Page 18 of Deadwood
I provided no response. My retorts were what she wanted, and I wouldn’t give her the fuel.
“Quiet today, are we? Keeping those ears open?” She tsked as the guards tied my ankles to the legs of the chair. She reached a hand up to brush my hair behind my ear. “Perhaps today I won’t go for the back.”
She wouldn’t follow through. She only said it to elicit fear, to get a reaction. She couldn’t risk people seeing an injury on me without raising questions. While my father and the guards turned a blind eye, others might not.
After tying the knots tight, the two guards stepped to the side, joining the third by the door. It was a large room, despite being underground.
“Eavesdropping is a crime punishable by death,” she went on, stepping behind the chair and out of my sight. My hands flexed under the bindings, but I didn’t fight against them.
“It’s too bad I can’t die,” I said through gritted teeth. My already-singed skin tingled in anticipation of the burn. The last ones had barely had time to heal, doing so on their own, as I hadn’t been able to sneak a healing vial lately without getting behind in my work.
She laughed, then my head was yanked back by my hair. My back arched uncomfortably as the clammy air hit my exposed neck. “Don’t be so sure of that, little wench. Anything is possible.”
My breathing picked up, and I hated the show it put on for the guards. My body was in acceptance of its fate, but my mind was not. Thoughts swirled around frantically like fish caught in a net, desperate for a way out. Every time, I wished the magic wouldn’t hurt me. Hoped and pleaded that it would grant me mercy. But one of the downsides of the magic that filled these vials—it gave its holder too much power.
“He’d leave you if you killed me,” I seethed. Her title as Queen of Amosite was more important to her than anything else. Her ego reeked of it.
“He’d get over it.” She let go of my hair, and I swung my head forward, wishing I could curl in on myself. Wishing all of this could just…go away.
The sound of fabric ripping filled the room seconds before a line of flames licked down my back like a river of agony. My teeth almost broke against the strain as it burned a path down my skin. The all too familiar smell of burnt skin wafted around me, and I wanted to vomit. I did all I could to hold back the bile. To calm the rolling of my stomach as pain erupted on every nerve ending.
I could beat this.
I could be strong.
CHAPTER 7
After Heidi was satisfied with the stream of burns following the length of my spine, two of the guards escorted me to my room. I’d been given a robe to cover up with for the walk, given my dress was destroyed and my back was too sore to put tight clothing on.
Tears sprung to my eyes each time the fabric ghosted over the burned flesh. I’d decided to hell with attempting to find a vial to heal the wounds first. I wanted a bath, to sink in on myself, and maybe, if I was lucky, I’d get lost under the water and fail to resurface.
The piney scent of the arnica oil I’d mixed in with the bath water lingered on my skin as I toweled off, squeezing droplets of water from the ends of my hair. I’d had to fight falling asleep in the tub, the cool water so blissful against the exhaustion and pain that threatened to pull me under. There was only so much a body could take in one day, and I feared I’d reached my limit. I almost couldn’t help myself from allowing my eyes to shut, which was a clear sign to get out.
For the duration of my bath, I’d hunched forward rather than sit back in order to save myself the excruciating pain of the porcelain on my wounds. Not before long, my grumbling stomach stirred my half-awaken state in the water, further spurring me to unplug the drain. I hadn’t eaten much today aside from the muffin I’d snagged on my way to see Taylin, and my stomach was finally protesting.
As it was now late and everyone was presumably turned in for the night, I threw a silk cardigan over my nightdress, careful not to wrap it tightly around my front so it wouldn’t brush the wounds too hard, before heading out of my room toward the kitchen. I could snag a bite to eat and use a healing vial from the drawer they kept stocked with medical supplies in case a cook cut themself while prepping meals. They never noticed when I’d borrowed some in the past, as I was always sure to refill the vial exactly to where it was before I used any.
My hair was still damp, the ends cold as they dripped every so often, but the chill was welcomed against the burns.
I padded down the stairs before making my way down the hallway, then rounded a corner, coming upon the kitchen. It was dark, aside from the single candle lit in the center of the wood island. I didn’t want to light any lanterns, lest a guard see I was in here and insist on escorting me back to my room. Nor did I particularly want to be around a fire vial at the moment. I had nothing against the magic itself—it wasn’t its fault, but instead its user—but my mind still steered away from the idea of using it for a while after each punishment.
Opening the pantry door in the corner of the kitchen, I rifled through the few baked goods that were left in a basket from earlier in the day. Eyeing the flavors, my belly ached for something more than another muffin. Grabbing one of the blueberry ones, I scooted the basket back on the shelf and turned out of the pantry with a hand on the door.
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest at the sight of a person standing in the opposite corner, cloaked in complete darkness.
The muffin dropped from my hand, rolling across the floor as my back banged into the wall behind me.
“Fuck,” I shrieked, but not toward the stranger in the room, but rather the unbearable pain that shocked through me, racing down my spine like a knife being dragged through my heart. My hand plastered to my chest, like that alone might keep the organ inside my body.
Bowen stood there, clouded in black as he watched me, as if he was simply a shadow in the room. “Quite the mouth on you, Princess.”
I took as much of a steadying breath as I could, though it did little to slow my heart’s frantic pace.
At least it knew to stay on edge around him.
“What are you still doing in my home?” I asked, clearly breathless from the scare and trying my best to keep the strain out of my voice.
“Staying a bit,” he answered casually, crossing an ankle over the other as he leaned against the counter behind him. Even in the dim candlelight, I noticed his eyes fall to my bruised wrists. Quickly, I dropped my hold on my chest to hide them behind my back, careful to avoid the wounds.
