“Hush …”
The boy was stripped to the waist, blindfolded with black cloth, his back to the room. The acolytes gathered in a semicircle around the statue’s base, silent and wary. Ashlinn nodded to herself, whispered to Mia.
“Blood scourging.”
“What?”
“Shhh. Watch.”
“Thank you for attending, Acolytes,” Drusilla said. “There are few true rules that govern the life of a Blade. Should you survive to serve the Mother, you will live outside the boundaries of law, and thus, we give you as much liberty within these walls as we may. But still, the few rules we impart to you cannot be ignored.
“After the murder of Acolyte Floodcaller, each of you were warned not to leave your rooms after ninebells. I promised anyone found guilty of breaching this curfew would be severely punished. And still, one of you has sought to test my resolve.” She indicated Hush with a wave of her hand. “Now witness folly’s price.”
The Revered Mother stepped off the dais, turned to the shadows.
“Speaker? Weaver?”
Mia saw two figures step into the stained-glass light. Speaker Adonai wore leather britches, no boots, a red silken robe thrown carelessly over his bare torso. His sister Marielle was wrapped head to foot in loose-flowing black. The siblings took their places behind the boy. Hush turned his head as Marielle began cracking her knuckles, sickly wet pops echoing in the gloom. Even blindfolded, Hush must have recognized the sound. Mia saw him take a deep breath, then turn back to the stone.
Mother Drusilla spoke with a voice like iron.
“Begin.”
Marielle raised her hand, fingers outstretched. From her vantage, Mia could see the woman’s face, those awful lips split in a bleeding smile. Marielle muttered beneath her breath, narrowed her eyes, and curled her fingers into a fist.
A tearing sound ripped the air, and the flesh of Hush’s back split like rotten fruit. The boy threw back his head as four hideous gashes opened along his skin, as if some invisible scourge had been lashed across his spine. Blood spurted, muscles shredded, Mia wincing as she saw pink, gleaming bone showing through the wounds.
But the boy made not a sound.
Marielle waved her hand again, casually, as if brushing away a troublesome fly. Four more rends opened in Hush’s flesh, shredding his lower back. Every muscle in his body clenched, veins corded in his arms and neck, that beautiful face twisted in agony. Mia was unsure if any other acolyte could see, but from the angle she stood at, she was appalled to note the boy’s lips peeling back in a snarl, exposing pink, empty gums.
Black Mother, he’s got no teeth …
Again Marielle waved her hand. Again the boy’s skin shredded. Long, ragged gashes opened across his legs, his back minced like sausage meat. Blood was pooling on the stone at his feet. Arterial spray spurting, spatter-mad patterns gleaming in the air. And though he must have been in agony, still the boy made not a whisper. The acolytes watched in horror as Marielle moved her hands, more and more of Hush’s back peeling away. And all the while, the boy remained as silent as if he were already dead.
Minutes passed. Wet tearing noises. Raindrops. Hush was a bleeding ruin. Head lolling on his shoulders. Blood slicked about his feet in a dark red tide. Surely they couldn’t keep going? Mia turned to Ash, her voice a hiss.
“They’re killing him!”
Ash shook her head. “Watch.”
Marielle continued her grisly work, that bloody grin growing wider. Hush thrashed feebly against his chains, but he was barely conscious now. And when Mia could actually count the ribs beneath his skin, when it seemed even one more invisible blow would end him, the Revered Mother raised her hand.
“Enough.”
Marielle glanced to Drusilla, her grin dying hard. But slowly, the weaver inclined her head, lowered her hand with obvious reluctance.
“Brother love, brother mine,” she lisped.
Adonai stepped forward, pushed his slick white hair from his face. The albino whispered, soft and musical, as if singing beneath his breath. The words echoed through the hall, like a choir’s song in the Basilica Grande. And as Mia watched, fascinated, the blood pooling at Hush’s feet began to move.
Trembling at first, rippling in some hidden vibration. But slowly, sluggishly, the flood of scarlet retreated across the stone at the boy’s feet as he thrashed and shuddered, flowing up his legs and back into the wounds Marielle had torn. Mia looked at the speaker’s face, pale as corpses. Instead of their customary pink, the man’s eyes were blood red. His smile, ecstatic.
Marielle raised her hands beside her brother’s. Wove them in the air like a seamstress at a bloody loom. And as Hush bucked and shook, mouth open, face gleaming with sweat, one by one, the wounds closed. The awful rends and tears. The sodden, minced flesh. All of them rippling shut as Hush silently thrashed, until not a scratch remained on his skin.
The boy sagged in his chains, drool spilling from his lips. He’d remained conscious through all of it. Every moment. The acolytes looked at him with a mix of horror and awe.
The Hands unlocked his manacles, threw a robe around his unmarred shoulders.
“Take him to his room,” Drusilla said. “He is excused from the morrow’s lessons.”
The Hands obeyed, hefting Hush between them and dragging him from the hall. The Revered Mother looked among the assembled acolytes, fixed each in her blue stare. The matronly facade was gone, the motherly love momentarily evaporated. This was the killer unveiled. The same woman who had sat idle as Lord Cassius and his men tortured her acolytes inside that dark cell in Godsgrave. The same woman who had sent eight of her students to their deaths with a smile.
“I trust no further demonstrations will be necessary,” she said. “If another acolyte is found outside their bedchamber after ninebells, they shall drink from the same cup. Though next time, I may allow Weaver Marielle to fully have her head.”
The Mother slipped her hands inside her sleeves. Bowed.
“Now. Go to sleep, children.”
Sleep had come slowly, and Mia woke before the rising bells, staring at the walls. Determined to get the strength in her swordarm back, she exercised; push-ups at the foot of her bed, pull-ups on her door. Her elbow was screaming after a few minutes, but she struggled on until tears welled in her eyes. Finally collapsing on the floor, she lay there and caught her breath, cursing Solis for a bastard beneath it.
Slipping from her bedchamber, she headed toward the bathhouse. Passing by one acolyte’s room, she heard a crash, the tinkling of broken glass from inside. She came to a halt outside the door; several more thumps and bangs resounded from within.
“… those who poke their noses into others’ business tend to lose them …”
“Call me curious.”
“… you’ve heard what it did to the cat …”
Mia leaned in closer, put her ear against the wood.
The door swung open, and Mia sprang back, startled. There in the gloom, she saw Hush. Red-eyed. Pale skin. That beautiful face, streaked with tears. He was shirtless, sweating from exertion. The room beyond was in chaos, drawers upended and flung against the wall, bedding in ruin. Mia looked him up and down. Lithe and well muscled. Hairless chest. Other than some bruising at his wrists, his body showed no sign of the torture Marielle and Adonai had inflicted.
The boy stared. Lips thin. Rage in his eyes.
“Apologies, Hush,” Mia said. “I heard noises.”
Hush remained mute. Motionless.
“Are you all right?”
No answer. Just a cold, tearstained stare. She remembered the image of him yestereve, head thrown back, lips peeling away from toothless gums. Was that why he never spoke? How had he lost every tooth in his head? Could he have ripped them out himself for tithe to gain entry to the Church?
The pair of them hung there, neither willing to move. The silence rang louder than the nevernight bells across Godsgrave.