Page 21 of A Kingdom of Pleasure and Torment

As I walk away, I hear him murmuring words of comfort to Firo.

Chapter Nine

As commanded, I go to Luthian’s study, my core still wet and slick from my release. Since he found my choice of dress “studious,” I’m still wearing it when I knock on the door.

“Enter,” he calls from within, and I step inside.

At first sight, I realize that what Luthian “studies” is not a subject with which I am familiar.

The room is an octagon beneath a glass dome like a spiderweb. Daylight streams down on a dais in the center that’s surrounded by polished wood railings, but somehow the illumination doesn’t reach the dark outer perimeter. Candles light sixteen corners and the walls painted with murals.

Luthian himself stands in one of these shadowy places, browsing a shelf.

It doesn’t hold books.

“I am here, Guardian,” I say, shifting nervously on my feet.

He doesn’t turn to me, but says, “Still dressed for the archives? Well, that won’t do.”

I gasp at my instant nakedness. My nipples pucker in the chill; there is no hearth to warm me.

“Step onto the dais,” he orders. “I’m selecting the tools we’ll need.”

The shelf in front of him holds an assortment of impressive, very realistic phalluses. I hold my breath as I watch him decide. He takes down one, then another, hefting them both in his hands. They’re huge, much bigger than Firo or Luthian, and they don’t appear to be shaped for either human or faery. Though they’re both intimidating, I’m glad he left the largest ones behind. I’m certain the cocks on the bottom shelf must be modeled after ogres and trolls.

“I was very impressed this morning,” he says, waving a hand. A table like the one from the library appears just inches from me. “You took great pleasure in torturing Firo.”

“I did.” I bite my lip. “But Guardian... did I give him pleasure?”

Luthian chuckles. “Oh, you did. Most assuredly.”

“In the moment, I enjoyed it, but after, I felt mean,” I confess.

“That feeling will pass. Soon enough, you’ll become utterly indifferent to the screams of the tormented.” He means to reassure me, I think, but it’s far from it.

Do I truly wish to inflict that kind of suffering? Do I want to become so callous to it?

“Guardian, forgive me, but if I am indifferent, how will I know if I’m truly hurting someone?”

“That’s an excellent question.”

My heart swells with pride, beating itself against my ribs.

He taps his lips with his forefinger. “These aren’t skills you should employ outside of the Court. You might, of course. If you and your lover wished it. But the lovers you’ll take at court will expect and revel in such behavior. Outside of the court, these activities should only be undertaken with trust and strict understanding of how to know when your partner has had enough. A word, for example, that only the two or three or eight, whatever you will, know, which always means to stop.”

Eight? I boggle at the notion, but the idea of a magic word sparks my interest. “And we don’t have those at the Court of Pleasure and Torment?”

“There is no mercy at the Court of Pleasure and Torment. Therefore, it needs no language.” He goes to a cabinet and opens it. Inside stands a glittering array of bottles and phials. Some glow with their own light, gleaming emerald, fire-lit ruby, and blinding white. He takes down an ampoule of something purple. “But I don’t believe it’s a language you could master, anyway.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I rub my hands down my bare arms. The sunlight through the web of windows overhead is cool by the time it touches my skin. I wonder if this is a test of my patience, to see how long I’ll endure the physical discomfort of freezing.

“You enjoyed watching me lash Firo’s feet,” Luthian says, depositing the potions on the table.

“I’ve never seen such a thing before,” I confess. “I’ve never even seen a criminal whipped in the village square.”

Luthian’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “I forget that you’re not just a human, but you’ve been raised among them. Imagine, reducing the elegance of pain down to such petty barbarism.”

“I must admit to a morbid curiosity, Guardian.” I’m as ashamed to reveal it to him now as I was the time I asked my mother for permission to watch punishments doled out in the square. She was gentle and kind in dissuading me, but I received the message all too effectively: it was wrong of me to desire another’s pain. “Mother couldn’t stand to think of it, though.”

---