dweomers. Hazoth had explained, however, that the displacement spell he used to move her around his villa did not, in fact, work on her. It moved space around her instead, shifting the villa through various dimensions without ever touching her directly. It was one of his favorite tricks, probably because it disoriented her so.
She found herself standing before the rose window, red and blue light streaming across her face. The pattern of glass was a hex of considerable power-it was very good at shielding the sanctum from magical viewing. Cythera had always found it beautiful in its own right, at least until recently.
She allowed herself a momentary glance to the side. She moved only her eyes, and just enough to get a glimpse of the wretched form in the magic circle. Her mother did not lift her head. If Coruth was aware of her presence at all, she made no outward sign. Cythera could only hope that the witch had some other, more subtle sense that let her hear her thoughts.
Help is coming, Cythera whispered in her mind. Croy will not fail us.
She received no reply.
“Well, don’t let it get cold, girl,” Hazoth said, behind her.
Cythera turned and forced a smile. Hazoth liked her to be cheerful when she served him. It was difficult to keep her composure when she saw what he was doing, though. On a long worktable he had the body of a minor demon pinned down and cut open. It was little more than an imp, a long-legged batrachian thing with eyes like fire opals. Hazoth had his arms up to the elbows in its viscera. When the imp turned its head to the side to look at her, she nearly dropped the tray.
The demon made a horrible gurgling noise. Cythera forced herself to ignore its obvious suffering.
“It screamed like a natural thing before I disconnected its larynx,” Hazoth assured her as she set the tray down on a nearby table, pushing aside a number of arcane instruments to make room. “This is going to take all night. I didn’t wish to be distracted by coming down to the dining room, so I decided to sup here.”
Cythera did not reply.
“Strange. There’s no digestive apparatus at all,” Hazoth mused as he pulled his hands free of the vivisection. “They devour their prey, everyone knows that, but they can’t draw sustenance from it. Unless they persist simply on the suffering and fear of their victims.”
Cythera often wondered if the same could be said of her master. She stood by, motionless, waiting to see if he required anything else.
Hazoth came over to the tray and stared down at it. Then he glanced at his hands, which were still coated in ichor. “Hmm,” he said, “I really ought to wash. No time, though.” Sneering at the slimy mess, he spoke a word that curdled in the air. Blue flames licked over his wrists and palms, consuming the gore that had coated them. Cythera did not even wince as she felt new vines and flowers blooming in the small of her back.
She watched in silence as Hazoth grabbed up the haunch and started chewing on it. She had a linen napkin tucked up the sleeve of her gown, and she removed it carefully in case he should require it.
“Oh, since you’re here-there’s something I’m sure you’ll want to know. My little trick with the book failed. That rodentine thief of yours is still alive. You know, I’m almost glad. I admit I find him more amusing by the day. Maybe we’ll have to bring him here and give him a job after all, hmm?”
It was not a question that required an answer. Cythera held her tongue.
“Of course, it’s no great surprise he survived. We already knew he had an animal’s uncanny sense for danger. After all, he knew better than to kiss you, didn’t he? I really thought I had him there. What man could resist your charms, if he didn’t know what the price would be? Perhaps you warned him, though. Perhaps you didn’t try hard enough. Even though we both know you wanted to kiss him.”
Cythera kept her eyes focused straight ahead. She did not allow her cheeks to flush, did not permit herself the slightest reaction. Hazoth only spoke to her like this when he was bored. It was a little game. An amusement. He would say something provocative-perhaps hint at some dark secret relating to her mother, or tell her a story of some perverse sexual encounter he’d had four hundred years ago. If she gasped or even so much as shuddered, he would crow and caper. And then he would punish her.
He had so many different ways to punish her.
“I could tell, when I saw the two of you together. I could hear your heart beating faster. The smell of your breath changed. You want him. You want the little thief to be your plaything, don’t you, Cythera? Hmm? I asked you a question, girl.”
“As you wish, master. If you wish for me to desire him, then I shall.”
Hazoth laughed. “You can’t hide it from me. I could taste it in the air, the change that came over you. You were concerned for him. Afraid of what I would do to him. Just ask me, girl, and I’ll bring him here. I’ll put a charm on him that will drag him straight to your bedchamber.” He tore off a strip of venison with his teeth and chewed noisily. “I’ll make him kneel before you. I’ll make him burn for you. Just a word, and that can be yours. Of course, you’ll destroy him the moment he paws at you with his coarse hands. One rough touch and he’ll be torn to pieces. But maybe that would give you pleasure, hmm? Would that make you sigh? Would it make you moan?”
“I serve at your pleasure, master. Not my own.”
Hazoth stared at her with his perfect, clear eyes. She knew he was trying to look into her heart, to winkle out her secrets. The charm on her skin made that impossible, but he still tried from time to time. He took an interest in her, certainly. After all, she was all that stood between him and a series of gruesome deaths.
“I think perhaps I’ll summon your Sir Croy instead. That jumped-up man-at-arms needs to be taught a lesson one of these days. I think I’ll bring him here right now. And then you’ll tell him. You’ll list all the things you dream of doing with the thief. Sir Croy will have to stand here and listen while you describe all your filthy longings. How does that sound? Do you think he loves you enough to listen to that and forget everything he’s heard? Do you think he’d still love you as much after he heard those secrets?”
“If it would amuse you, master-”
He clucked his tongue in distaste. That was the worst part of the game. Even if she did maintain her composure, even if she swallowed her bile and kept her thoughts to herself, it simply angered him.
Sometimes that was worse.
“I could bring them both here, if you liked. I could bring them both to this room, right now, and make them fight over you. I could make them tear each other apart with their bare hands. Would you like that? Would it excite you, child, to see them struggle for your affections? Well? Would it?”
Cythera couldn’t help herself. A small sound started deep in her throat, a tiny whimper. When it came out of her mouth it was so soft she thought it must be lost in the noise of Hazoth’s chewing.
She was wrong.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and dropped the haunch back on the platter. He wiped his fingers on his robe and came to stand behind her, his meaty breath hot on her ear. “I got through, at last,” he whispered. “Both of them, no less! You care for them both!” He nearly giggled in his excitement. “Oh, Cythera, my dear, you’ll stretch your heart too thin! I’ll summon them both and make them both lust for you, shall I? Make them compete over who gets to deflower you first. Oh, I can see in your eyes how much you don’t want that.”
“I want nothing but-but-” she stammered.
He waved a greasy hand in dismissal. “Never you mind, Cythera. In point of fact, there’s no need to do any of that. In a few days it will be Ladymas. In the confusion of that day, Bikker will hunt them both down and butcher them while the watch is preoccupied.”
“Of course, master,” she managed. She had regained her composure once she knew he wouldn’t follow up on his threats. “May I go now?”
“I suppose,” Hazoth said. “I should really return to my studies.”
“Thank you, Magus,” Cythera said. She waited for him to transport her back to the preparatory.
He began to make the necessary passes in the air with his hands-but then stopped without warning.
It seemed he had one more thing to say.
“I know you hate me, girl,” he muttered. “I know you’re plotting against me. I know you think Sir Croy is going to come here and save you and your mother. But it’s hopeless, Cythera. No one can help you now. You’re mine, and always will be.”
“I-I-”
“I think you need to be reminded of this simple fact.”
In the end, there was never any way to avoid the punishments.
