to the Lady Iris, who seeks to right a wrong some six hundred years old. Leave my concerns for another time.”
She gracefully inclined her head. “As you will.” Turning to me, she knelt and extended her hand. “One of the Ar’jant d’tel?”
“I was so named centuries ago,” I said quietly. “The title was revoked and I was cast out of my temple for a crime about which I have no memory. I come to find the truth, either to free myself from a curse or to bear the punishment should it be proved I did this deed.”
The Wolf Mother held my gaze for a moment, but then the hesitation slid away and she smiled at me, rich and full. “I see truth in your heart. I smell no lie, no hesitation. Lady Iris, you might be stripped of your title, but you wear it like a cloak in your aura. Mortals may give and take names, but they cannot remove the energy behind the title. Rest, and tell us what you need.”
As she spoke, several of the other wolves shifted form, into stocky, lovely women with dark hair and eyes. Kitää clapped her hands and they hurried over to pull pelts and furs out from behind one of the columns and began to form a thick bed on the cavern floor.
One of the wolf men knelt and began to light a fire in the fire pit, rubbing two sticks together, but Smoky motioned for the warrior to hand him one of the sticks. He held it to his lips, blew on it softly, and the wood sparked to life. Handing the torch back to the man, Smoky leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of Camille’s head.
Kitää led me over to the pile of furs and I gratefully sank into the bedding. It was warm and cushioned, and I realized how bone-weary I was. Camille, Smoky, and Roz joined us.
“Food,” Kitää said motioning to a couple of the women. “Make certain it’s hot and hearty.”
Howl sauntered over. “What think you of my home?”
“It’s incredible,” I said truthfully. The chamber led back into tunnels, and the eye catchers provided soft light all the way through. Even though the fire was limited in scope, the air in the chamber seemed warm compared to the outdoors and we shed our cloaks.
“You have a lovely home,” Camille said, smiling at him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“So what is your plan, Lady Iris? We stand on the edge of the Skirts of Hel. What do you need to do next? Go to the temple?” Howl motioned to Kitää and she curled in his arms as they sat back, resting against a stone column.
I shook my head. “They would not allow me entrance. No, I have to find Vikkommin’s shadow and confront him. I need to break through his madness and discover what happened that night. Once I find out, then I can go to the temple and they can look into my mind and see the truth of the matter.”
Memories of their inquisition ran through my thoughts and for a moment I felt fear. But then, what worse could they do to me than they’d already done? I was stronger now, tougher, and had already been through their torture.
Kitää reached out, ran her fingers up my arm. “You are a brave soul. Tell me what happened.”
I glanced at Camille and she nodded. “Long ago, I was taken to the temple . . .” And I told them everything. This was the first Roz and Smoky had heard of the whole tale. Camille knew I’d been tortured, but I hadn’t told the guys. I didn’t want them playing hero before I needed them to.
“Let me see them,” Kitää said. “Let me see your scars.”
Camille looked at me. “It’s up to you. Do you want to?”
I bit my lip. No one had seen my scars since I’d stopped at the inn on the way down the mountain. Not even Bruce, because I played it shy with him, keeping the lights off. He thought I was just demure, but really it was to prevent him from asking questions. They had healed without leaving raised bumps, but they were still there, across my back.
“Only the women.” I glanced up at all of them.
Rozurial laid his hand gently on my arm. “Iris, my sweet. I know I’ve joked around, and tried to win you into bed, but trust me, I would never make light of your past or your need for privacy. Smoky, come on, let’s go outside to stretch our legs and lose some drink.”
Howl said nothing, but he followed Smoky and Roz. Kitää motioned and a ring of wolves—all female—surrounded us, their backs to us, keeping everyone at bay. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. The moment of truth.
As I stood and dropped my cape to the floor, then unfastened my walking skirt and tunic and dropped them away, and finally my bra, the cold air hit me, chilling me through. Slowly I shifted my hair forward, letting it flow to the floor over my breasts, and turned so that Kitää and Camille could see my back.
“Oh, Great Mother,” Camille said, her voice a low whisper.
“Thirty lashes,” I whispered. And for the first time, my scars and my shame were fully exposed.
“PIRKITTA, TELL US now. Give us the truth and we won’t have to do this.” The Priestess-Mother begged me, but I shook my head, unable to do as she asked.
“I can’t—I’ve told you everything I remember! Look into my mind, please, look into my thoughts and you will see.”
I was naked down to my waist, my arms stretched between two posts, manacled with iron that was lined just enough so that pain seeped through from the metal but not the actual burns. My hair had been draped over my shoulder, spilling strands down to coil at my knees. I had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed or ashamed. I wanted to wrap my hands in front of my body, to cover myself, to curl in a ball weeping, but the manacles prevented all of those.
“Pirkitta, please. Tell us why you did this thing?”
“I don’t know if I did! I have no memory. Please stop . . .”
The Priestess-Mother bit her lip and I saw blood swell, trickling down the side of her mouth. “My child. This is the way—there must be tradition. If you won’t tell us the truth, then we have to administer punishment. And the punishment must fit the crime.”
As she backed away, I gazed up into her eyes. She was old, old past counting, and I had been chosen to take her place. I knew now that would never happen. There would be no future for me here, if anywhere. I would die here, at the hands of those who believed I’d killed my sweet Vikkommin.
There was no tomorrow. No yesterday. Only today and the looming pain waiting to descend.
And then the lash fell, burning with white agony. I managed to keep from screaming the first time. The flames of ice licked at me, magical fire that hurt worse than the whip itself. Cold fire, the fire of deep ice, leaving marks but no wounds. Leaving no lasting damage but pain—and the memory of that pain—beyond what any normal lash could ever hope to achieve.
And on the fifth strike, the exquisite pain became all there was in the world, and I started to scream. And I went right on screaming until the lashes had counted to thirty.
“We could not find the truth,” the Priestess-Mother said, staring down at my prone form on the floor. “It is cloaked so deeply in your psyche that we have no hope of ever knowing. We cannot allow you to stay in the temple, but neither can we punish you for his death if we don’t know for certain you’re guilty.”
I sobbed, all my tears long shed but the pain unending. Ishonar would stay in my system for days, tearing at me every time I moved. “Please, don’t send me away. I
The Priestess-Mother ignored me. “You are excommunicated from the Temple of Undutar, turned away as pariah. You are stripped of your title, no more the Ar’jant d’tel. You are stripped of the mightiest of your powers.”
And a new hell rushed through me, a great hand tearing power and spells out of me like it might rip weeds
