7. The Unpleasantness
The Unpleasantness
J ezebel’s screech of rage pierced through the otherwise calm morning, and Mila heard the echo, audible despite the thick walls of her suite. A moment later, a burly, buzz-haired guard burst into her room and roughly seized her, dragging her from her bed before she’d even had time to dress. Even if she hadn’t still been suffering horrendous pangs from the rubane withdrawals, the manner of her entry back into Jezebel’s room would have been painful. The brute all but dragged her up the stairs and tossed her roughly onto the floor, where she landed firmly at the feet of a small crowd of serving staff. They stood huddled together like scared chickens, waiting for a fox’s judgement. Mila felt waves of streaming tension flowing from the group, but after she blinked for a moment and orientated herself, she swiftly realised that the tension was not for her.
The guard who had been kind to Mila the previous evening now knelt in the centre of the circle of people. His shirt was ripped, and his bare chest was half visible through the torn linen. His face was downturned, but Mila could still see him bleeding from three long lines across his cheek. Scratches, she realised, from Jezebel’s strike. Despite the hubbub, he seemed calm, and his body remained motionless, but when Mila gently let her horns extend a little, she could feel his fear pulsing out quickly in time with his heartbeat.
“You took it upon yourself?” Jezebel’s tone was stiff and cold. “To remove something I own from my possession, without my knowledge?”
Her face was red with rage, but Mila also sensed glee emanating from her. She was clearly relishing this, a welcome opportunity to reinforce her power and ensure that even those closest and most loyal to her knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would be punished if they put a foot wrong.
“I believe that’s defined as theft, Jahan!” Her voice now became hysterical. “Have you been stealing from me all these years? Removing anything else you saw fit to part from me?”
“No, Highness, never,” Jahan replied instantly, contritely.
“Never?” Jezebel lambasted. “Well, you did last night! How am I to believe anything you have to say about the matter? How am I to ever trust you again?”
Jahan had no reply to this, or perhaps realised that a reply was futile. Mila realised with shock that Jezebel was equating his gesture of simple human kindness – a bed and room to herself – as the equivalent of robbery. As though Jahan had removed jewels from the room without asking Jezebel’s permission.
Mila felt what little hope had bubbled in her chest the night before dissolve. This woman was truly mad.
“Nothing to say?” Jezebel crowed. “Well, then… ” Her tone returned to its earlier calm with chilling swiftness, “The punishment for thievery is usually the loss of a hand.” She let that statement linger in the warm morning air for a moment before continuing on. “However, you’ve been loyal enough for many years. We’ve known each other since we were children. That bond does not mean nothing to me. Would you like to keep your hand?”
“Highness…” Jahan’s reply was barely audible.
“Louder!” Jezebel demanded.
“Yes, Highness.”
“Beg me, Jahan. Beg me for your hand.”
Jahan did not hesitate, as though he’d seen enough of Jezebel’s punishments over the years to know that she only responded to utter subservience, and for him to hold onto any sense of pride was futile.
“I beg of you, Princess, daughter of the Almighty God-King Midas, powerful, beautiful and magnificent.” His voice was low and quiet. Mila heard true contrition laced in every word. “Please, forgive your servant for his transgression. It shall never be repeated. The lessons learned today shall be applied henceforth through every step of any future service I am graced to bestow upon your person. I remain your most devoted servant. Please, allow me to keep my hand.”
Jezebel let the silence fester for a long moment, then spoke. “I will be gracious this time.” She paused and considered her next words. “You may keep your hand, and you may even remain in my retinue as one of my guards, although you will no longer be permitted to be my Guard of the Body.”
His shoulders did not relax an inch at the sentence, as though he knew this outcome was too good to be true and was waiting for the true blow to fall.
He was not wrong.
Jezebel luxuriated in the tension before continuing in a somewhat lecturing tone. “I suspect this transgression was influenced, not through a sincere desire to steal for me, but by what you took to be a situation where a pretty, young woman needed care. You are wrong. You forgot for a moment, I suspect, that she is a demon. She has committed the First Heretical Behaviour. A reminder to all,” she raised her voice and cast her gaze about the audience, “this means she sold her soul to obtain demonic powers. She is a heretic. She is a living evil, and treating her as anything other than that sets a dangerous precedent on how to treat her while she remains in my service.” She turned her attention directly back to Jahan. “Her unsuspecting appearance and meek demeanour fooled you into believing she is one of us. She is not.”
Jezebel let that statement simmer, marinating in the attention of her captive audience. “Now that I’ve schooled you on one of the behaviours, it’s your turn. Remind me, Jahan, what is the Sixth Heretical Behaviour?”
Jahan did not hesitate, as though he’d been born reciting the Holy Text. “The Sixth Heretical Behaviour is any display of disrespect towards the Church of Midas.”
“And would you concede that your lapse of judgement about the demon straddles that line of heresy? Flirts with it, perhaps?”
Jahan remained silent. Everyone in the room knew what Jezebel was doing. The Sixth Heretical Behaviour was a famous catch-all for any sin. Anything could be considered an act of disrespect towards the Church in the right context.
“Let your eyes never deceive you again,” Jezebel announced finally. “And you will lose one of them for this transgression.”
The shock of this judgement landed on Mila like a blow to the face.
She imagined that a braver, more fearless version of herself would have stepped forward to argue against the monstrous punishment. To defend the man’s actions. To roar in Jezebel’s face that, demon or not, she was a living being and that the guard had been the only example of human decency she’d experienced since she’d arrived at the Holy City .
But she did not. To her great shame, she found that she could do nothing but watch.
Jezebel narrowed her eyes at Jahan in disdain, and two other guards stepped forward to escort the proud, trembling man away to receive his punishment.
Later, Mila tried to tell herself that she’d done nothing because she could sense the futility of any rebellion in that moment, but the darker and more cowardly truth was that she had simply been too frightened. Scared bone deep.
Whatever understanding she had hoped to foster between herself and Jezebel was shattered. The woman viewed Mila as property, nothing more, and had ordered the blinding of a kind man who, by all accounts, was a childhood companion, simply because he’d dared to treat Mila otherwise. It was the most evil act she’d ever beheld.
When Jahan disappeared from the doorway, Jezebel turned to Mila with a sickly, sweet smile, and the fear cemented deeper.
“And now that this unpleasantness has been dealt with, I’m ready for a repeat performance of last night’s efforts. Come.” She clicked her fingers, and Mila somehow found the strength to take a step forward, knowing that if she had any chance of surviving another few minutes here, there could be no shadow of doubt that she was anything but an obedient slave.
And, she told herself, she would keep up this pretence for however long it took for her to figure out a way to escape.