Chapter 24

24

Lustina

Lustina gathered the weeds she’d pulled from the gardens into the wicker basket for adding to the compost behind the cathedral. The nettles left her fingers tingling, their prickly surface adding misery to her toil. She pushed to her feet and felt a tight grip of her arm.

Startled, she turned to find the baron urging her to follow him.

Panic gurgled inside of her as she shook her head, attempting to wrench her arm away. “I cannot, My Lord. If they find me with you--”

“Then, come now. They are meeting with my father at the moment.”

She glanced around the grounds of the monastery, the unease in her stomach only growing as she allowed him to drag her toward the undercroft. “Please understand, it is not that I wish to ignore you. I cannot risk …” Just inside the stone walls of the undercroft, the baron whirled her around to face him and seized her lips with a kiss that sent a warm calm through her.

“Tell me what they did to punish you.”

“That was weeks ago. It does not matter.”

“It does matter. I have thought about it every day since. It is all I see.” He gnashed his jaw, fingers curled and digging into her arms. “I want to kill them for laying a hand on you.”

“No. Such a thing would bring you unimaginable misfortune. Do not say such things, My Lord.”

“Jericho. You are to call me Jericho.” His grip softened, and he leaned in to kiss behind her ear. “Turn for me. I want to see your lashings.”

“Please. I am not troubled by them now. They have all healed.”

Unwilling to let it go, he pressed at her shoulders to turn her around.

“Please.” She pushed at his arm, taking a step back. “My Lord--Jericho--forgive me for saying so, but your insistence on seeing them leaves me to wonder if such a thing might bring you more amusement than concern.”

Something she’d have surmised as hurt flickered across his face. Eyes on her, he unclasped the buckles across his brigandine vest and peeled the garment from over his shoulders. Waves of distress pummeled her heart as she stared back at all the many scars that marred the baron’s body. Scars of all shapes, sizes, and stages of healing. Tears filled her eyes, imagining the hours of pain it must’ve taken for such markings to be left.

She reached out to touch them, but hesitated. “Who did this to you?”

“Come. I want to show you something.” Without giving her an opportunity to protest, he led her through the corridor of the undercroft toward one of the forbidden rooms.

Curiosity battled the fear inside of her. Bishop Venable had warned her a number of times to stay away from the rooms there, but particularly the one with the symbol etched into the door’s thick wood. The one she’d come to recognize as the Pentacrux. The same sign branded into her flesh.

Still grasping her hand, the baron pushed open the door, setting off a nervous tickle in her stomach. The nervous tickle turned to dread, the moment the room came into view. She stared in horror at the chains with cuffs that hung from the ceiling. The cross-shaped surface that held leather restraints. The variety of tools, the likes of which she’d never seen before, hanging from the walls.

A room equipped for the most horrific torture.

“What is this, My Lord?”

He finally released her and slowly crossed the room toward one of many thickly-braided whips attached to the wall, which he pulled one down, running his fingers through it. “My penance for being born. They refer to them as experiments. You asked where my scars came from?”

“Surely, they would not torment a noble man such as yourself.”

“Their punishment does not discriminate between noblemen and peasants. It is only what they perceive as good and evil that matters.”

“And you are deemed evil. Why? Because you are not like the rest of them?”

“They fear what they do not understand. I could say the same for you, Lustina.” A glance over his shoulder showed the tension rising up to his stiff jaw. “Why do they punish you, when you have never brought any offense against them?”

“Because my mother was a witch,” she said under her breath.

“Your mother was no more a witch than any of their precious mothers.”

As much as she longed to smile at his comment about her mother, the thought of her senseless death still weighed heavy on her heart. “Every night, I pray for her soul. To their god. To the ones my mother believed in. Whoever will listen, I ask that she be granted mercy for any wrongs she committed in this life.”

“You do not need to worry for your mother. She is fortunate to have left this unforgiving world.”

“I would like to think so, My Lord. I would like to think somewhere better exists.” When she tilted her head back, she noticed what appeared to be drops of blood on the ceiling, and quickly looked away.

“You believe in the afterlife, then?”

“I suppose. Though, I do not believe only those who lead perfectly pristine lives are granted entry. I believe in an afterlife which accepts all, regardless of their transgressions.” Lustina stepped toward him and gathered the loose, hanging braids of the whip into her palm.

He tipped his head, guiding her eyes back to his. “What is it?”

Lustina captured one of the knots in the whip, imagining the harsh strike of it across her skin. “What does it feel like? This pain?”

“You wish to experience my punishment?”

“Yes.”

