10

I'm on my knees with the King of Vohrain at my back, his hand heavy on the top of my head. Throughout the square stand my people, a variegated painting of countless whispering colors. So many faces, in shades from deepest black and golden tan to icy white. Eyes, green and brown and blue, trained on me.

Since I was a child, I have loved this city, these people. I've found friends in every town I've toured throughout my life, but the Capital holds my heart. It's huge, and yet I recognize at least three dozen faces to which I could put a name.

With their eyes and their expressions, my people sing me a voiceless melody of sorrow, sympathy, and vengeful anger. They are a silent symphony, heartstrings pulled tight, vibrating, on the verge of breaking after everything they've been through. My soul draws strength from them, as it did from Parma, from the woman in the hallway, from the stable hands in the courtyard.

I still can't forget the face of the girl I killed on the island, the one who tried to drown me. I'm sure there are people like her throughout Elekstan, whose rage is focused on me now that my mother is gone. But in this moment, all I sense from the crowd is sympathy.

"The dragons stole women from this city," Rahzien declares. "Some of you lost wives, daughters, sisters, friends, all of whom have been brutally raped and devoured by their dragon captors."

Someone in the crowd begins to wail, a heartbroken, keening sound.

"Because of this travesty, the dragons are no longer our allies," Rahzien continues. "I have taken measures to ensure that they will never again be a threat to you or any other humans. The only captive I was able to save from the dragons was your princess. However, she is not blameless. She and her mother refused to surrender to my forces, and their obstinance resulted in countless deaths. Rest assured, she will be punished for her part in this bloody, unnecessary war. I am teaching her the error of her ways. Teaching her to submit. To know when she's been beaten."

He's so cruelly skilled at this, at twisting the truth and transforming it into something ugly and hopeless. I only hope my people have the wisdom to see through his lies.

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.

The guards unshackle my wrists, and I almost pitch face-forward onto the boards of the platform, but one of the men holds me up. As they drag me to my feet, I realize that the flimsy garment I'm wearing is glued to my back with blood.

"I won't keep you from your daily errands any longer," Rahzien says cheerfully to his captive audience. "Enjoy this fine afternoon."

He descends from the platform and returns to his carriage. I'm thrown into the carriage after him.

I lie crumpled on the floor, terrified to move because every tiny shift makes the damaged muscles of my back scream and twitch.

The carriage door closes, the driver shouts to the horses, and we rattle away from the square. I sob quietly on the floor, partly from agony and partly from anger.

"Is any of it true?" I manage through my tears. "Or are you lying to all of us?"

"Repeat your truth, Spider," is the only answer I receive.

When I'm silent, he says, "Repeat it, or I'll do worse than the whipping."

"I am your pet," I choke out. "I do as I'm told. When I do as I'm told, I receive good things."

"Like healing," he assures me. "You'll be healed as soon as we return to the palace. Tomorrow I have a treat planned for you—a dinner party and a dance with many of the nobles of Elekstan. It's by invitation only—an evening with the Conquered Consort. The invitations went out this morning, and I've already received many replies, which is encouraging. After our demonstration today, I'm confident everyone will behave themselves at the party. Unless, of course, I give them permission not to behave. I suspect most of them will be craving a taste of the ruined princess."

"But not you," I say faintly. "You don't want a taste?"

"Trust me, Spider, I plan to ravage that little cunt of yours, when the time is right. I like to fuck, and I fuck hard. But there are more tempting pleasures to be had from you at present. "

"Like fucking with my mind."

He guffaws, a harsh sound that startles me like his shout back in the square. It's the most frightening thing about him—the way his cool intentionality explodes into violence without warning.

"Well said, Spider. Well said." He parts the carriage curtains and looks out the window, while I close my eyes and breathe through the flashes of pain.

Kyreagan has a temper, to be sure, but it's more of a grouchiness—a morosely simmering, occasionally flaming, never-truly-cruel sort of anger. I suspect once my dragon's grief abates and his world settles into something resembling normalcy, his anger will cool as well. Besides, even at his worst moments, Kyreagan never injured me, at least not on purpose. He was merciless during the war, and his heart might be a tumultuous place, but there's a vast ocean of tenderness in it for me.

I miss him so intensely that the pain of my wounds fades for a moment, and my memory replays the sound I heard in the square—the deep, rippling growl of a dragon.

Imagined or not, that sound gives me more hope than the loyalty of a thousand citizens.