Chapter 422: The Spectacle of Suffering

Content Warning: This Chapter contains depictions of torture, violence against prisoners, including children, and psychological cruelty. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 421: The Spectacle of Suffering

Lyria’s POV

I regarded the Queen.

There was a cold satisfaction in her eyes, a brightness to her countenance such as I had seen upon but few occasions before.

She beckoned me nearer, and I obeyed without a second thought.

I was upon the point of curtseying, as was expected of me, when the Queen gestured towards the further part of the chamber.

"I have a gift for you," she said.

I knew already it wpuld be nothing good, and yet I was not at liberty to refuse, and so I turned to behold this supposed gift and wished at once that I had not.

There were people. Dozens of them, chained, blood dripping down their flesh and pooling upon the stone floor. The men had been stripped of their shirts. The women remained clothed, though their garments were soaked through with crimson.

There were others besides, kneeling, and among them I perceived children. Their faces were streaked with tears, though they did not sob aloud, as though too frightened even for that.

Behind those in chains stood guards, long whips in hand, awaiting some instruction.

And I need not be told that those in chains were commoners. Indeed, every one among them was.

The Queen watched me, a smile upon her lips.

"I must thank you," she said, and after a pause, added, "Your Highness."

"I beg your pardon?"

The Queen’s smile widened.

"I say I must thank you. Had it not been for what you told me that night — had it not been for your very words — we should never have learned that these commoners were plotting treason."

I felt my blood run cold.

"I have brought you here that you might see how very far we have gone in apprehending those responsible. Surely you must be delighted," she added.

My eye twitched.

Had I been granted the chance — had there been no guards, no witnesses, no consequence to follow — I should have struck her precisely as Earl Hawthorne had taught me, and watched that disgusting smile fall from her face.

But I could not.

Just then, Duke Valenridge’s words returned to me.

I drew a deep breath, discreetly, and took care that no expression should betray me upon my countenance, though I marked everything before me, the faces of those being punished, their pain, their suffering. All of it the consequence of my own foolishness and my own weakness.

The Queen regarded me.

"Have you nothing to say?"

I thought with haste. I required something, some answer that should not betray the fury building within me, nor the true thoughts and words I harboured for her.

"Your Majesty," I said, slowly, that my stammer might not show, "is impartial in her judgement."

The words tasted like ash upon my tongue.

The Queen regarded me.

"Is that all?" she asked.

I bowed.

"I fear I have nothing further to say."

The Queen’s eye twitched, and I knew well enough that she was vexed by my composure.

She turned her gaze from me and gestured towards the guards.

"Continue."

They lost no time in dealing out the punishment.

The screams that followed were worse than any I had heard before. They tore through the air, echoing off the stone walls, filling the chamber with a sound that may yet haunt my dreams for years to come.

One man in particular caught my eye.

He looked directly upon me as the whip struck his back. Tears streamed down his face. And yet he did not cry out. He merely stared, his pale brown eyes fixed upon mine.

I stared back, for I could not look away.

The Queen continued to observe me, awaiting some reaction, some crack in my composure. But I gave her nothing.

The screams rang in my ears. I felt them in my very bones, in my chest, in the pit of my stomach. And yet I would not let her see it.

Were I to beg even a little, she should only delight in it the more, and see them punished further still. This was a spectacle meant to break me, for she believed she had found a new means of wounding me, after what had passed between us before.

And so I stood, giving her nothing, when a woman cried out, louder than the rest.

I turned my head in time to see her collapse into a pool of her own blood. She was painfully thin, her body bearing every mark of long malnourishment.

The guard did not relent, and struck her again. She moaned in pain, her tears falling the faster.

A child broke away from those kneeling nearby.

He ran towards her, weeping loudly, no more than eight or ten years of age. His garments were patched, his face smeared with dirt and tears. He threw himself before the guard, his hands outstretched.

"Please!" he begged. "Please, let me take ’er punishment! I’ll take it! Only don’t ’urt ’er!"

The Queen regarded him.

"Indeed?"

The woman, whom I supposed to be his mother, cried out.

"No! No, I can bear me own punishment! ’E only speaks out of turn! ’E knows nothin’ of it! Please, Your Majesty, I beg of ye..."

The Queen turned towards her, that same delighted and also disgusting smile upon her face.

"Do you not know that one of your... standing, addressing royalty without leave, commits thereby a punishable offence?"

The woman nodded frantically.

"Yes! Yes, Your Majesty, I know it well! I’ll take ’is punishment upon meself! Only let ’im be!"

The Queen turned her gaze upon me, with the same expression, and signalled to the guard.

The guard thrust the child aside with such roughness that the boy fell and scraped his knee upon the stone, and then brought his whip down upon the woman harder than before.

"Please," the boy wept. "Please..."

His voice broke upon the word. I knew he sought only pardon for the woman, and it wounded me that I could do nothing.

My fingers dug the deeper into my own flesh. I felt blood welling beneath my nails, and yet I could do nothing, for to act should only make the matter worse still.

The Queen watched me quietly for a while. Finding nothing in my countenance, she gestured that the guard should strike harder yet.

The guard obeyed, and the screams grew louder still. It continued so for several minutes more, until at last the Queen spoke.

"Leave us."

I very nearly sighed with relief, but turned to her first, to be certain the words were meant for me.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?"

"I said, leave us." Her voice was cold. "You have accomplished what you came here to do."

I curtseyed.

Then I turned and walked away.

My back remained straight. My head, held high.