Page 93 of Spark of Madness

And it’s my job to see her through it.

Our feet touch the foyer and time stands still. Mercy trembles at my side while my brothers spare a look to appraise her appearance. Wesley rubs his palms together with anticipation, and Ryker’s grin is alarming.

Killian steps forward, crossing the sunburst, and stops in front of us. “Mercy Madness. We’re finally here. I think this has been a long time coming. No sense in delaying the inevitable.” He pauses, his eyes traveling down her form and back up again. He claps his hands together before spreading his arms wide. “Let’s get this started, shall we? Wesley will lead prayer and the incitement of ceremony.”

Killian steps back and I touch the small of Mercy’s back. She jumps, startled by my touch, and her head snaps sideways to look at me. I want to give her something, anything—a look, a nod, a smile of encouragement.

Yet I give her nothing, and I don’t know why.

Her throat bobs as she swallows, blinking, dragging her eyes away from me with the loneliest expression I’ve ever seen. I immediately feel sick about it, but I think the emotional distance between us is good for the moment…necessary.

She moves forward, carrying herself with grace to the center of the sun. She lifts her head to look up, noting that the chandelier has been removed, replaced by a suspension system that replicates the one I’d rigged in the caves. Candles have been placed around the room to create a flickering glow around us, and though the chandelier is gone, a single yellow spotlight has been fixed to the ceiling to shine down precisely on Mercy where she’ll be suspended.

Every head in the room snaps to my left when we hear the click of a door from a bedroom that’s just down the hall. Owen steps into the hallway, and just behind him are Delle and Theo. Delle is softly sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutches her silk black robe. Her eyes scan the foyer as she approaches, and as she takes in the men all staring back at her, she draws her shoulders back and lifts her chin. It’s a show of strength, though it’s clear her strength is waning.

Depraved.

Abusive.

Abhorrent.

I have to press my eyes shut and suck in a deep breath to force the words away. We’re only doing our duty to God. I have a purpose in this, and I must serve it. I must focus on Mercy and helping her pass this trial. The only thing I can do for her is to try to save her soul.

I’ve already worked this out with Theo. I’ve already made sure that Mercy will take the worst of this trial to spare Delle as much as possible, because I know that will weigh on Mercy’s mind. Delle’s pain must be spared to spare Mercy an emotional burden to her compassion.

Theo stops Delle by gripping her shoulders, and he turns her to face him. Silently his lips move, whispering something to her that we can’t hear. Her eyes flutter shut and her lashes catch tears as she gives a single nod. When she opens her eyes again, she moves down the hall with grace, walking forward until she reaches the foyer. Taking in a shuddering breath, she removes her robe and drops it to the floor, revealing herself in her underwear and bra.

My eyes turn away from her, though I can’t say the same for my brothers. I feel something strange roil in my gut at the sight of her lithe body. Her slenderness and slight curvature indicates her young age so clearly and looking at her as we’re meant to now feels...wrong.

There’s no reason that it should, yet it does.

I try to rectify this odd sense of shame that ripples inside me, but I can’t seem to shake it. Not as Delle crosses the room in front of me and moves beside Mercy.

SweetMercy.

She reaches her hand out for Delle as she approaches, and quickly takes her palm, pulling her closer to her side. Mercy gently sweeps Delle’s long hair behind her shoulder, and I feel regret—perhaps I should have cut Delle’s hair to avoid my brothers twisting and jerking at the strands to control her. It’s too late to think of it now.

Mercy leans and whispers in Delle’s ear, words I can’t hear, though I know they’re filled with kindness and encouragement.

Mercy’s compassion knows no bounds.

My head aches from the turmoil of contradictions—the compassionate sinner with starlight hair before me.

Delle nods at Mercy, and together, they lower to their knees.

Theo and I move to take our places, standing behind our two wards on the sunburst with a spotlight shining down on us. Killian turns on a camera which is placed on a table six feet in front of us. It clicks and rolls, and within moments, it will broadcast the scene live to the village of Ember Glen. Large screens line the village square from east to west, parallel to the front of the Homestead manor. For seven hours, the villagers and servants will be able to watch Mercy serve the first trial.

Only Mercy, not Delle because Theo and I worked together to direct our brothers’ excitement toward Mercy. Delle will be closed off in the room from which she entered tonight, bound and suspended the same as Mercy, used the same as Mercy, but not watched the same as Mercy....and hopefully, not as brutalized. My brothers have far greater interest in the theatrics of it all, and greater still in punishing the true person of dissent—the real rebel, the girl with the fire that could burn everything we know to ashes if she’s not stopped.

Sometimes I wonder if Mercy understands the true threat she poses—I’m not even sure I have a full understanding of it. But we all know it’s true that if she had the time to grow, to spread her influence with the servants of Ember Glen, she would. Her strength is only budding, and my brothers are eager to nip it.

Wesley moves with an air of ceremony, slowly working his way to stand in front of Mercy and Delle, facing the camera. His long dreadlocks are pulled together behind his back, wrapped with an elastic to keep them off his shoulders and out of the way for the night he intends to enjoy.

He rubs his palms slowly, solemnly in front of him, his head bowed slightly. A red light clicks on above the camera, indicating that we’re now live-streaming in the village square, and Wesley lifts his head.

I feel no anxiety or fear pulsing from Mercy’s back because all her attention is focused on Delle and providing her the comfort and strength she needs. I glance down to see Mercy squeeze Delle’s hand tighter as she turns her head to look at her. I shuffle closer and strain my ears to hear as she leans in to tell her something.

“Have faith in yourself above all else,” Mercy whispers to Delle. “Your strength is within you. These men don’t control it, only you do. And I have faith that you’ll find the best of your strength through these hours. You can endure this, and you will.” They smile at each other, and an extra beat thuds in syncopation through the rhythm of my heart.

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