Storm of Shadows (Lumineers 1)

CHAPTER 27: PUNISHMENT

The council—what remained of them—filed in to one of the many stoney undercrofts beneath the Temple. Conrad heard the the whip against her flesh before anything else. He didn't breathe until he saw her, stripped and strung up, tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no sound.

Reaper stood behind her, shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat. He lifted his arm and brought the whip down. The bite of leather against flesh hissed. Conrad flinched, the movement too small for anyone but himself to notice. He clenched his teeth.

Again, Reaper's arm rose and fell, his movements steady, methodical. Swoosh. Slap. Each blow sent Tabby's body surging forward, only to be pulled back by the chains about her wrists. Swoosh. Slap. Blood spattered the floor beneath her, dripping down her back where angry red lines covered her like a painting. Swoosh. Slap.

"So you see," Ghost said. "A most surprising development. Who would have thought it would be Tempest?"

"Has she admitted to the crime?" Flint asked.

Tabby's eyes fell on them then. Swoosh. Slap. Her glare was harrowing. Years of hate in those brown eyes. Years of hurt. What they did now was nothing compared to what the Spectrum had done before.

Conrad couldn't move. Tabby's gaze didn't linger over him—there was no recognition there. Even in pain, she protected him. Swoosh. Slap. She hadn't said a word. Swoosh. Slap. But even the strongest couldn't withstand torture, and torture would come. He didn't expect her to keep his secret, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

Reaper paused. "Ready to admit to your guilt?" he asked.

"Fuck you." She spat on the ground.

Reaper looked at Flint. "There's you answer."

"So you do not know with certainty? You would whip her regardless?" Flint crossed his arms. "Tempest is one of the best Spects we have, apprentice or no. And she's in the middle of a mission."

"Oh, she did it," Reaper said. "I just want to hear her say it."

Was that true? Could Reaper know? How had he worked it out? He was resourceful, but not that resourceful. This was something deeper, something personal. Something to do with Reaper's long standing rivaly with Midnight. Perhaps even something to do with the name Tabby had mentioned. Clora. Though he hadn't gotten that story yet. And now he never would.

He considered her actions towards Rampage, her torture of him. She had hoped Felix Lane was Reaper. She'd wanted it to be Reaper.

Reaper moved back into position once more. Swoosh. Slap. Again and again, but his lashes came more forcefully now.

Conrad wanted to look away. Each lash tightened something in his chest, like a fist squeezing his heart. This was his fault. He had done this to her. She was here because of him. It had always been a possibility—they'd known that. Swoosh. Slap. Seeing it was something else.

"See what you can discover, Reaper, but do not shatter her," Ghost said. He looked over Tabby's things on the table before turning towards the door. His hand slipped out and then disappeared into the pocket of his trousers while his gaze lingered over Tabby's body, face unreadable behind his jester mask. "Keep her body parts in tact until I have a chance to speak with her. I want her coherent." They all knew what Reaper was capable of. His torture tactics were worse than all theirs combined. He shattered people until there was nothing left. "After that, she's all yours."

Reaper paused. "Do fingernails count as body parts?"

Ghost hesitated. "Fingernails grow back." He turned then to the rest of them. "I have other matters to attend to. I will return later this evening. Flint, find our acolytes. Show them what disobedience looks like." He disappeared.