Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [69]
“Exactly. Nothing. You are a lazy wretch.” Hecati raised the willow switch threateningly. “Now tell me the truth!”
“I’ve done no wrong,” Elandra insisted. How she wished this horrible woman would just go, but Hecati stood before her like a nightmare that never ended.
Hecati tapped her shoulder lightly with the switch, and Elandra flinched reflexively. Hecati permitted herself a tiny smile of satisfaction that made Elandra hate her even more.
“I am still waiting for the truth, girl. Or do you want it beaten out of you?”
Elandra sighed. “I was just mending some of Bixia’s—”
“That’s Lady Bixia.”
Elandra lowered her gaze to hide her resentment. “Some of Lady Bixia’s old gowns that she wants to give to the servants as her departure gift.”
“Lie! That work has already been done.”
“Most of it,” Elandra said hastily. “But there were a few items she found and—”
Hecati lifted her hand, and Elandra broke off her sentence. The woman considered the story, her hostile eyes staring implacably at Elandra.
She had always been a foe. From the first day Hecati arrived years ago to take charge of Bixia’s upbringing, battle lines had been drawn between her and Elandra. She had made her favoritism plain, taking obvious pride in the fact that her sister had given birth to Bixia. At first she had tried to get rid of Elandra, shutting her away, refusing to let her play with Bixia. Lord Albain had put a stop to that. Then Hecati had tried to have Elandra sent away. Albain had refused that also. He wanted his daughters raised together. Beyond that, he let Hecati do as she pleased, and it pleased her to turn Elandra into Bixia’s personal slave.
But you are leaving today, Elandra thought, clinging to her one hope. You are leaving forever and taking Bixia with you.
“Truth and lies,” Hecati murmured, her gaze rolling upward. “Truth and lies. You have been sewing all night—”
“Yes,” Elandra said quickly and held her breath. She tried to think of something that would distract Hecati. If Hecati even suspected part of what she’d done, Elandra knew she would—
Hecati struck her with the switch. “Wrong has been done! What do you conceal from me? Answer me!”
As she spoke, she hit Elandra again.
The switch stung like fire. Elandra backed away, although trying to dodge punishment only made Hecati whip harder. “I’m concealing nothing!” she cried.
More blows rained down on her. Each one stung viciously.
“Speak the truth or say nothing at all!” Hecati commanded. “How dare you practice your mischief on this of all days?”
Cornered against the wall, Elandra endured the whipping. The switch was an awful weapon, for although it hurt terribly it raised only temporary welts and never made any permanent damage. There was never any proof to carry to her father.
With each slash, Elandra bit her lip hard to keep herself from crying out. Her cheeks burned with rage and humiliation. Defiantly, however, she refused to let any tears spill from her brimming eyes. She wished the gods would strike Hecati dead of apoplexy. She wished she dared wrest the switch from Hecati’s hands so she could hit her back. A corner of her mind knew this beating was Hecati’s last chance of punishing her simply for her existence, but that did not lessen the humiliation of it.
Finally the whipping stopped. Hecati stepped back, letting the tip of her switch rest on the floor. She was breathing hard, and her eyes glowed as though she had enjoyed what she inflicted. “Well?” she demanded.
It was the old ritual, carried out again and again through the years.
Elandra’s ears were roaring. She held her head very high as she forced herself to straighten away from the wall and turn around. Her eyes swam with tears, but she blinked fiercely in an effort to hold them back. Sunshine from the window behind her blazed in across her shoulders, and its heat made the welts hurt more. Hating the old woman,
Elandra bowed her head and knelt at Hecati’s feet in a pool of sunlight. She took the hem of Hecati’s starched linen gown with its sheer overlay