Chapter 19

19

The Baron

Past

The exceptionally large black bird flew over the nearly two-dozen guests sitting around two, long dining tables, all of them gathered for a feast to celebrate Hallows’ Eve. The bird perched itself on the shoulder of the baron, who sat glaring at Drystan. He’d gotten word that the ignoble whipping boy had informed Bishop Venable of his tryst in the woods with Lustina, and his blood boiled at the thought of what punishment she might have suffered as a result.

“Please send the bird out of the dining room, boy. It is no place for wild animals.” Lord Praecepsia’s cheek ticced as he spoke through clenched teeth, the sight of which only goaded the baron’s amusement.

“If that were true, Father, then I should think you’d be sending half the guests outside.” Of course, no one could have heard him over the babbling voices that filled the room, but his father’s face turned red with rage, just the same.

“Do not embarrass me.” The elder man spoke low, and in a tone that might’ve been threatening to any other, given his stature. “I will see to it that you’re--”

“That I’m what?”

His father sat back in his chair, that annoying wicked smirk the baron so often wanted to rip from his face lifting the corner of his lips. “I hear you were involved in a bit of an embarrassing situation with the young church whore this afternoon. Seems she suffered a rather excruciating punishment.”

The baron curled his fingers around the arms of the chair, and the bird fluttered at his shoulder, as if sensing his sudden tension. In spite of his rage, he eased back into his chair and smiled. “Was that not how my cousin came to be, Father? You chasing around after your whore sister through the woods?”

Lord Praecepsia slammed his fist against the tabletop, his face as red as the wine in his goblet. “I will have you strung up and crucified for such blasphemy, boy!”

Except that it wasn’t blasphemy, at all. The baron had seen with his own eyes the many times his father had since met with his sister mistress.

The guests turned their attention toward him, gasping and whispering amongst themselves.

“Careful.” The baron looked up toward the ceiling, as if there was something there. He leaned in and lowered his voice, yet only for the sake of not inciting a panic with his words. “You never know when misfortune may strike out of nowhere.”

“You are an abomination,” his father whispered loudly. “An absolute disgrace!”

“And you are weak. Weak and miserable. No wonder you could never truly win my mother’s love.”

The man’s body shook with anger. “Tothyll! Bring me Tothyll at once!”

“If it is a lesson you wish to teach me, Father, perhaps you might have me carry out the punishment to Drystan myself.”

The crowd had hushed, all eyes directed toward them, which the baron knew would only exacerbate his father’s humiliation and rage.

Eyes narrowed, his father stared back at him, clearly grinding his teeth in the way his jaw shifted. “Yes. Perhaps you should carry out the punishment yourself and learn a lesson, as you say.”

The baron knew all too well that whatever pain he inflicted on Drystan would come back ten-fold in their next meeting at the church’s undercroft. Still, it would be worth it. His cousin’s humiliation and utter submission before a crowd of onlookers. For Lustina.

Two guards seized Drystan from where he sat opposite the baron and brought him to the center of the room. The crowd remained hushed, as the guards pushed against the boy’s shoulders, urging him to his knees. Drystan’s dark and scornful eyes remained fixed on his punisher, a sight that only delighted the baron. As one of the guards attempted to remove his shirt, Drystan batted his hand away and unclasped the buttons himself.

The baron watched with great amusement and satisfaction. He rose slowly from his chair, setting the bird into flight, and strode toward the center of the room. Circling his cousin, he clasped his hands behind his back, staring down at the pathetic tattle-tale.

He bent forward and, placing his lips to Drystan’s ear, whispered, “Your humiliation is worth every moment of your retaliation.”

Drystan’s jaw clenched, mouth pressed to a hard line. He undoubtedly imagined the pain he’d inflict, but the baron didn’t care. Proper justice would be served for Lustina’s suffering.