Donnatella, was known to be a woman of … appetites, and plebs took great delight in the ensuing innuendo. The conversation, inevitably, went something like this:
“Let us gather for liquid refreshment on the morrow, gentlefriend.”
“A splendid notion. But where shall we meet?”
“The Queen’s Bed?”
“I hear it is quite popular of late.”
(uproarious laughter goes here)
The taverna did a roaring trade as a result. When Francisco XIII was informed about the pub’s name at a royal banquet by his outraged bride, he was … less upset than Queen Donnatella had hoped. Indeed, the king was said to have raised his glass in toast to the publican, and commented to his guests, “Perhaps I shall visit the Queen’s Bed myself? Daughters know I have not seen the real thing for quite some time.”
(uncomfortable silence goes here)
CHAPTER 17
STEEL
A hard slap.
Water dashed in her face.
A sputtering gasp.
“Wake up, my lovely love.”
Mia opened her eyes, immediately regretting it. Blinding pain arced across her brow, all the way to the base of her skull. Fragmented memories. A group of men. Cudgels. Repeated blows. Cursing. Her knife flashing. Blood in her mouth.
Then blackness.
Wincing, she looked about her. Stone walls. A metal door with a barred window. She was sat in a heavy, iron chair. Hands manacled behind her back. Mister Kindly lurked in her shadow, drinking down her fear. Not alone.
Never alone.
“Wake up.”
Another slap landed on her face, whipping her head sideways. Lank and dripping hair stuck to her skin. She tried to lash out with her feet, found they were manacled too.
“I’m awake, you fucking whoreson!”
Mia looked up at the man who’d slapped her. A hulk of pure muscle, six feet tall and almost as wide. More scar on his face than there was face. Another fellow stood behind him, clean cut and well built with dead, empty eyes. Both were wearing white robes. Copies of Aa’s gospels strung on heavy iron chains about their necks. Tiny flecks of blood at their cuffs.
“O, shit,” Mia breathed.
Confessors … 1
“Indeed,” said the man with dead eyes. “And you are bound by book and chain to answer our questions true.”
The scarred man walked slowly around the room until he stood behind Mia. Craning her neck, the girl saw a long table, lined with tools. Pliers. Snips. Thumbscrews. A brazier full of burning coal. At least five different flavors of hammer.
No fear in her belly. No quaver in her voice. Looking the second man in his dead eyes.
“What would you like to know, good Brother?”
“You are Mia Corvere.”
How do they know my name?
“… Aye.”
“Daughter of Darius Corvere. Hung by order of the Senate six years past.”
That centurion … Alberius … surely he couldn’t have got word out to Scaeva already?
“… Aye.”
Heavy hands landed on both her shoulders, squeezing tight.
“The Kingmaker’s sprog,” came the scarred man’s voice behind her. “Bounce my bollocks on the boardwalk, is that not a treat, Brother Micheletto?”
The dead-eyed man smiled, his eyes never leaving Mia’s.
“O, a rare treat, Brother Santino. My belly’s all a-flutter, it is.”
“I’ve committed no crime,” Mia said. “I am a god-fearing daughter of Aa, Brother.”
The one called Micheletto stopped smiling. His slap brought the stars out from the dark inside Mia’s skull. Her head hung loose on her shoulders, Micheletto’s growl cutting through the ringing in her ears.
“Speak His name again, girl, and I shall hack out your godsless tongue with a fucking butter knife and cook it with my tea.”
Mia breathed deep. Waited for the pain to subside. Mind racing. Bound. Outnumbered. No idea where she was. No help coming. Not the worst scrape she’d been in, true. But, Daughters, it was racing hard for second …
She tossed her hair from her eyes, looked at the confessor looming above her.
“Tell us where you were earlier this eve,” he said. “Before you arrived in Godsgrave.”
“Arrived?” The girl shook her head. “Brother, I’ve lived here my whole—”
Mia hissed in pain as Santino grabbed her by the scruff and squeezed. She felt his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, stale wine and tobacco on his breath.
“Brother Micheletto asked you a question, my lovely love. And before you wrap that tongue around another lie, I’d best tell you I can still smell blood in your hair…”
Mia’s heart skipped a beat at that. She felt her shadow shiver, Mister Kindly chewing hard at her fear. Could they possibly know she was from the Red Church? Had they some inkling of how disciples moved from the Mountain and back? Justicus Remus had long vowed to destroy the