Chapter 9
Isolde I wished the night would last forever, but cruelly, the sun rose sooner than expected. I ran my tongue across my bottom lip, recalling how Lorcan’s full lips felt against my own. His mouth was hot and tempting. At that moment, I was thankful for his chains, for feeling his kiss on any day while we rode free. I would surely not be a maid on my wedding night.
It was wicked to dwell on such thoughts knowing he would be placed under harsh treatment in a few hours. Being away from the kingdom, I had not witnessed my father’s punishments, which were always delivered in a public setting. The bells would toll, calling the commoners to leave their homes, close their shops, and pray for the soul of the victim whose flesh lay at the mercy of the magistrate and his hired torturer. No, back in Abhainn the criminals simply disappeared; no one knows how or why. Then again, with people fleeing the land, crimes were never a real issue there.
I sent to have my food in my chambers but was not able to touch anything on my plate. Posey helped me dress, my mind in a fog as the morning faded away. At a quarter to noon, the bells tolled. From my window, I could see the swarm of villagers leaving their homes and marketplace in mass confusion. Cora was still in the dungeon; no one knew of the arrest of the stable boy or his mother. I sent for the guards to escort me down to the square where the punishment would take place. Normal crimes did not need to be witnessed by the royal court. Considering the victim was to be branded over an assassination attempt on my father, coupled with the fact that I had shared the most intimate moment of my life
thus far with the prisoner in his cell, I would attend this one.
Raelan was in the throne room, practicing his fencing with a member of the guard. I entered the room immediately enraged that a man who had taken part in Lorcan’s sentence would cower away
from seeing it delivered. “The bells have tolled. Will you not bear witness to the punishment of the stable boy?”
Raelan removed his mask of protection and smiled at me. “| would think such violent images have no place in the mind’s eye of my betrothed. Why not stay and watch me practice?”
“If I am to reign as your queen one day, I will be by your side through all of your decisions. I feel the people should see our presence to know we do not hide behind our choices.”
“Hiding? Is that what you think I’m doing? I believe the future king of Borvo is of much better service to his kingdom if he remains sharp and fit, not gawking while a commoner takes a beating for his mother.”
I felt my fingers curl into a fist at my side. “That commoner has acted more valiant in his request than you have ever acted in your entire life,” I spoke through clenched teeth.
Raelan handed his sword to the guard then removed his gloves and dismissed him before sauntering over to me. He had a finger to his lips in contemplation. I looked into his blue eyes and saw how much he resembled me. It was quite daunting.
“While you may detest me, Isolde, you are to be my bride.” He ran his fingers down my thick braid. “I do hope your tolerance of me softens more into obedience. For I will rule you, and this kingdom, how I see fit.”
I did not flinch at his words but stood my ground. “The castle will be empty for close to an hour. That is more than enough time for you to find your squire. I am sure he is quite trained in the art of obedience now that you have removed his tongue.”
Raelan grabbed me by my upper arm, squeezing so tight I thought he might tear the limb straight off. “Manners now. We both know what happens to those who sprout lies.”
He let go of my arm and pushed me away. I wanted to cry and curse the gods for pairing me with such a vile man, but the drums outside announced that the prisoner was being brought through the city. My plight was nothing compared to Lorcan’s and what his mother was about to witness.
*****
It was evident in his eyes that Lorcan was scared; he’d be a fool not to be. Still, he approached the platform on his own accord. The guards did not drag him or have to force him up the stairs. The rack was waiting for him in plain sight. My stomach tightened as I watched them remove his shirt. His trousers had been cut at his calf and his shoes removed to free his ankles for binding.
The magistrate spoke on behalf of the king to bring awareness to the kingdom. “Last night, the supper served to the king was poisoned. The royal taster was the victim of this crime, and by the decision of King Savio, who is blessed by the gods, the man responsible shall pay for his crimes.” The crowds began to whisper to each other in disbelief. The magistrate turned to Lorcan. Lorcan Tarak, how do you plead?”
Lorcan looked at the people who anxiously awaited his answer and then to the magistrate. He straightened his back and stood tall. “Guilty.” His voice was clear and loud. The mutters of the crowd gathered like a wave approaching shore-crashing down before Lorcan with cursed words and empty threats.
“Demon!”
