“Who knew you were going to—do that?”
The Lord Heir scowled. “That’s what I’d like to know. I’m grateful for the nudge in the right direction of course—honestly we may never have found you otherwise—but I’d like to know more about my mysterious benefactor before I start pledging him my vote for the New Year’s Ball.”*
Kihrin stared down into his coffee cup. It was beautifully made, not solid gold, but paper-thin porcelain with the finest gilding on top. The coffee was rich and black and he was completely numb. He was sitting here chatting—chatting—with the man who ordered the deaths of Surdyeh, Morea, and Butterbelly. The man who had summoned the demon who had raped his mind. Darzin was talking to him with that pleasant voice and that pretty face and those fancy clothes, like Kihrin was some kind of old friend, like Kihrin was … family.
Kihrin set down the cup rather than shatter it in his fist. “You’re not my father,” he mumbled.
“Son, we’ve been through this—”
“No. FUCK NO. YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER!” he screamed. The music stopped. The girls in the pool paused from their games.
Darzin’s eyes turned flat. It was as if they no longer reflected any light at all, or held any expression. They looked dead.
“Watch your language,” Darzin said.
Kihrin didn’t respond. His lip curled and his nostrils flared.
“I tried to be reasonable,” Darzin whispered. “I tried to be nice. I want you to remember I tried to do this the right way. But you seem to want the wrong way, so I’m happy to oblige you.” Darzin turned to the side and snapped his fingers to catch someone’s eye. He turned back to Kihrin. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. There is a simple magical test that determines if you have the blood of House D’Mon in your veins. We are one of the god-touched Houses, after all, one of the genuine, original eight Royal Houses. While you slept, a Voice of the Council was here—and my father, the High Lord, stood as witness. The results of that test are irrefutable and legally binding.”
“Great. Give my regards to the Council, but I’m not staying.” Kihrin rose to leave.
“On the contrary, my son, this is exactly where you’re staying for the rest of your life.” He waved his hand, and guards rushed into Kihrin’s field of view.
This time, they weren’t alone. They brought forward a woman dressed in rags and dumped her on the floor. Kihrin didn’t know her, but he saw her pain. She was a slave in shackles and she could barely move. She pleaded with the guards, begged them for mercy. They ignored her.
“Since your introduction to the House should be memorable, son, I think you should see what is done with new slave acquisitions, much like yourself but for a small quirk of fate.” Darzin motioned toward the back, and a large man with a whip stepped forward. “You see, when a slave is first brought in ‘from the rough’ so to speak, it is usually necessary to break them in. To ‘season’ them. Watch.”
One of the guards ripped away the remnants of fabric from the woman’s back. The others cleared a space and the man with the whip swung hard. Kihrin didn’t see the strike, but he heard a loud crack and saw a line of blood appear down the woman’s back.
She screamed. He flinched.
“The trick,” Darzin explained with detached interest, “is to whip them enough so that they understand their place in the household and to break their will completely, but not so much that they bleed to death. Normally—”
“Stop it!”
Darzin continued as if he hadn’t heard Kihrin’s interruption. “—that balance between injury and death is a fine line. Since we control the College of Physickers, we have an advantage. Being able to ensure someone won’t die from their injuries isn’t a favor to them, when you’re causing the injuries in the first place.”
The whip came down several times during Darzin’s explanation. Each time the woman’s scream and Kihrin’s flinch were simultaneous. D’Mon noticed the young man’s reaction and smiled.
“You understand that failure to cooperate on your part could have dangerous repercussions? Not for you, of course. I would never hurt you—you are all I have to remind me of my dear Lyrilyn. But I do have to take my anger out on someone, don’t I?” He motioned for the slave trainer to quicken the pace of the lashings. The woman’s back was a river of bloody cuts, and her screams were fading in volume. Kihrin looked to the side and saw one of the D’Mon healers standing there, his face a careful blank. He understood: when she had suffered enough, the healer would fix her—and they would begin all over again.
“Taja,” Kihrin whispered. “Please stop this.”
“Say ‘please stop it, Father,’ and I might.” Darzin leaned forward as he watched the woman’s bloody back. His expression was hungry.
Kihrin grabbed the gold coffeepot and threw its contents at Darzin. When the older man ducked, he grabbed the steak knife and leapt at the trainer with the whip. The trainer looked up, surprised, but not fast enough to dodge Kihrin’s kick to the groin or the follow-up succession of stabs. The whip fell to the ground, followed a half second later by the guard’s body.
Darzin was on Kihrin before the dead man finished falling. The teenager felt a grip like a python wrap around his wrist, painfully forcing his hand to release the knife. Caught as he was, there was no way for Kihrin to escape Darzin’s knee crashing into his side hard enough to make the world spin. He jabbed out with an elbow, but Darzin dodged that.
“Idiot boy,” Darzin said as he punched Kihrin’s jaw. “I see you need breaking in too.”
When Kihrin staggered from the punch, Darzin grabbed the boy by the hair and shoved his face against the tabletop.
“Grab him,” Darzin ordered the other guards.
Rough hands held Kihrin down. He struggled to slip out of their grip and failed. “Fuck you!” he screamed.
“What did I just tell you about watching your language?” Darzin said. “You’re a prince. You must learn to talk like something other than a sewer rat.”
“Go to hell. You killed my father.”
Kihrin heard the fabric of his misha rip and realized Darzin was exposing his back.
“No, I didn’t,” Darzin said as he picked up the whip from the ground, “but you’re making me wish I had. I wonder how much you’ll bleed before you learn your place?”
The whip cracked. For a second, Kihrin felt nothing, then a searing pain flared across his back. He ground his teeth to keep from screaming.
Darzin laughed at his reaction. “So where did we leave off? Oh yes, you were going to say ‘please stop it, Father.’ Shall we begin?” The crack of the whip came down again and this time Kihrin screamed out loud.
“What are you doing, Lord Heir D’Mon?” A woman’s voice burned through the gardens.
The nobleman paused. “Miya. I didn’t expect you.”
Kihrin lifted his head up toward the voice and inhaled sharply.