CHAPTER 876: A TASTE OF THINGS TO COME (PART TWO)

Jocelynn stared in horror at the slender, curved blade sitting on the table before her eyes flicked to the face of the crimson-haired Inquisitor. But when she looked at his face, what she saw made her stomach turn, clenching violently even though it was empty. A surge of hot bile filled her mouth, and only an extraordinary act of will, or desperation to cling to what little dignity she had left, allowed her to swallow it back down.

There was something very, very wrong with the way Percivus looked at her and at the knife on his table. There was no lust in his gaze, as if he were a eunuch who was incapable of being tempted by thoughts of seeing a beautiful woman’s bare skin, but there was a desire and a hunger that lurked behind those hard, hazel eyes, combined with a callous indifference that seemed at odds with his hunger.

Whether she stripped out of her own dress or he cut it off of her truly didn’t matter to him, she realized. Not because he didn’t care, he wasn’t cold and emotionless about it, but because he was like an alley cat who had been offered a bowl of fresh cream or a plate of fresh fish. Whichever one he was allowed to feast on, he would savor every moment of it.

"At l-least m-make your g-guards turn their b-backs," Jocelynn stammered as she forced her stiff limbs to move, scooting to the edge of the well-worn cot while the chain around her ankle clanked with every movement. "Y-you can d-do that much, c-can’t you?"

For a moment, Percivus considered refusing her request. Marquis Bors had given him a full month to obtain results, and the tone he set here at the beginning would create ever-growing ripples in their coming interactions. It would be easy enough to protest that his guards couldn’t keep him safe from her if they couldn’t watch her.

But just like an unbroken horse, people had limits, and Jocelynn was already very close to hers. If he crushed her now, she might snap before she became pliable in his hands, and that would ruin too many things to be allowed. Besides, he reminded himself, giving her a glimmer of hope now and then would propel her even further down the road he intended to pave for her. By the time she realized what she’d done to herself, it would be too late to undo the damage.

"Very well," Percivus said as he reached into his case yet again, this time producing a pair of fitted leather gloves, dyed in the crimson hue of the inquisition. "But if you try anything, I won’t be gentle with you, and neither will they," he said as he made a small circular motion in the air with a raised finger, instructing the guards to turn their backs.

For Jocelynn, the next few moments felt like an eternity as she fought to make her stiff, shivering limbs move the way she intended, peeling off her dress, shift, and undergarments before standing naked under the Inquisitor’s intense stare.

"Hold out your arms," Percivus commanded when he saw her attempting to preserve the last shred of her modesty with her hands. "Then turn around slowly so I can inspect you for a mark."

The man barely touched her as he did his work, and when he did, Jocelynn only felt the smooth texture of his leather gloves, as if the man couldn’t bear to be tainted by touching her exposed flesh. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, but had in truth been less than a minute, the ’inspection’ ended.

"You may dress," Percivus said as he returned to his stool, slowly stripping off his gloves and returning them to the case. He paid no attention to the young lady as she dressed herself in the dull, undyed wool dress that was little more than a large sack with two sleeves and a hole for her head. Instead, he pulled the next item out of his case, setting a small, intricately carved jewelry box on the table in front of him before finally looking back up at Lady Jocelynn.

Jocelynn’s face burned with shame, and she felt as though she’d been inspected and appraised like someone’s prized fish, ready to be filleted, stuffed, and mounted above the mantle like a sick trophy. Once the moment passed, she stumbled awkwardly, banging her shins on the frame of the wooden cot in her haste to don the dull, shapeless dress and hide herself away from the world.

"N-now that you’ve s-seen that I don’t have a m-mark," Jocelynn said as she huddled back into a corner of her cell, luxuriating in the warmth offered by the dress even though it was rough against her soft skin. "You know I’m n-not a w-witch. So l-let me, g-go," she demanded as she glared at the Inquisitor.

"Great witches have marks," Inquisitor Percivus said as he removed the lid from the small earthenware pot on his miniature stove and inhaled the bland, slightly nutty fragrance of the steam that drifted free of the vessel as soon as the lid was removed. "You could still be a hedge witch. Or a familiar, or thrall, or any number of things. Pure skin doesn’t mean you’re innocent, it only means that your wickedness hasn’t bubbled to the surface of your flesh."

"But enough of that. I’ve told you that I still have an investigation to conduct so that’s the last I want to hear from you about releasing you, facing a full court or any other womanly nonsense," he said in a tone that made it clear that pressing further could have dire consequences. "Instead, I have an offer for you. One that might prove there’s still a glimmer of a good, decent woman somewhere in your black heart."

The way he said it made it sound like he didn’t believe it was possible for there to be a shred of decency anywhere within Jocelynn’s heart. On her darkest days, when she recalled the fate that befell her sister because she’d been selfish enough and stupid enough to betray her trust, Jocelynn might even agree with the man.

But today, she refused to go along passively with whatever cruelty Inquisitor Percivus wanted to inflict on her. She knew that she’d done nothing to deserve this, and the only thing that she deserved to be punished for, this man wasn’t worthy of being the one to punish her. Some day, if she ever reached the Heavenly Shores and found Ashlynn there, she would submit to whatever punishment her sister wanted to inflict on her.

Until then, she refused to accept any of this as suffering she deserved!