'What the…' he snarled, sitting up. Reary laughed, and Naeros felt his face flush. He backhanded her across the cheek, and her head snapped to the side with the impact, the long tresses of her blonde hair whipping around to cover her face. She sat there silently for a moment, her head hanging within the shrouds of her hair.
'You shouldn't have done that.' Naeros's brow furrowed, frustrated by this strange woman.
'So you're the only one who gets to play rough, then?' Reary still hadn't moved, and there was something different about her voice. 'That's rather selfish, don't you think.' Naeros's eyes widened as Reary's blonde hair shimmered and darkened, the locks on the left side of her head disappearing to reveal a serpent tattoo stretched across her bare scalp.
'In fact, I'm willing to bet you're as much a child in bed as you are in your little torture chamber.' Reary's head swung around, and Naeros's jaw dropped when he saw two familiar scars running down the right side of her face.
'You!'
The Loviatan he had once held prisoner in his dungeon laughed again and raised her right hand. Naeros glanced at it and saw it was surrounded by a dark halo of energy. He cried out as she slammed it into his chest. He could feel the energy disperse throughout his body, causing his muscles to convulse. With his last ounce of control, he shoved the cleric off of him, sending her to the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he collapsed back onto the bed, his muscles quivering like jelly.
The Loviatan rose like a specter from the floor to gaze down on him with eyes that promised retribution. She turned and moved quickly to stand before a wooden-handled instrument with a single, thick braid of rope almost two feet long that tapered before flaring out in an oval knot at the tip. She removed it from its hook and held it in her right hand, letting the leather fringe where the rope fastened to the handle play across her fingers as she rolled her wrist back and forth, testing the weapon's balance.
'You don't see nagaikas much anymore,' the cleric said, walking casually back to the bed. 'Some genius thought they might make a good riding whip, but they're a little heavy. You could really hurt an animal if you didn't know how to use it just right.' Her smile was cruel and mocking. 'No, they're much better suited for doling out punishment.'
Naeros pushed himself up. He felt exhausted, as if every muscle had been taxed to its limit and there was nothing left. The Loviatan lashed out with the nagaika, striking him solidly in the cheek. He reeled with the blow but was unable to catch himself and rolled off the far side of the bed. His face throbbed where the knot struck; any harder and his jaw might have broken.
'Where are you going, Lord Naeros? Surely you're not tired already.'
'I'm going to kill you, whore.' Naeros struggled to raise himself up on all fours, his limbs trembling.
'Oh, I doubt that.' The cleric rounded the corner of the bed, her slippered feet coming into Naeros's view. 'It looks like you can barely hold yourself up.' He raised his head in time to see the nagaika descend, and he flinched defensively, but instead of the knot slamming into him, he felt a sudden sting on his shoulder. It came again and again across his exposed back, until his flesh burned and Naeros could feel trickles of warm wetness running down his sides. He moaned and collapsed to the cool stone of the floor.
'I should have known you could dish it out but not take it,' the Loviatan sneered. 'If I had the time, I'd see just how far I could take you. There are other things I have to attend to, however. Fortunately, they'll likely bring you as much suffering as any beating I could administer.' She bent down, raised his chin with her fingers, and kissed him hard, breaking his lip once more between her teeth as she pulled away. Then she stood, walked to the wall, exchanged the nagaika for a bullwhip, and left the room without looking back.
Naeros lay there panting until the sound of the cleric's footfalls had long faded. When strength began to flow back into his muscles, he pulled himself along the floor to the side of the bed and propped himself up against the post. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. Whatever the witch had done to him was starting to wear off. A few more seconds and he'd go after her. Then he'd show her a beating she'd never forget.
'My, my, what have we here?'
Naeros's eyes sprang open at the sultry voice, his heart beating wildly with fear that the Loviatan had returned. When he turned to look, he let his breath out and sagged back against the bed. It was only his sister, Saestra, dressed in a black, lacy gown that flared at the wrists and ankles.
'Go away, Saestra. I'm not in the mood for your games right now.'
'Oh, I'm sorry. Did your conquest not go well tonight?'
'That's none of your damn business. Besides, what are you doing here anyway?' Naeros let his frustration edge his voice. His sister leaned against the door frame, staring at him with a wild look in her eyes. 'Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to help me?' He frowned and shifted, uncomfortable under Saestra's gaze.
'Help you?' She laughed. 'How delightful. Dear brother, where were you when / needed help?'
'What are you talking about?'
'Have you forgotten so quickly? It wasn't that long ago. A sister follows the advice of her older brother and meets her young lover in The Crypts for a late-night tryst. The pair investigates an open mausoleum, only to be locked inside by the older brother. When they cry for help, they are answered with cruel laughter. Surely you remember all that?
'What you don't know is that while seeking a way out, the two lovers found a secret passage that led to a hidden chamber below the tomb. Within that chamber, they came face-tface with its undead resident. The creature savagely killed the sister's lover and made her its servant.' Saestra shivered, and her eyes, which had been looking somewhere far off, came riveting back to lock on Naeros. He shrank back at the feral death he saw within them.
'I'm sorry, Saestra. It was just a practical joke. I never meant for anything to happen.'
'Shut up!' She snarled, and Naeros saw the fangs hiding behind her lips. 'You left me to die that night. And I did. I became a monster because of you! I can still feel his cold embrace. Do you know what that's like?'
Naeros shook his head frantically.
'Then why don't I show you.' She lunged for him.
Ythnel crept down the stairs, her back to the wall and the coiled whip in her right hand. That fool Naeros had made the task of locating the witchweed stockpile much easier with his little tour. The one place he had not taken her was down to the cellar of the tower. As there was nowhere for the witchweed to be stored in the places he had shown her, that left the cellar as the only place it could be.
Most of the servants had been dismissed for the night, allowed to attend the city's Midwinter celebrations. Still, when she reached each landing, she paused and peeked her head around corners or through doorways. Quick glances confirmed that the tower was relatively empty, and reassured, Ythnel moved on.
She came to the main floor and glided across the foyer between the tower entrance and the parlor, her slippers thankfully muffling the sounds of her steps. Before she could start down the next flight of stairs, however, there was a noise at the door. Ythnel ducked into the parlor and flattened herself against the near wall just as the thick, wooden entry door swung open and Naeros's three henchmen strolled in, chuckling about something. Ythnel tensed and let the whip uncoil from her hand.
A shout echoed down the stairs leading back to Naeros's chambers. From her vantage point, Ythnel watched as the three men raced upward, calling out to their lord. Ythnel let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and slid back around the wall. Darting a glance over her shoulder, she descended once more.
Torches set in black iron sconces at the base of the stairs cast their flickering orange and yellow light across the stone walls, vainly attempting to soften the cold, hard reality. The cellar was a single hallway dug out of the earth, the stonework ending with the last step. Three steel doors stood closed along the hall, one at the far end and the other two opposite each other about halfway down from where Ythnel stood.
Not knowing which one led to the witchweed, she was forced to open each door. Behind the first one was a room full of casks of ale and racks of wine bottles. Some burlap sacks marked as dry goods of various sorts were stacked in one corner.
Ythnel opened the second door and sucked in her breath. Down a short flight of steps was the torture chamber where Naeros had beaten her. The chains which had once held her hung limp and empty from the ceiling. The flesh of her wrists itched from the memory.
For a moment, Ythnel was frozen with emotional turmoil. Anger and fear swelled together, fighting each other for control. The conflict did not have the strength to sustain itself, however. Ythnel had already fought this
