”
They’d fucking marked her with an iron the way they did cattle. And Khayrivven had stood by. He’d handed them the fucking tool.
“It’s not infected, Lory,” Anees explained, sliding around her head to her front and pulling a scarf from a satchel on the clean, black stone floor. “Here, let me cover you.” She unfolded the beige fabric and draped it over her neck and her front so her breasts were hidden. “Try not to move while Khay cleans out the wound, all right?”
Her hand rested on Lory’s shoulder, fingers closing around her biceps as if in support, but when Khayrivvenpressed a wet cloth to her shoulder, she knew it wasn’t for comfort; it was to keep her from thrashing and fighting as white-hot pain seared her flesh all over again.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” She didn’t care who might hear her scream at the captain, whom everyone feared. Right now, all she cared about was the way her mind seemed to detach from her tormented body.
Khayrivven didn’t stop dabbing her raw flesh, but his movements were gentle, as were his murmured apologies. “Only a little while longer, Gutter Gem. I’m almost done.”
When he pulled back his hand, Aiden leaned over her side, placing his fingers by the edge of her wound, sending enough of his magic into her to numb the pain.
“You’re doing great, Lory. Just breathe.” Anees helped Khayrivven lower her back to her stomach, and Lory’s gaze landed on the puddle of blood-laced liquid beside her, seeping into Khayrivven’s pants where he was kneeling on the floor, a blood-stained cloth in his hand, and his brows knitted together as he kept staring at her naked shoulder.
She didn’t get to tell him how little she cared what he thought after what he’d done to her. Unconsciousness swept her away before she could spit as much as a word at him.
