Chapter 62
Rosomon
One of the klericks drags me down the front stairs and around the side of the temple. Being dragged by the hair is painful, and my captor purposefully yanks it periodically.
He opens a side door into the temple and drags me inside. My face is pointed toward the floor, and the halls and staircases are dimly lit, but I try to keep track of our route as we go lower and lower below the massive temple.
We reach a large door, and the klerick raps on it loudly.
The door creaks open, and a spear of soft light widens on the stone floor. The klerick shoves me inside the room so forcefully I land on all fours. My already bruised knees strike hard, and my palms slap the damp floor, the sound joining the scream of pain I’m unable to swallow.
“On your feet, lazy girl,” a gruff female voice says.
“This one here calls herself princess,” the klerick tells the woman. “Most thought this one was dead, but I found her right outside. In fact, she walked right up to the temple like she owned the place. Arrogant bitch.”
“Language!” scolds the woman.
I lift my gaze from the floor. The woman is dressed in a robe that covers her from head to toe, including a head dressing that barely exposes her facial features. There are other women in the room. I hear their soft whispers, but this single woman fills my field of vision.
“Leave her to me,” she tells the klerick who brought me.
“Her marriage ceremony must happen tomorrow,” the klerick says. “She will join the others destined to be wed.”
My heart pounds. Who am I meant to marry?
“Tomorrow is too fast,” the woman replies. “She won’t be properly prepared for her wedding.”
“What needs to be readied?” Another klerick chuckles. “She’s got a cunt, doesn’t she?”
The pain in my knees has dissipated, but I’m shaking in spite of the humid warmth in the room. I may have just made a grievous error.
But I couldn’t stay at the bottom of those stairs any longer. I couldn’t stomach the idea of the others being inside the temple, while I was not. I assumed they’d take me into custody with everyone else—at least keep me imprisoned with Surath, if not the men—but…
“Very well then.” The robed woman kicks my shoulder. “Get up girl. Remove your clothes. There isn’t much time to prepare you.”
I slowly stand. The cave-like room is well lit with torches, and has several baths to the side, some of them steaming. Given the sulfurous smell, I suspect they’re fed by underground hot springs, which also explains the warmth in the room.
Behind me, the door opens and closes as the klericks leave.
At least forty naked young women are huddled in small groups, all pretending not to look at me.
I also count five, no six other women dressed the same way as my current tormentor.
All of them have riding crops and whips hanging from their belts.
“I am Head Mistress,” my tormentor says. “You will call me Mother, and you will obey my orders or face the consequences.” She tugs my hair. “Shame this is so short, but it will grow in time.”
She slaps me across the face, so hard my body is thrown to the side. “I told you to remove your clothes.”
I raise my hand to my stinging cheek.
“That light tap was a mere taste of your punishment, should your disobedience continue.” Her hand lands on the whip at her side.
I glance around at the other women. They all look away.
Not wanting to be struck again, I strip off my clothes.
“Where did the klericks say you’re from?” she asks.
“I’m not sure they did say.”
“Don’t talk back,” she raises her hand to smack me again.
“I’m from Achotia,” I blurt. I won’t cooperate with my captors but see no reason to invite injury.