Estral nodded as best she could with Nyssa’s hand strangling her.

“Good.” Nyssa let her go, and she fell to her knees, gagging. Blood dripped from her nose and mixed with tears. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Yes, this was all her doing, her fault.

“Never fear,” Nyssa said, “I will get to you eventually.” She then returned to Karigan and gazed at the hilt jutting out of her midsection. “Reed, get me an iron.”

One of the guards hastened to the brazier and returned with a long iron, its tip glowing orange. Nyssa yanked the knife out and Karigan gasped. Blood pattered onto the floor. Nyssa then tugged Karigan’s shirt up to expose the wound.

“I see this is not the first time you’ve been stabbed. I have heard that being a Greenie can be dangerous work.” Nyssa took the iron from the guard, Reed. “Now, I’m going to close your wound. I don’t want blood loss to cut our session short.”

Estral buried her head in her arms and squeezed her eyes shut as the glowing tip of the iron was pressed against Karigan’s flesh.

HIS LITTLE STARLING

Estral rocked herself on the floor of the pen, not sure if the scream was hers or Karigan’s. Tears and snot smeared her face. My fault, my fault . . .

Then there was silence. She opened her eyes and dared peek out. Nyssa was just standing there, talking to Karigan. The hot iron was gone, but she still held the knife and was wiping the blood off its blade with a rag.

“Would it surprise you to know I trained to be a mender?” Nyssa asked. “I apprenticed in Mirwellton. The knowledge is very useful in my work. I know how the body functions, what pleasures it, and what pains it, how much it will bleed. While I can perform useful tasks like setting bones, I am more interested in breaking them.” She glanced at Estral. “Burson, make sure the other one watches.”

“Yes, Nyssa.”

The guard came toward the pen and Estral scuttled to the back wall. He entered, grabbed her by the collar, and bashed her into the slats. He pressed his cudgel against the nape of her neck so she could not move her head.

“I also have a knife,” Burson said. “Nyssa is not the only one who knows how to use one. If I catch you closing your eyes and not watching, I’ll make you bleed, too.”

With little choice but to watch, Estral observed Nyssa walk behind Karigan with her knife poised. She stood there for some time, and the agony of waiting made Estral feel as though she must burst. Then, in one swift motion, Nyssa slit Karigan’s shirt up the back. She draped the cloth to the sides to expose Karigan’s shoulders and the curve of her spine. Nyssa took it all in, staring long and hard at the bared flesh.

“Excellent,” she said. “Smooth and unblemished, a blank page. I can tell from your musculature that you do indeed work with a sword. Well done, but you may not be able to do so ever again by the time we are finished.” She tenderly, almost lovingly, trailed her fingers down the bumps and depressions of Karigan’s spine. Karigan flinched at her touch, and Nyssa chuckled. “If you are reacting so to such a light touch now, just wait until you feel what comes next.”

There was more gentle examination of Karigan’s back, as though Nyssa were trying to memorize all the contours, the underlying structure and sinew.

“A pity, in a way,” Nyssa murmured. “Such a well-formed back. But also exciting to leave my exclusive mark upon it.”

Without warning, she grabbed Karigan’s braid and jerked her head back, exposing her throat.

Estral shrieked.

“Shut up,” Burson said, jamming his cudgel harder into the back of her neck.

Instead of cutting Karigan’s throat, however, Nyssa caressed it, her fingers tracing it from jaw to collar bone. “Admit it,” she said, her lips very close to Karigan’s ear, “you like me touching you.”

“Go to the hells,” Karigan gasped.

Nyssa smiled indulgently and tapped her on the nose. Then she sawed off Karigan’s braid.

Estral, shaken and exhausted, exhaled a long trembling breath.

Nyssa stood before Karigan and held the braid before her face. “Your lovely hair. It was in the way. Think you’ll miss it?” She tickled Karigan under the chin with it. “Or, will some man, some lover of yours, miss running his hands through it?” She trailed the end of the braid along Karigan’s throat, down her front. Karigan shivered, and Nyssa laughed. “Perhaps you like me just a little, hmm?”

Karigan averted her face when Nyssa caressed her cheek, but Nyssa forced her to look at her, and kissed her long and hard on the lips. Karigan jerked in her chains and tore away.

“No? Not even a little? More’s the pity.” Nyssa tossed the braid aside on the table.

Gods, Estral thought, her stomach churning in revulsion.

Nyssa returned to her wall of implements and took her time examining what hung there. “Work well done cannot be rushed,” she murmured, “it just requires the correct tool to achieve the finest effect.”

She fingered a couple of the implements, and finally decided on one. She removed from its hook a whip of multiple braided and knotted leather thongs. She showed it to Karigan, taking her time to ensure it was seen from one end to the other.

“This is one of my favorites,” she said. “I made it myself, a beautiful tool to do beautiful work. The handle is made of horn, and in the knots of the thongs, I have wound wire into barbs, which add weight to the lash and will allow me to etch the most pleasing designs into your back. You will bear them for the rest of your life, however long or short that may be, and every time you feel the scars pulling at your back, feel some pain or stiffness, every time you touch them or glimpse them in a mirror, you will think of me, their creator.” She smiled. “And this one will be the hardest of all to forget, for it will not be so easy to hide.” She grasped one of the barbed knots and pressed it against Karigan’s cheek, and ripped down. Karigan jerked, her shackles ringing. Nyssa stepped back as though to assess the effect. She nodded in satisfaction at the result, absently stroking the tendrils of her whip.