Immerez hastily replaced the patch and stepped back.

“What is it?” Nyssa asked.

He wiped his hand across his brow. “What are your intentions for her?”

Nyssa shrugged. “More lashes. I want to hear her scream some more. Terrik wanted answers, and I aim to get them, and will keep going until she gives them or passes out entirely.”

“I believe you should hold off.”

“What? Why?”

“Grandmother needs to see her.”

“But Grandmother—”

“She’ll be back in another day or two. I am telling you, Nyssa, leave this one alone for now.”

“What? Not even one more lash?” Nyssa placed her fingertip, coated in Karigan’s blood, on Immerez’s lips and smeared them. His tongue darted out to taste it, and he and Nyssa kissed long and deep. Her hands delved down the front of his trousers. Soon she had his belt and fly undone and she knelt before him, right there beside Karigan’s tortured body. Reed and Burson watched on in bored fascination, but Estral turned away in revulsion, unable to entirely block out the sounds of Immerez’s pleasure.

When Nyssa finished, she said, “One more lash? I’ll even let you administer it.”

“How can I refuse?”

He was buckling his belt by the time Estral dared look again. He accepted Nyssa’s whip.

“If Grandmother lets me,” he said, “I’ll have her hand.”

This time, without Burson pressuring her to watch, Estral could turn away, but Karigan’s scream curdled into the center of her being.

“You got her side and ribs,” Nyssa complained.

“I thought you liked blood and pain.”

“I am accustomed to making my subjects last by controlling the blood loss—the ribs bleed too much.” Then she added more brightly, “Though they do tend to be more painful. I suppose it’s all right since we are doing no more tonight.”

“There are other things we can do tonight,” Immerez said.

“Yes, and I will train you next time to be more precise. Reed, Burson, see to the prisoner. We’re done with her for now.”

“You and I,” Immerez told Nyssa, “are just beginning, my little bird, my dark Starling.”

A STORY

They simply dragged Karigan into the pen and dropped her facedown, her shredded back exposed and oozing.

“She needs help,” Estral told the guards. “At least something to clean her wounds.”

The guards merely shrugged as they stepped outside and locked the door.

“Please!” Estral pleaded, but they ambled away, removing their pipes from belt pouches and heading outside.

She stood there trembling for a moment, unable to look at Karigan. She closed her eyes and tried to bear up. Studying the remains of those unknown men at the lumber camp had been one thing. Seeing the abused, bloodied body of her friend was another. She steeled herself and looked. The barbs of the whip had carved into the muscles of Karigan’s back and left her skin in ribbons. Estral’s stomach churned and she fought the bile that rose in her throat. She must be strong. For Karigan.

She licked her lips and knelt beside her. She stroked back the loose, shorn hair from her face, a face that was uncharacteristically pale but for the lurid gash down her cheek.

Reed unexpectedly reappeared with two buckets and some blankets. He opened the pen’s door and placed them inside. He pointed at the buckets. “One’s for slops, other’s for water.”

“Thank you. Do you have a mender? Could I at least have bandages?”

He shrugged, locked the door of the pen, and left her, pipe smoke trailing behind him as he stepped outdoors once more.

Estral took the first blanket and covered Karigan from the hips down, leaving her back uncovered for fear that anything that touched it would irritate and adhere to her wounds. The second blanket she folded and, gently lifting Karigan’s head, placed it beneath as a pillow. She then nested straw around the rest of her, except where Immerez had scored her side. This bled worst of all.

She removed her shirt from beneath her sweater and wadded it against Karigan’s side and held it there to staunch the bleeding.

Karigan stirred, murmured.

“Karigan? Can you hear me?”

“Ears work,” she said barely above a whisper. It clearly took effort for her to speak. “As for the rest . . .”

“Yes? Yes?”

“Not so good. Terrible day.”

“Yes, it is. I am so sorry. I—I wish I could do something for you.” Why didn’t they send in a mender? “How can I help?”

After a time, Karigan said, “Story. Tell me . . . story. Take my mind off . . . this.”

Estral rubbed tears from her face, tried to control herself for Karigan’s sake. If only she’d not made so terrible a decision that morning to enter the Lone Forest. She would never forgive herself.

“Story.” Karigan coughed weakly.

Estral took a rattling breath, feeling as if it were the last thing she wanted to do, but for Karigan, who had endured far more, it was such a small request. “All right. I’m trying to think of a good one.”

“Make it up.”

“What? Make it up?”

“Mmm.”

“Uh, all right.” She recalled that Karigan had always enjoyed The Journeys of Gilan Wylloland, rather light but colorful adventure tales. Making up something similar might work. She cleared her throat. “There once was a sorceress named Myrene who worked for the good of her realm and the order of Givean. A protector named Tiphane was assigned to her as she went about doing her good works, but Tiphane had a slight problem when it came to Myrene’s magic—she was allergic to it.”