Page 132 of Shattered Jewel

Cav’s goes rigid, the muscles in his cheeks pulsing like a caged hurricane as weighs his options. With a barely perceptible nod, he allows the initiates to grab him.

They yank him towards the eastern point of the altar, where a vertical stone frame rises ominously from the floor on unseen gears. Cav tenses, but doesn’t struggle as they tear open his shirt, buttons flying and exposing his chest. It takes three of them. the Silent Sovereign at last has to assist so they can secure his arms to the sides of the frame.

As they step back, the true horror of the device becomes apparent. Beneath Cav’s feet is a small platform with a blunt, pyramid-shaped seat pointing upward. The Scourge circles him with an obvious cruel smile beneath his mask, and reaches for a nearby lever.

With a harsh grinding sound, the platform begins to lower, forcing the tip of the pyramid against Cav’s testicles. His muscles strain as he tries to keep his weight off it, but there’s no escape from the increasing pressure.

Cav’s eyes blaze, even as sweat beads on his forehead. Yet His gaze flicks between Elara and the High Sovereign, flicking between them with the precision of a sniper lining up an impossible shot.

“Is this ... the best ... you’ve got?” Cav pushes the question out through a rigid jaw.

“Dear boy, have I taught you nothing?” The High Sovereign chuckles as he manhandles Elara to the altar. “The real torment begins only when you think it’s over.”

Chapter 32

Elara

Crimson silk caresses my naked flesh as I lie bound on the altar. Smoky incense chokes the air, while fire sconces provide the only light in the windowless stone chamber, their flames dancing in tune with my terrorized heart.

The High Sovereign stands over me as he finishes the final silk binding on my left ankle, his colorless eyes piercing and merciless behind his mask. My breathing becomes heavier, shorter, as I stare back.

What are they going to do to me? Will they rape me? Will the guys—my men—have to watch the Sovereigns take turns on me while they’re trapped in torture devices?

Is this how I die?

With the men I love watching helplessly while I scream?

“No.”

The soft, cold whisper of the word arrests my thoughts, the sound not coming from my own lips, but the High Sovereign’s.

“No, Miss Wraithwood,” he continues, reading the thoughts behind my eyes. He unfolds his long, gloved fingers to emphasis his point. “Sexually violating you would be too … mundane.”

The High Sovereign turns, facing north—facing Axe—with the Silent Sovereign standing by. Axe is chained like a wild animal, his knees forced to the floor and his hands only able to hover inches from the ground.

With the horizontal way I’m positioned, I can turn my head north, to Axe, and south, to Wilder hanging on strappado hooks, his arms wrenched in ways no human should endure. The Scourge stands close to him, as if expecting Wilder to slip free of the ropes and fling himself on top of the Scourge at the first sliver of opportunity.

Lifting my head, neck straining, Cav is east, strapped to a pillory board, the tendons in his neck bulging as he struggles to control his weight against a deadly point between his legs.

The two initiates, the boys Sasha thought she had feelings for, linger behind him, but not too close, lest Cav manage to reach them somehow.

Though I try, I can’t see Kaspian directly behind my head.

I can’t see Kaspian, but I know, from the hard breaths through his nose, that the water covering his feet has begun to boil.

How many nights have I dreamed about their bodies tangled with mine? Now they’re here, helpless and hurting because of me.

Me and my bloodline.

Maverick’s research burns in my mind. You’re the sacrifice, Ellie.

So I am.

I thought I’d be alone in this curse, that the Sovereigns wouldn’t need my men for anything else.

How wrong I was.

The High Sovereign addresses the room.

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