Page 21 of Discordant Cultivation

“Good.”

Vale removed the scalpel from its sterile packaging and tested the edge against his gloved thumb, then pressed the blade against the numbed skin on Kieran’s arm. “I need you to hold still so I don’t make a mistake.”

Kieran seemed as frozen as his arm, staring at the blade like he could will it to disappear. He didn’t move.

The first cut was shallow. Kieran would feel a little pressure but not the pain, at least not at first, his face screwing up in confusion at the wrongness of sensation without hurt.

Blood welled up immediately, a thin line of red against pale skin.

“Play,” Vale said.

Kieran stared at his arm, at the cut, at Vale. “I don’t understand w-what you—”

“Play the song.”

Kieran’s hands found the guitar, his fingers clumsy from the cold and shock. He managed the opening notes, but it was worse than before—his technique was compromised by confusion and delayed pain—but he was functional.

Still trying to hide.

Vale watched him play through the first verse, noting the way Kieran kept glancing at his arm where blood ran down toward his wrist.

“Again,” Vale said when Kieran finished. “From the beginning.”

“But I ju-just—”

“Again.”

Kieran started over, and Vale retrieved another ice pack from the medical case. He applied it to a different section of Kieran’s forearm while he played and held it in place through the entire song, watching the cold seep in, watching Kieran’s fingers grow clumsier as sensation faded from a new area.

When Kieran finished, Vale removed the ice pack and made a second cut. Parallel to the first.

Kieran’s fingers stumbled on the strings, missed a note, but he kept going. The first cut must have started burning as circulation returned, and now there was a second adding to the sensation.

“Again,” Vale said.

“I’m trying—” Kieran’s voice cracked. “I don’t kn-know what you w-want from me.”

Vale didn’t answer. He just watched him start the song again.

Kieran’s playing degraded with each repetition. The notes stumbled, his rhythm faltered, and his voice broke as he tried to sing. But he still tried, desperately attempting to give Vale something even as blood dripped onto the guitar strings.

Fascinating. Higher pain tolerance than expected.

Vale let him finish the song, then reached for a leather restraint in the box.

Kieran saw it and went rigid. “What are those?”

“You’re going to want to pull away,” Vale said, securing the cuff around Kieran’s wrist and wound the rest of the restraint around his hand like a leash. “This prevents that.”

“Wait—” Kieran tried to pull back, but Vale pulled his arm straight.

Kieran pulled back, but Vale jerked his arm forward. “No—t-take this off—”

Vale applied ice to a third section of Kieran’s arm, yanking him forward a second time as he tried to pull away. “If you keep this up, I’ll end up dislocating your shoulder. Stop fighting.”

“Please don’t.” Kieran’s voice had gone tight with real fear now. “P-please, I’ll do whatever you want, ju-just don’t—”

Vale removed the ice pack after five minutes and made a third and fourth cut while Kieran shook, his eyes wide and glistening with tears. Vale felt a strange warmth in his belly as he thought about licking those tears, but he pushed the thought away.