Lib Novel Page 32
Rahzien’s next words are quieter, directed only to me. “Repeat the words I have taught you, Spider. Speak them loudly, so everyone can hear.”
“Please,” I whisper. “Not in front of them.”
His hand clamps on the top of my skull, his thick fingertips digging against bone. “Say it.”
I clear my throat and manage the words, in a quavering voice. “I did not save my people, nor can I save myself.”
“Louder,” demands Rahzien.
“I did not save my people, nor can I save myself,” I cry out. “I am worthless. I am foolish. I am alone. I have no value, and no one wants me.”
Soft sobs and angry murmurs ripple among the people as Rahzien presses down on my head and commands, “And the other part. Repeat that as well, so there is no confusion about what you are.”
“I am your pet,” I say. “I do as I’m told. When I do as I’m told, I receive good things.”
A swell of protest from the audience, and in the middle of it I discern something else—a growl.
A thrill jolts through my chest, and I scan the crowd with frenzied eagerness, hunting for a certain handsome face. But the people are surging, moving like a pot of water at full boil, and I can’t see Kyreagan.
It couldn’t have been him. Not after what Rahzien told me, about the poisoned prey of the Middenwold Isles. Kyreagan is languishing in a cave somewhere, or he’s already dead. I must have imagined that feral, vengeful snarl.
“Silence!” bellows Rahzien, with such vehemence that I startle.
The crowd falls quiet instantly. Clearly they’ve heard that tone from him before, and like a pack of chastened dogs, they know better than to defy it.
“I hereby declare the former Crown Princess of Elekstan to be my first Conquered Consort,” Rahzien continues. “As my empire expands, I expect that she will be joined by other scions of defeated royal houses. Like her, each one will be magically tethered to me. If they flee too far from my presence, they will die. And if I perish, so will they.”
I can’t help a faint gasp. He never mentioned that aspect of the poison—only the fact that if I run too far from him, I’ll die. Is my life really linked to his? He could be lying about all of it—the death of the dragons, the poison in my veins, my death being tied to his own. I haven’t seen any Royal Poisoner or heard of such a person. What if they don’t exist?
There’s no way to know if he’s lying, unless I can test one of the claims he made. For now, his words seem to have had the desired effect on the crowd. They’ve stilled, stricken.
Though I’m not looking up at him, I can tell by his voice that Rahzien is grinning. “Please recognize this woman’s new role by repeating aloud, ‘Hail to the Conquered Consort.’”
To their credit, every person in the market square remains utterly silent.
“You see, this is the problem.” Rahzien grasps a fistful of my hair and drags me with him as he walks a few steps along the platform. “The defiance. The rebellion. But I think I’ve devised a solution. You’re familiar with the concept of a ‘whipping boy,’ yes? When royal children do something wrong, they do not suffer for it. Instead a young servant, a whipping boy, takes the punishment. I had a whipping boy when I was a child, and I propose we take the idea to a new level. From now on, your defiance toward me shall be directly reflected on the body of your former princess.”
He yanks on my hair so savagely that I’m afraid he’ll tear away a chunk of my scalp. A whimper escapes through my gritted teeth.
“Repeat after me,” Rahzien commands. “Hail to the Conquered Consort.”
Sullenly the crowd repeats the phrase.
This is what he does. He forces others to verbalize the reality he wants until they believe it to be true. He’s diabolically manipulative.
“Now, on to more serious business,” says Rahzien. “Yesterday a census station was destroyed by a group of ragged miscreants who believe themselves to be heroes. From now on, let it be known that any such action by foolish insurgents shall carry consequences, not just for them, but for the Conquered Consort as well.” He bends, leaning over me from behind, and cups my chin with his hand. “Insurrection brings the penalty of death for its perpetrators, and will result in severe pain for our new whipping girl. Her first punishment will happen today, as a direct consequence for the destruction of the census station.”
He steps back and snaps his fingers. Immediately two helmeted soldiers advance, closing cuffs around my wrists, each one linked to a separate chain. The soldiers attach the chains to posts on the platform, so that my arms are stretched wide as I kneel where Rahzien left me.
Booted feet thump on the boards. Then the crack of a whip, and fire splits open the flesh of my back. A scream tears from my throat. It feels as if someone slashed a knife across my shoulder blade and spine.
The whip snaps and strikes again. This time I manage not to scream, but I’m sobbing, hissing great broken breaths through my teeth, blinking back gushes of hot tears.
Another line of liquid fire across my back, and I cry out. Two more in quick succession—so much pain I can’t breathe. My lungs seize up and all I can see is white-hot agony and the dark blur of the crowd.
“Just five lashes for now,” says Rahzien’s voice, distant and calm. “Let that be a warning to those who would rebel against their king. Kill me, and you kill her. Strike against any Vohrainian soldier or installation, defy any royal order, and she will be punished for it publicly. Fear not—I won’t let your sweet princess die. But I can hurt and heal her, over and over again, until she begs for death.”
If there are people in this city who hate me for my mother’s sake, the King just showed them how to hurt me. As for the rest, Rahzien hampered their ability to fight back—gave them a moral dilemma over which to agonize. It’s a clever strategy, and sickeningly cruel.