Page 48 of The Wolf

It kept everyone in line, knowing there was someone on the ladder lower than them.

Her punishment had begun by stripping off her clothes, because what was punishment if it wasn’t naked? Then the lashing of her back had begun, the narrow leather whipping into her skin again and again and again. At this point Scarlet had firmly believed she could no longer feel any pain, but she’d been wrong. For then all the wolves present had tossed ash on her, the dark, dusty mess stinging her fresh wounds with an indescribable new wave of agony. The ash filled her lungs too, stealing her breath and making her unable to hold back her coughing and spluttering.

But even then the humiliation had not been over.

Arwen ordered Scarlet to clean the floors, which of course never stayed clean because the ash clinging to her body, congealing in her blood, would fall to the wooden floor as she moved. Then Scarlet had to start all over again.

This was Scarlet’s third day in a row of cleaning the floors. At least this time she was clothed. Come tomorrow she was finally allowed to apply mimkia to the wounds. Scarlet was, quite literally, counting down the minutes until she would finally experience some sweet, cool relief.

The only other relief she’d had for three days was thinking about escaping… and Brine.. Scarlet knew she shouldn’t. It would get her nowhere—only hurt her further—to think of him. But his amazement and delight at seeing Scarlet once more, despite the circumstances, was impossible for her to forget. Not to mention the way he’d so earnestly protected her from the burning ship, protecting her body with his own as they crashed through the glass and fell into the sea.

In return she’d drugged him, and almost caused his death.

You’re poison.

Guilt wracked Scarlet. She’d asked Ari to look after him, but she’d found out that morning by way of secret messenger that Brine hadn’t been lying on the beach when the siren went out looking for him. Scarlet could only hope this meant someone else had helped him.

He left you and he’s working for them. Don’t spare a second thought.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it,Scarlet thought over and over again, like a mantra. But, as if on cue, Arwen’s voice then filled the corridor, and Scarlet realized she had paused in her duties for several long minutes. She began scrubbing again.

Lady Betraz glided down the hallway as if walking on air, resplendent in ornate black silks and transparent, gauzy material enveloping her arms. Her silver hair was elaborately woven and braided back with heavy black diamonds worth half a kingdom. Blithely, Scarlet wondered who the imminent guest was. All the wolves were congregating in the reception hall and her stepmother was dressed so richly.

When Arwen made her way over to Scarlet, she dismissed Bright—who had been watching over Scarlet’s chores to ensure she did not try to escape them—with a wave of her hand. He had been silent as he observed, as usual, but Scarlet had been glad for his company nonetheless. At the very least, it had stopped Tarros from bothering her, which was infinitely worse than the punishment sh e had been made to suffer in front of him. The jeering, twisted, filthy curses that he threw at her as she was flogged had perhaps been the worst part of the entire ordeal.

Once they were alone, Arwen circled Scarlet in slow, deliberate steps. “It pains me to see you like this,” she complained. Scarlet did not look up from her soapy brush as she scrubbed, though her back ached with the strain. “How disappointed I am in you, daughter! You must know this. But alas, you must also know that this is your fault.”

She waited for Scarlet to respond, but Scarlet did not think she had it in her to speak a single word. Instead Scarlet nodded.

“I suppose we must all make mistakes sometimes,” she said, stopping her circling to stand directly in front of Scarlet, right where she had just cleaned. With a twitch of anger, Scarlet noticed Arwen’s heeled shoes had trailed dark muck in from outside. Scarlet would have to clean the entrance hall.

Again.

“It is a shame that you failed such an important mission. But a good leader always has a backup plan. So do not worry, daughter of mine, for Merjeri and Heimserya at large shall soon be mine.” Silence followed then, soft and threatening, which was why Scarlet knew to tense up just as Arwen bent down and roughly grabbed Scarlet by her hair, dragging her to her feet.

Scarlet bit back a cry of pain, her spine tingling as blood begandripping down her back, beneath the fabric of her dress. She had never been so grateful for the red cloak around her shoulders, enshrouding her from others having to see her so weak.

Arwen’s eyes were humorless as they locked on Scarlet’s, dark as pitch and just as sparkly as the diamonds in her hair. “You may have gotten away with your insolence,” she hissed, all previous gaiety lost in an instant, “but know that it will not be tolerated. Just as you have been punished for failing in Merjeri, so you have been punished for helping that filthy mongrel boy. I can’t prove it was you—you’re far too clever for that, you aremydaughter after all—but know that his parents have been executed. Their deaths were not pretty. I imagine you would have hated it.Youare responsible for them. Remember that, daughter dearest.”

Scarlet wanted to scream. She wanted to pull at her stepmother’s hand and bite down into the meat of it. She wanted to drive a dagger slowly but surely into the snake’s heart. She wanted to find out how Moses parents died and inflictthatupon her stepmother.

For a moment, she thought of how alive and dangerous Brine had felt, when he was pressed against Scarlet, and how easily he would have been able to take down a woman such as Arwen. He’d possessed the strength and speed and smarts for it. Hecoulddo it, even though he wouldn’t, because he was working for her again.

She hated everything. Brine, her stepmother, and especially herself, for despite her anger Scarlet still found herself frozen in her inability to do a bloody thing.

But that knowledge helped immeasurably in maintaining Scarlet’s blank face, for which she was grateful. It would not do to show her stepmother how upset she was.

Arwen traced a long nail down the scar on Scarlet’s face, the smallest of smiles curling her lips. “Good,” she whispered. “Keep it all inside. I trained you well.”

“Lady Betraz,” a servant said when he approached from a side door. He bowed politely. “Your guest is almost here.”

Arwen dropped Scarlet to the floor as if she were nothing of importance, ignoring her splutters of pain and the blood she leaked onto the varnished wood, then turned on her heel and left.

Scarlet wanted to curl up and cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hurt her stepmother. She wanted to hurt herself.

She kept on scrubbing.

Kept pretending that everything was okay.

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