8. Beating #2
Vaner turned with such leisure to pierce Cassiel with his stare. Branwen squealed from landing upon the lord’s lap. His hands went everywhere.
So much helplessness . . .
“Such anger.” Despite the show of indifference, the line of Vaner’s shoulders had tightened. “And for a dirty redblood.”
“Lie.” My voice, although low, seemed to reach Vaner. Branwen stopped struggling, her face becoming impassive under the gropes of that man. A gut-deep rage brewed in my veins, manifesting in the tremors of my hands.
He turned so slowly. “What?”
“Lies, it is all lies. I am not filth. All you have done is spread falsehoods about the designations.”
His expression rippled, and I knew I had misspoken. I should not have knowledge of the word.
“How do you know this?”
I thinned my lips.
“You!” Vaner shouted, pointing across the hall.
“Bring me that feeder girl.” The officer he had pointed toward stepped forward and seized Branwen’s arm.
She stumbled in his grip until he brought her before him, nearer to Cassiel’s side.
Vaner took a dull knife from the table and grabbed Branwen by the back of her hair, dragging her toward me, knife to her throat. “Speak.”
‘Do not.’
“Now! And do not think to lie,” he roared, pressing harder against her throat until the dullness forced a slim line to open. She was so terrified. I struggled to swallow.
“The Lore of Old.”
I could have heard a pin drop.
“The one the prophet burned?” Lord Horveau questioned, standing.
Vaner released Branwen, and she backed against the wall. He came for me.
“What else do you know?” Vaner’s hand cupped the bottom of my face, forcing my neck to strain upward. He reached around with his other hand, fingertips lightly touching the swell of my cheek.
Vaner’s eyes narrowed. He dug his thumb into the side of my eye. My pulse fluttered and panic almost removed reason.
“Listen well, you will tell me everything you know of the Lore of Old. Everything the prophet told you, or you will lose an eye.”
His finger dug into the corner. I flinched, trying to get away from it, but his hold would not allow it. The pain began, and I bit the inside of my cheek. So be it. I stiffened my shoulders.
“If you pluck her eyes out, how do you expect her to read Larien?”
‘I cannot have you harmed further.’ A taste of his panic saturated his words, at such an opposite of how calm he sounded when he addressed Vaner.
Vaner stilled, frowning. “What does that mean?”
“I read Larien. The old language,” I said, attempting to ignore the pain of his hand clasping my face.
“There are only a few texts with the Saint’s language.” He spoke under his breath, raking both hands through his short brown hair. “Did you see the Lore of Old?”
“What is that?” I feigned ignorance.
“Yes or no, say it.” I flinched from his barked words. “You will not like the consequences.” He looked at Vera and Branwen huddled together. I gritted my teeth.
“No.”
Vaner turned to the same man he had before, the one from Southern Sycarious.
The man shook his head slightly and said, “False.”
Vaner turned back to me, and he was in my face, gripping my jaw tight. “Have you read the Lore of Old?” I reeled, attempting not to vomit. “Speak!” he bellowed in my face, spittle landing on my cheek.
“Yes,” I forced out.
“Truth.”
“Where is it?” Vaner seemed maddened.
“You believe I have it?” I forced innocence onto my features.
‘Cease taunting him.’
“Where do you have the Lore of Old?” he blurted feverishly.
His nostrils flared, and the pressure at my throat became close to excruciating, but I kept my expression blank.
“Give me a direct answer!” he shouted, hand lashing across my cheek.
“Vaner.” Cassiel’s tone held warning. Vaner shoved my face away and faced Cassiel.
“You no longer have any say!” Vaner slammed his palms on the table, rattling all the porcelain and glass. He turned back to me. I scrambled for a half-truth.
“I-I can read it. I’ve read only the first few passages.”
Silence fell over the banquet hall. Vaner’s chest heaved with harsh breaths.
He seemed at last to feel the stares fixed on him, and the sneer became more pronounced.
He turned back to me and hit me again, forcing me to stagger.
The taste of copper exploded in my mouth when my tooth caught the inside of my lip.
I straightened again, facing him. His palm flew across my cheek once again.
Blood tickled from the corner of my mouth.
“How can you read it?” Vaner glared, fury mounting.
Cassiel’s snarl reached through my muffled hearing. ‘Tell him,’ Cassiel begged.
“The prophet said.” I pressed my shaking hand to my neck. “That the Sigil made it possible.” Made it possible for me to read Larien, and for me to find the Lore of Old, but I would not tell him everything.
He released me, and I staggered back with his slight shove.
“Lord Dillon, did you know of this?”
“Absolutely not, Vaner,” Lord Dillon scoffed. He then grabbed the back of his wife’s neck. “What have you hidden from us?” He shook her while she remained still in terror.
“I-I do not know what you mean.”
Lord Dillon shoved her, and she landed on her knees with a scream.
“My lord!” Drusilla cried out.
The avarice curling Vaner’s mouth faded, and an inch of reason came forth. He straightened and smoothed his hands down his tunic while scanning the hall. Egan’s mouth remained tight, and he avoided my eyes.
“Egan, escort all the ladies away from here except Pyria.” Egan inclined his head, approached his father, and handed him the object that harmed Cassiel.
All the dismissed wives were already making their way to the exit.
Meanwhile, Drusilla approached until she stood before Vaner. “What will you do—”
“My Drusilla, this is nasty business for men to handle,” he cajoled, rubbing his palm along the side of her face.
“I will take my leave, but do not cross the line with my son,” she warned. With a swish of her thick gown, she strutted out of the hall.
The officers bracing the doors shut it as soon as she crossed. They resounded with a loud bang.
Vaner slowly turned to the woman Lord Dillon had shoved before him. I moved out of the way, pressing flush against the wall. Branwen and Vera were there, touching my arms and huddling closer.
“I allow you to marry into the council, and this is how you repay me?” He loomed over Pyria. She trembled. “In not telling me about this aspect of your Sigil gift?”
“I apologize, my lord, I did not know!” she cried out.
Vaner slapped her across the face. Sapphire blood dripped down her lip. All while her husband watched, shaking his head in disapproval. His distaste was directed at her, not at Vaner for hitting his wife. The council remained seated, watching as if all of it was for their entertainment.
“Place the Sigil upon me.”
“M-my Lord, I cannot. My gift is limited. There is only one wearer possible, and I do not know how to remove what has already been placed,” she gasped. “The prophet—”
“Did you aid her in making me a fool?” He leaned so close his mouth almost grazed hers. “You are the one who placed the Sigil. You had to know!”
“My lord, that was not possible until the prophet received the vision of who Lord Cassiel’s bondmate was. I swear it. I did not know what the mark would do.”
Vaner shoved Pyria, and she fell onto her side.
“That prophet bitch played me for a fool.” The rage flitting over his features was frightening.
“You did not know the Sigil allowed her to read Larien?” Lord Horveau strode across to reach the side where we all stood.
“I did not,” Vaner barked, interrupting Lord Horveau. He whirled toward me where I huddled against the wall.
I shoved in front of the girls, but I needn’t have worried; all his focus was on me.
He pulled me to the table, across from Cassiel, and shoved me against the surface until the edge dug into my belly.
He pressed his front against my bottom, forcefully shoving his manhood against me until I cried out from the invading force.
Nausea swelled with a vengeance.
Cassiel snarled, chains rattling with the force of his movements.