Page 52 of The Faerie Handmaid

Instantly, Gwen pushed herself up and scurried out. She came back a moment later with a plate and cup and a half-eaten loaf. She added these to the tray, then stood, her head down, her hands hanging empty beside her, until Faolin said, “That’s all for today. Go.”

She went.

Braithe rose and stood with her feet a little apart, wary, ready to run even though there was nowhere she could run to. Faolin braced his hands on the back of a chair as he fixed her with his yellow gaze. “So now you know the story,” he said coolly. “Is that what you came for?”

“It is not,” she said.

His lips curled in his wolfish smile. “I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you want to know. It won’t matter, because you will have no chance to tell your traitor priestess, or even your Black Mage.”

“There is much I want to know.”

His humorless smile widened. “Ask. I hope your questions are interesting enough to relieve my boredom.”

“Why did you take me?”

He raised one of his eyebrows. “That should be obvious, Braithe. I don’t want you exposing me.” He lifted one shoulder. “And it was entertaining, luring you out of the chamber in that way, even though it was a little too easy for real fun.”

Braithe ignored the gibe. “So you admit you are one of those harming King Mordred.”

“Ah,” he said, and his brow relaxed. His fingers drummed restlessly on the back of the chair. “Now, that is the right question, and an interesting one.”

“You have not answered it.”

“I have, in a way, have I not? If I were not one of those you seek, I would not have bothered taking you.” He lifted his hands from the chair back. “Or perhaps I would. You have… what is the word… possibilities.”

As he said that, vile images flashed from his mind to Braithe’s. It was deliberate, an attempt to shock her. She tried to block them, but he was too strong. They sprang into her mind, images she knew would be hard to forget. She lifted her chin, pretending she hadn’t received them, refusing to give this odious creature the satisfaction. She said coolly, “Why should you hate King Mordred? I doubt you have ever laid eyes on him.”

“Ah, the poor boy king,” Faolin said lightly. “I don’t hate him in particular. I loathe all of Lloegyr, full of stupid, weak little humans, and I hate that your Lady tried telling us, the fae, where we can and cannot go.” His voice hardened, and Braithe caught the first real flash of emotion from him. “She had no right,” he said sourly, “and you are all paying for her arrogance.”

Braithe’s temper rose, a little fountain of anger that dissolved the disgusting images Faolin had planted in her mind and made her clench her fists behind her back. “I have one more question for you, then, Sero,” she said, her voice low and tight. He inclined his head. “How do you justify harming innocents to satisfy your own ire?”

“Justify?” he snarled, all remnants of good humor gone. “I have no need to justify anything. I am fae. You humans are just… just human. You are nothing to me.”

“That’s not true. You use humans like Gwen to satisfy your perversions.”

He made a small noise that might have been meant to be a laugh but did not quite succeed. “What you call perversion, Braithe of the Temple, is what I call entertainment. You will learn in time not to insult me.”

Braithe’s temper burned hotter, and she shook her head. “I will not be staying with you, Sero Faolin.”

“Ah, you use my title, yet I sense no respect. No comprehension of the power I hold over you.” His brow furrowed, just a little, in a way Braithe recognized. Morgana’s brow did that when she was wielding magic. He flicked his fingers, too, a thing she had seen Morgana do many times.

And the pain began.

It started in her middle, without warning, as if something had stabbed her. Sharp and vicious, it spread swiftly, filling her belly, rising into her rib cage. She tried to suppress her groan, but it was involuntary, and she couldn’t restrain it. She bent forward, trying to ease the agony. It intensified. She twisted to the side, but it made no difference. She couldn’t escape it, couldn’t find a position to ease the torment. She reached for the table edge to support herself, but she was blind with pain, and she struck the clay pitcher on the meal tray. She heard it shatter on the floor, but she could do nothing about it. Perspiration broke out on her forehead. She groaned again, a guttural sound that came from deep in her body. It wound through the pain, a part of it, a product of it. The groan hurt as much as the pain did, intensifying and complicating the agony.

Gwen had said he liked to hear you scream. The pain was nauseating and torturous, but Braithe gritted her teeth against the scream building in her throat. She would not let it out. She would not give it breath. She would die of this awful pain before she allowed him to defeat her—

It ended as abruptly as it had begun, and the relief was so great she nearly groaned again. She pressed her lips together to stop it and realized too late she had bitten her lower lip. She tasted blood in her mouth as she cautiously straightened. She shuddered with the aftermath, taking shallow breaths, terrified of reviving the torment.

Faolin said, in a casual tone, “That’s a taste of what I can do, little Braithe.” His feral smile returned. “I am very good at this, you must admit. I have had lots of practice. I can make you hurt so badly you will wish you would die, but I promise you won’t. You will beg me to stop, though. I always like that.”

“Is that all you want from me?” Braithe tried to speak evenly, but her voice cracked.

“No. As it happens, I want much, much more, and I especially want your traitor priestess to know of your suffering.” His smile faded, and his awful eyes darkened. “She killed my changeling, your priestess. Did she think there would be no repercussions?” His nostrils flared, and he gripped the back of the chair once again, his knuckles going white with the pressure. It was obvious he was not quite sane.

A new pain began, this one in the back of Braithe’s head, threatening to flare up into her skull. She drew a breath and held it, bracing herself, but the pain didn’t grow. Instead, as Faolin blew out a long breath, so sour she could smell it from across the table, the pain subsided. “I’m too tired tonight,” he said. “But I warn you. Your priestess has dared to interfere in the affairs of the White City, and it will not be tolerated. She thinks she can stop me from doing what I wish, but she is going to learn just how wrong she is.”

Braithe made herself relax her hands and draw a deep breath into her aching belly. She said, “Priestess Morgana will not know. Your efforts will be wasted.”