Teren stares at a vein in the marble floor. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Teren hears the Inquisitor return, and the telltale sound of metal blades dragging along the ground. “The Night King was our ally in Merroutas,” Giulietta says. “Now there is chaos. My advisers tell me that the city is unstable, and we are vulnerable to a Tamouran attack.”
Adelina. Teren clenches his teeth so hard that he feels like he might break his jaw. So, Adelina is in Merroutas, across the Sacchi Sea … and she had killed the city-state’s ruler. Even as he seethes at the thought of her becoming a real threat, something about her ruthlessness calls to him. Very impressive, my little wolf. “I swear to you, Your Majesty,” he says. “I will send an expedition there immediately—”
Giulietta clears her throat and Teren stops talking. He looks up to see the other Inquisitor approach the queen. He holds a nine-headed whip, each head tipped with a heavy, razor-sharp blade. This is Teren’s custom whip. Teren sighs in relief at the same time that he winces.
He deserves this.
Giulietta folds her hands behind her back and takes a few steps away. “I was told you halved the rations of the malfettos, against my wishes,” she says.
Teren doesn’t ask how she found out. It doesn’t matter.
“Master Santoro, I can be a ruthless queen. But I have no wish to be a cruel one. Cruelty is to hand out unjust punishment. I will not be unjust.”
He keeps his head bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I wanted the camps as a visible punishment that the rest of our citizens can see, but I’ll not have hundreds of rotting corpses outside my walls. I want submission from my people, not revolution. And you are threatening to undo that balance.”
Teren bites his tongue to keep himself from speaking out.
“Remove your armor, Master Santoro,” Giulietta says over her shoulder.
Teren does as she says. His armor clangs, echoing, to the floor. He pulls his tunic over his head. The air hits his bare skin, scarred from countless rounds of punishment. Teren’s pale blue eyes glow in the chamber’s light. He looks at Giulietta.
She gestures at the Inquisitor holding the bladed whip.
He lashes Teren’s back with it. The nine blades strike him, ripping into his skin. Teren chokes down a cry as familiar pain explodes across his body. The edges of his vision flash crimson. His flesh opens before it immediately starts to heal. But the Inquisitor doesn’t wait—he whips the weapon down again as Teren’s skin struggles to stitch itself together.
“I’m not punishing you because you were disrespectful of the Beldish queen,” Giulietta calls out over the sickening sound of blades slashing Teren’s flesh raw. “I’m punishing you for disobeying me in public. For making a scene. For insulting the queen of a nation we cannot afford to fight again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Teren chokes out, as blood drips down his back.
“You do not make decisions for me, Master Santoro.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You do not ignore my commands.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You do not embarrass me in front of an enemy nation.”
The blades dig in deep. Teren blinks back the unconsciousness creeping at the edges of his vision. His arms shake against the marble floor. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he says hoarsely.
“Stand up straight,” Giulietta commands.
Teren forces himself to do so, even as the gesture makes him scream. The Inquisitor whips the blades across his chest and stomach; his eyes fly open as they slash deep. This blow would have killed him instantly, if he were a normal man. For Teren, though, it merely brings him onto his hands and knees.
The whipping continues until the floor beneath Teren is slick with a film of his blood. The scarlet streaks across the marble make circular patterns, punctuated by Teren’s handprints. He concentrates on the swirls. Somewhere, high above him, he knows he can hear the gods murmuring. Was this punishment from Giulietta, or from the gods?
Finally, Giulietta holds up a hand. The Inquisitor stops.
Teren trembles. He can feel the demonic magic of his body laboriously bringing his broken flesh together again. These wounds will leave scars for sure—the cuts made too quickly over skin still not healed, over and over. His blond tail of hair hangs over his neck in sweaty strings. His body burns and aches.
“Rise.”
Teren obeys. His legs feel weak, but he grits his teeth and forces them to steady. He deserved every last bit of that punishment. As he stands up straight, he meets Giulietta’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, softly this time. The apology of a boy to his lover, not an Inquisitor to his queen.
Giulietta touches Teren’s cheek with her cool fingers. He leans into her gentle grasp, savoring it, even as he trembles. “I am not cruel,” she says again. “But remember this, Master Santoro. I only ask for obedience. If that is too hard, I can help. It is easier to obey without a tongue, and easier to kneel without legs.”
Teren looks into her deep, dark eyes. This is what he loves about her, this side of her that always knew what had to be done. But why did she not immediately give the order to punish Raffaele? He should be executed.
She has not, Teren thinks, with a painful surge of jealousy, because she wants something else from him.
Giulietta smiles. She leans closer, then presses her lips to his cheek. Teren aches at her touch, her warning. “I love you,” she whispers. “And I will not tolerate you disobeying me again.”
The Cliffs of Sapientus are said to have formed when the god of Wisdom cut the world of the living from the world of the dead, sealing his sister Moritas forever away. The jagged edges look the most majestic during sunset, when golden light hits them and paints long shadows across the land.