“Traitor to the crown!”
“Father.” I leaned over to Savio who was seated between me and my mother. “I do not understand. Why are they making him confess? He was not an accomplice.” My father waved a hand to silence me. As if I were a fly he must swat away.
“If the people think the boy is responsible, they will see him suffer and be keener to stay in line.” My father snapped his fingers, and a servant refilled his wine goblet. After all, this was the day’s entertainment, and one must have an ample flow of drink at a festivity.
His words were appalling. No wonder he had chosen Raelan to be my husband. They saw the world through the same filthy lens. “And if they know the truth, they will despise you for torturing a man whose heart is purer than our family line.” If my father heard me, I did not know, for he didn’t respond. My teeth were clenched, but the tears began to well up inside me. The people, not knowing the truth, would demand his blood, and the door of his mother’s cottage would forever be darkened.
Lorcan was laid down on the wooden bed, his wrists and ankles shackled in place. The cries from the mob began before the punishment did.
“Stretch him!”
“He bears the demon’s mark!”
“Traitor!”
I bit my tongue as I watched the hooded man in charge of Lorcan’s torment begin to turn the wheels, raising Lorcan’s body above the wood in the process. “My boy!” came the bitter cry from below, as Cora witnessed his torture. Having her watch was the real punishment, for what mother could watch their child suffer?
With every turn of the wheel, more sweat glistened on Lorcan’s body. His black hair was soaked from perspiration, and his wrists and ankles starting to bleed from the tautness of his restraints. His breathing seemed ragged as his chest expanded in and out at a rapid pace. He was stretched to his limit, anything else, and they would start to break him, but still, they turned the wheel.
Then it happened.
The sickening sound of his ligaments snapping and cartilage being torn was louder than I had anticipated. But it was the cry of absolute anguish he emitted that would haunt me until the day I died. My mother raised a fan to shield her eyes, but I was determined to look on. Lorcan’s cries wailed out of his mouth as his body turned against him; the pain visibly traveling across his twitching limbs. It was horrific to watch, but it was the crowd that shocked me more as they began turning their cries of torture into ones of mercy.
“Mercy, your grace!”
“Mercy! Mercy!”
I closed my eyes and prayed to the gods that the king would hear their pleading and consent to an end to his torture. But he remained silent. “Father…mercy,” I begged. If they stretched him any further, his limbs would be torn right out of their sockets. My father looked at me and took another drink from his goblet before he called to the magistrate and signaled the prisoner had enough. The torturers rolled the wheel in the opposite direction, his body becoming slacker. Lorcan whimpered in pain with each jolt the machine gave him. The pain from his torn nerves radiating throughout his body was still visible in the way his body trembled. At last, they let go of the wheels, but kept his wrists and ankles bound, to ensure he would not squirm during the next stage of his sentencing.
A hush fell over the crowd as a guard brought forth a pot steaming with red-hot coals. Inside was the brander, the seal of the House of Fontaine that they would infuse into his chest. A mark he would carry forever to show the world he was allowed to live for the crime he had committed. But Lorcan had committed no crime. And I refused to believe Cora had any part in it either. An actual murderer had gotten into the castle, and my father was too blinded by his power to see that. In his eyes, he was driving fear into the real culprit by using an innocent life as a pawn.
The torturer looked to the king for instructions. “Father…please.” My voice cracked with a whimper. “I beg of you…show mercy.”
My father stood before his kingdom. He looked out at the people who obeyed him, not out of love but out of fear. He would instill that fear now. “Brand him.”
The torturer nodded and pulled the handle of the brander out of its steaming pot. The sigil of House Fontaine was as red as a dragon’s breath. I felt faint but did not turn away and watched as he turned the brander and seared it into Lorcan’s flesh.
The smell was putrid, the cry from his mother deafening. But Lorcan made not a sound. Nor did his body jerk as his chest came into contact with the brander. At that moment, I assumed him dead, for to show restraint like that was impossible.
They untied and lifted him to show the crowd the marked tree surrounded by a ring of water- they had burned into his chest. It was barbaric and vulgar. The crowd was silent, for they, like I,
thought him dead. But Lorcan’s head twitched and rolled to look in my direction. His eyes darkened as they found mine. I wanted to run to him, but I held my composure and thanked the gods.
He was alive.