Page 78 of Nightshade

“Only those who suffer long for such things. Show me.”

His fingers dug deeper, her neck taught with his wrenching. “You are so consumed by my pain, but do you know the depth of it? Do you honestly think you could understand the monster that they have made me, with a few lashings to your flesh?”

Brows knitted, she shook her head. “I do not mean to mock your punishment. I only want to slip beneath your skin. If for a moment.”

“Then, I will grant you this request. And mark my words, Lustina, you will regret having asked for it.”

He unlatched her dress, which fell to the floor, and reached for the hem of her shift, pulling it up toward her tethered hands, so that her face was hidden behind the fabric. Cold air touched her completely exposed body. As he backed himself away, Lustina could feel the knots tap at her unclothed back. A warning.

“I knew the very moment I laid eyes on you that you were too good. Too pure. Some say it is in the eyes, but I could smell it on the air. I wanted to drown in it. So perfect was your soul.”

“I am far from perfect, My Lord.”

“So we shall see. When the first strike hits your flesh and makes that terrible sound of splitting skin.” The descriptions he’d planted in her head turned her stomach, stirring up the first pangs of regret. “We will see precisely how imperfect you can be. And do you know what it is you cry out, when that pain becomes so unbearable you can scarcely breathe?”

On a sharp exhale through her nose, she shook her head.

“You cry mercy. Yet, even then it will not make a difference. For no one pities the unloved.”

Her body trembled. She clenched her eyes, waiting for the strike to her flesh, and imagined him in the room with all those men who longed to hurt him. Ignoring his pleas for mercy. Lifting her chin in resignation, she steeled her muscles.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Seconds ticked away, until the first touch of a finger brushed over her shoulder and lips trailed after.

“I would sooner watch the world and every creature in it burn to the ground than to raise my hand against you, Lustina. You are the only thing that matters to me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she bit back the urge to break, as he lowered the fabric from her eyes. With her arms still tethered, he kissed her throat while running his hand over her hip. “The only torment I wish to inflict is my own. Touching you, and knowing that you will never belong to me. You will never be mine to keep from the world.” Fingers curled into her dress, he pulled her against him, stretching her arms still caught in the binds. “I want to be good. If for no one else, then for you.”

“My Lord--Jericho--I feel the strangest things when I am with you. Inexplicable things.”

“Then, you feel as I do.” His arm tightened around her possessively, and he kissed her neck harder, the thrill of his lips buckling her knees. “The next time they have me tied to these very chains, I shall think of you, here, like this. And I shall imagine all the ways I would have you. You will be my mercy.”

“Will such thoughts bring peace to your punishment?”

“It will not. But it will anger them to know how much I enjoy their suffering.”

25

Farryn

After an hour of showing me around the cathedral, all its secret little nooks and crannies, Anya led me past an impressive organ. Its gleaming silver pipes, housed within an ornate, gilded casing with intricate carvings and cherubs, took up the length of an entire wall.

“The original pipes were salvaged from the fire, but the entire organ had to be rebuilt from scratch.”

“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so impressive.”

“Should you hear it sometime, it’d leave you almost breathless.”

“Does Van Croix play?”

“Yes. He’s quite good. But it’s rare that he indulges us with his talent. The origins of the pipe organ go back as far as the ancient Greeks. Not this elaborately, of course. But it is most impressive, the inventions of the mind.”

“It is. As are those who can create with such inventions.”

“Indeed. Let’s keep on, shall we? So many more rooms to explore, but I’ll end this tour with one more.”

Past the organ, she came to a stop in front of a door that reminded me of something out of the medieval era, with a rounded top, black iron hinges and hardware, and ornamental ironwork over the wood. It opened on a long creak, onto a stone staircase that ascended into specks of dust that drifted aimlessly along a faint beam from somewhere above. Strange, the way light behaved differently in this place. As if it fancied the shadows. We followed the winding staircase until it opened up to an octagonal room, with rows upon rows of bookshelves. Shelves that went into an upper level accessible by another set of stairs. So many books in one place. In what I guessed to be the top room of one of the massive turrets, I moved to one of the windows and stared out to the yard below. At that height, I could see the magnificent maze I’d seen on arrival, which appeared to be much bigger than I’d realized.