Cassandra Palmer 1(28)
The woman paused at the top of the stairs and turned to me. She didn't look scornful now; the emotion in her dark eyes was closer to fear. «I will go no farther. I have already seen what waits for you, and have no wish to do so again.» Her expression changed to something like pity. «All your life, you have experienced the rewards that come from silence. Tonight you will learn the punishment for breaking it.»
She turned away without another word and the guards started to muscle me towards that black hole. I was stronger in this body, but nowhere near enough to allow me to take on those guys. I looked wildly back at the woman, but she was already walking away, spine stiff and straight under her mulberry-colored dress. «Please! Madame! Why are you doing this? I have said nothing, I swear it!» The words weren't mine—they popped to my lips uninvited—and they didn't stop her.
«If you want to know who to credit with this night's work, ask your brother,» she flung over her shoulder before disappearing into a room and shutting the door firmly behind her. It was a very final sound.
The stairs were too narrow for my captors to keep hold of my arms, but since they were behind me and there was nowhere to go but down, it didn't really matter. There was almost no light; only a few thin slivers of moonlight filtered in through ridiculously narrow windows as we descended. The steps were slick with damp, and the depression in the middle made it almost impossible to keep my footing, especially without shoes. I was also uncomfortably cold despite the robe, although at least that seemed to have gotten rid of any lingering arousal. But a very unfamiliar weight hung slack between my legs, an unwelcome and alien sensation that was doing more than anything else to make me want to start yelling and just not stop. I stubbed my toe about halfway down but was almost grateful for the pain; I was very close to losing it entirely, and the throbbing in my foot gave me something else to think about.
Torchlight flickered on the stairs as we finally came to the bottom, making shadows dance over everything and gleaming off the trails of liquid that seeped down the walls. Suddenly it was not chilly anymore; it was cold, intensely so, as if my blood had turned to ice in my veins. I was surprised not to see frost hugging the walls, but the damp trickles ran freely.
Far worse than the burning cold or the surroundings were the piteous wails that came from behind an iron-banded door a few yards ahead. They were soft, muffled by the thick wood, but they nonetheless hurt the mind. It was painful to hear voices so raw, so full of despair, and so sure that the help they called for would never come. I instinctively tried to back away, moving into a puddle of light cast by a nearby sconce, when a rough hand shoved me forward. I stumbled, striking my knees on the uneven stone of the floor.
«In there.»
I was slow obeying the command, but a kick to my ribs winded me and a rough hand pulled me upright. I looked down and saw a man, balding, overweight, wearing a bloodstained apron and rough, dirty wool trousers. At five foot four, I'm not used to looking down at many men, and I blinked at him in pain and confusion. Fleshy lips split into a grin, showing a mouth full of gray teeth, and I flinched back. That seemed to please him. «Good. Be afraid, M'sieur le Tour. Remember, you're no prince tonight.» He looked me up and down. «Soon we'll see if you live up to your name. Tonight, you're mine!»
A huge iron key was fitted into the lock, and the door swung open. I had a brief glimpse of a large, square room with thick stone walls and high ceilings before I was pushed through. I fell again, this time onto filthy straw that stank of urine and worse, and did little to soften the hard floor. Some part of me was outraged at the way this crude man was treating me, but a moment later, all feelings besides horror melted. I met the eyes of the emaciated, naked woman stretched impossibly tight on a rack and I was unable to look away. Blood had run in rivulets from her tortured body and dried in thick, viscous rivers on her skin, and brown stains covered the floor below her. There was so much blood, I couldn't believe one body had held it all.
Men in chains along the walls were crying, begging me to save them, but I barely noticed. All my attention was on the woman, although she made no sound. The torchlight reflected in her open eyes, and I couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light or if some life still burned in there. For her sake, I hoped not. The man saw the direction of my stare and walked over to her. «Yes, your friend won't be fun much longer.» He tested one of the ropes binding her hands, and I saw that her nails were missing. The ends of her fingers looked as if they had been shredded, or eaten away by some animal, and the knuckles were swollen so large that there was no way she could have closed her hands, even if she'd been free to do so.