Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(56)

In two steps, he was in front of her. He slapped her face without hesitation. The sting shocked her, his violence terrified her, but she did not turn away. Staring at him again, she repeated her command—“go”—directing her will against his. “Leave them alone.”

Rage and fury filled his eyes. He hammered his fists against Sera, who pulled in her elbows to protect her body from the assault. Blow after blow struck her. He was screaming at her, but she couldn’t hear his words—the pounding of her heartbeat deafened her to them. She didn’t understand why, but his blows didn’t hurt.

“Leave!” Sera yelled at him, and again he went wild, striking her over and over. The blows hit her back, her ribs, her shoulders, but something gave her the strength to stand against it, to endure it. She’d never been beaten before, not like these poor waifs. Not like Cettie.

She saw the wild madness in his eyes, the uncontrollable anger. He would keep beating her because she had spoken up. She had challenged his authority in front of the children. But she wouldn’t stand aside. She wouldn’t abandon these children as so many others had done.

His blows slowed, and she looked at him, her teeth chattering. She was full of emotion, full of defiance. “You cannot make me cry,” she told him, shaking her head, sagging against the wall.

His look of rage only intensified. He was consumed by the Myriad Ones. She could feel their heavy presence in the room. Their host might not recognize her, but they did. And they wanted to break her.

Sera stared into his face and thought the command word. Banirexpiare.

It was as if she had punched him back without using her fists. Mr. Trimble staggered backward, a slack look on his face, his jaw hanging wide.

The Myriad Ones who’d inhabited him dispersed. Sera stared at him, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her arms were throbbing now in pain.

“Go!” Sera commanded him.

He stared at her, knees quaking, and then walked out and slammed the iron door, fixing the key in place and locking it. He’d left his lantern on the middle of the floor.

All the children stared at her in wonderment.

“Who are you?” one of them asked in a whisper.

“I’m Sera,” she answered, trembling anew at what she’d endured. She hadn’t backed down. The bruises and aches from the beating she’d endured were beginning to surface. Her stomach had never felt so sick before.

“Sera? Like the empress?” It was the little girl who spoke, the one who’d been chosen for punishment.

“Yes,” Sera answered. “I am the empress. And I will see that each one of you is freed from this filth.”





CHAPTER TWENTY

SECRETS



In the dark of the cesspit, there was no way to tell day from night. The children slept fitfully, some of them—the ones who were closest—nestling into Sera’s warmth. She could hear all the little noises they made, the weary sighs, the whimpers, the shifting on the dirty stone floor. Every moment, she felt more resolved to help them.

When Mr. Trimble returned, much later, he carried a lantern in one hand and an iron truncheon in the other. Sera’s eyes widened when she saw the weapon, and a tingle of fear swept down her spine. Her arms and shoulders still throbbed from his earlier beating. Children lifted their heads at the noise of the door grating open. Every last one of them was terrified of him.

Sera struggled to control her expression, but she was relieved to see Joanna follow the brutish overseer into the room. She had purchased a new outfit, one appropriate for the Fells. The fabric was dark, the gloves black, and the bonnet had a veil pulled back. She carried a large parcel under her arm.

“Come on, you rats,” Mr. Trimble snarled. “Up. Up and get ready. I brought your breakfast. You can eat while you walk. We’re going to another pit tonight.” He passed around a bucket of water, with a ladle gripping the rim. The children ate and each took a long drink. When it was Sera’s turn, she started to gulp it down.

He scanned the crowd of children, his gaze coming to rest on Sera. A brutal, menacing look twisted his blunt features into an even uglier mask. He set the lantern down and then tapped the heel of his hand with the truncheon.

“Thirsty, lass? Feeling feisty again?” he asked Sera. She could sense the Myriad Ones crawling inside him once more.

She stared at him boldly, refusing to look away. He stepped forward, giving Sera a better view of Joanna. The other woman’s brow had wrinkled in concern.

“Take the children and go,” Joanna told him.

“I don’t take orders from you, wench,” Mr. Trimble said.

She glared at him. “You will, or you’ll find yourself on the ground clutching your manhood in agony.”

Trimble’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah! Or I can bash your brains in with this?” He hefted the truncheon.

Joanna stared at him, her eyes turning silver in the dark. A feeling of dread and menace filled the room. Sera gazed at her in amazement as the oppressive feelings Mr. Trimble had brought into the room scattered.

“By all means, try it,” Joanna said. A pulse of fear exuded from her, and Mr. Trimble’s composure began to wilt. The children cowered from her, their fearful expressions showing the effect it had on them as well.

“Come on, rats! Come on!” He tucked the truncheon under his arm and dragged the chains he’d left on the floor. “Lock up your ankles, you vermin. Come on, you know how. Get moving, get moving!”