He ran his finger down her exposed skin, inciting shivers and goosebumps. “A whip like this would wreak havoc on such innocent flesh. And are your own wounds not newly healed?”

“They are, My Lord. Are your wounds not fully healed each time they subject you to these torments?”

Something flickered in his eyes, and he ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth. “You must be masochistic to imagine such things.”

Ignoring his question, she gathered all of the braids into her hand. How cold the leather. How callous the knots. “Does it feel like an eternity to you? One long stretch of the infernal?”

“As of late, my thoughts are wrapped up in you, and as such, I do not notice the pain nearly as much. Or I welcome it, if only to imagine it as my suffering just to see you again.” He reached out for a strand of her hair, which he let slip through his fingers. “Why do you not accompany the bishop anymore?”

“He forbade me. Said I was far too unclean to set foot inside your home.”

“And yet, you are the only one who does not make me ill to set eyes upon.”

As he reached out for her, she ducked from his touch in play, putting the chains that hung from the ceiling between them. “You say they fear you.” She ran her fingers down the thick, seemingly unbreakable links. “It seems you could do exceptional damage, if you were so ambitious.”

Those piercing blue eyes watched her, like that of an animal. “I suppose I could, yes.”

“Why don’t you? Why allow them to perform these experiments, as you called them?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Your mother.”

“She is certainly one of them, yes.”

“I can understand that.” Lustina reached up for the chains and looked over her shoulder at him. “Show me, Jericho.”

Something lit in his eyes, and before she could lower her arms, he shackled them to the binds. Hand crossing over her throat, he tipped her head back into his chest and ran his thumb along her jaw. “Say my name again.”

“Jericho.”

“Your scent … that deliciously immaculate scent. So pure.” An ache blossomed in her jaw where he pressed his thumb harder. “The way it taunts me relentlessly. It is not right, this violence you incite in me. This desire to hurt at the mere sound of my name on your lips.”

“Only those who suffer long for such things. Show me.”

His fingers dug deeper, her neck taught with his wrenching. “You are so consumed by my pain, but do you know the depth of it? Do you honestly think you could understand the monster that they have made me, with a few lashings to your flesh?”

Brows knitted, she shook her head. “I do not mean to mock your punishment. I only want to slip beneath your skin. If for a moment.”

“Then, I will grant you this request. And mark my words, Lustina, you will regret having asked for it.”

He unlatched her dress, which fell to the floor, and reached for the hem of her shift, pulling it up toward her tethered hands, so that her face was hidden behind the fabric. Cold air touched her completely exposed body. As he backed himself away, Lustina could feel the knots tap at her unclothed back. A warning.

“I knew the very moment I laid eyes on you that you were too good. Too pure. Some say it is in the eyes, but I could smell it on the air. I wanted to drown in it. So perfect was your soul.”

“I am far from perfect, My Lord.”

“So we shall see. When the first strike hits your flesh and makes that terrible sound of splitting skin.” The descriptions he’d planted in her head turned her stomach, stirring up the first pangs of regret. “We will see precisely how imperfect you can be. And do you know what it is you cry out, when that pain becomes so unbearable you can scarcely breathe?”

On a sharp exhale through her nose, she shook her head.

“You cry mercy. Yet, even then it will not make a difference. For no one pities the unloved.”

Her body trembled. She clenched her eyes, waiting for the strike to her flesh, and imagined him in the room with all those men who longed to hurt him. Ignoring his pleas for mercy. Lifting her chin in resignation, she steeled her muscles.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Seconds ticked away, until the first touch of a finger brushed over her shoulder and lips trailed after.

“I would sooner watch the world and every creature in it burn to the ground than to raise my hand against you, Lustina. You are the only thing that matters to me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she bit back the urge to break, as he lowered the fabric from her eyes. With her arms still tethered, he kissed her throat while running his hand over her hip. “The only torment I wish to inflict is my own. Touching you, and knowing that you will never belong to me. You will never be mine to keep from the world.” Fingers curled into her dress, he pulled her against him, stretching her arms still caught in the binds. “I want to be good. If for no one else, then for you.”

“My Lord--Jericho--I feel the strangest things when I am with you. Inexplicable things.”

“Then, you feel as I do.” His arm tightened around her possessively, and he kissed her neck harder, the thrill of his lips buckling her knees. “The next time they have me tied to these very chains, I shall think of you, here, like this. And I shall imagine all the ways I would have you. You will be my mercy.”

“Will such thoughts bring peace to your punishment?”

“It will not. But it will anger them to know how much I enjoy their suffering.”