Page 25 of Thorns and Echoes

He gazed into her eyes and obeyed. The dinner, the wine, the vial. He began to tell her how he left the palace, but she interrupted. "The bitch drank it all?" she demanded.

No. No no no.The annoying little voice had returned.

"Yes, Mistress. I made sure of it."

She smiled. "Good toy." Her claws stroked through his hair and down his cheek, resting at the curve of his neck. "If you're lying to me…" The tips pricked his pulse.

His eyes widened. "Never, Mistress. I would never lie to you, I swear."

Her claws dug a little deeper. "Then you killed her. How does it feel?" she crooned.

He had killed someone. Who? He opened his mouth to speak, but a shooting pain lanced across his eyes. His vision darkened. The pain traveled to his chest, tightness closing in like a fist. He couldn't breathe.

“I asked you a question, toy.”

She was irritated. He needed to please her. A gasping breath entered his lungs.

Sight clearing, he winced and whispered, "I'm sorry, Mistress. My head – I can’t… It hurts." He felt like he was talking with cotton stuffed into his mouth.

Her lips pressed together, and she let go of his hair. Turning, she shouted, “Frances!”

Her sharp tone sent a blinding jolt of pain between his eyes. He groaned.

Scurrying footsteps hurried to the Queen’s side. She snapped at the newcomer, “What is wrong with him?”

A soft, low voice responded, “That would be the drugs, my Queen. The conditioning needs to be reinforced after–”

“You told me the trance was stable,” she snapped.

The man cleared his throat, murmuring, “Over half a year ago, yes. B-But it only needs to be reinforced. A few weeks, a moon at most, and…”

Castien ignored the man. He was not Mistress. No one else mattered.

The man’s wheedling tone continued, “…If we had activated him sooner…”

“Yes, that’s very true,” the Queen purred. “That’s why Tarin is dead. He failed me. You won’t fail me, will you, Frances?”

Garbled nonsense and pleading whimpers emitted from the man’s mouth.

Eventually, she snarled, “Fine. Take him, then. And Frances? Be very careful. I want him healthy. I want him obedient. And I want the trance permanent!”

“Yes, my Queen. A moon, no more, I swear. Thank you, my Queen.”

Rough hands grasped his arms, lifted him to his feet. His legs barely held his weight as he was dragged out of the Queen’s bedroom. The halls passed by in a blur. Servants lowered their heads, none of them meeting his eyes. His consciousness faded in and out.

His head still hurt, but the weight on his chest had lifted. The voice felt alert. It didn’t speak, but he found himself tracking the turns of corridors, the faint smell of bread that indicated kitchens or a dining hall. He dismissed the effort. It didn’t matter where he was. Mistress would take care of him.

They entered a room, much smaller than the Queen’s, stark and unadorned. He was tossed onto the small cot that took up most of the space. Two men worked quickly, strapping down his wrists and ankles. The constraints felt like leather. Softer than before. He remembered iron shackles. Chains.

A tremble began in his arms.

But everything was alright. The quiet people moving around him were normal. A vaguely familiar face hovered over him. Frances. The man told him to open his mouth. He slowly relaxed. A bitter liquid rolled down his tongue.

The courtesan remembered a cell. This room was better than a cold, damp dungeon cell. He was fed and watered. No one brought him clothes, but his skin grew accustomed to the chill. The room wasn't too cold. Or maybe his flesh was numb.

Time passed. There was no window in his room to tell the time, no candles. But that was alright. He awaited the pleasure of his Mistress. He slept, woke, slept again. Servants untied and bathed him. The man – Frances, he reminded himself, though he wasn't sure why the name mattered – spoke to him. Castien couldn't hold on to the words. Frances sounded irritated, then angry, then frantic.

The courtesan couldn't hear him because his chest ached, and his mind felt like it was in a fog. His dreams were nightmares soaked in blood and, strangely, roses. Rose petals, rose buds, roses in full bloom. Every flower was red. Even the leaves were red.