Page 69 of Dragon Slayer

The man in front of him, stoic as a lake in winter, lifted a single hand to halt their progress. Unconcerned. “You will learn many things,” he said, “and you can resist all you like, but that will only make it more difficult. More difficult, but not impossible. We are here to educate you, but we will punish you if we must.”

Vlad balled his hands into useless fists and bared his teeth. Between them, he hissed, “When my father–”

The blow caught him across the backs of his knees. Sharp, and hot, and stinging. A riding crop, he thought dully, as his knees buckled and he fell to them on the hard tiles, the rest of his threat leaving his mouth as a bitten-back cry.

He sucked in a gasp, and said, “You–”

The next strike landed like a brand on the back of his neck, just under his hairline.

Vlad was proud that he didn’t make a sound this time. He bit his tongue until he tasted blood, and pitched forward to brace his fists awkwardly on the tile.

Above him, the old man said, “I am Mullah Sinan, and this is Mullah Hamiduddin. Tomorrow morning, you will clean your face and hands when the slave brings you water, and you will come to this room with a willing and respectful attitude. Do you understand?”

The leather tip of the riding crop touched his cheek.

“Yes,” he gritted out.

When he finally snuck a look at Val, his brother’s eyes were glittered with unshed tears.

---