The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“Close the door and sit.” She leans back and threads her fingers together.

I close the door and try not to gawk at the nice furniture, thickly-paneled walls, chic lighting, and the elaborate video display at her back. A dozen screens show various views of the Cloister; some of them frozen on one view, while a handful of the screens cycle through live images of the dormitory rooms. I notice my room is on a stationery screen in the very center.

“I said sit.”

Her voice spurs me to the nearest chair. She stays silent for an increasingly uncomfortable length of time. I don’t meet her gaze, mainly because I assume she’d take it as impertinence. From the way she’d pulled me out of training, I can already guess I’m in trouble. Again. My stomach churns and pressure rises in my throat. Being here like this is a million times worse than the one time I was called to the principal’s office in high school. Likely because in high school, they weren’t allowed to tie you to a torture cross and leave scars.

I fidget in my chair and want to look at the screens again, maybe get an idea of where all the cameras are so I can pass that information to Sarah. She’s hell-bent on escape, and I’ll help her if I can. Maybe she can start over out there, be free from this place.

“I can’t figure it out.” Her voice cuts through my thoughts of freedom with the sharp, metallic clang of incarceration.

I glance up. “What is that, ma’am?”

She peers at my face, searching each curve and line, before finally focusing on my eyes. “Why you?”

I assume she’ll explain, likely with painful detail, so I stay silent. After a few moments, she opens her desk drawer and pulls out something shiny, then sets it on the mahogany surface. “What happened here?”

Leaning forward, I see it’s a shard from my mirror, the blood no longer crimson but a dried brown. “I … don’t know.”

Her eyes narrow. “What did you say to Adam to make him do this?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t make him do anythi—”

“Liar!” The word lashes out like a whip.

I jump at her sudden fury, but hate myself for doing it.

“Tell me the truth.” She taps a short fingernail on the shard. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” I touched him. I saw him. I felt how broken he was.

Her lips thin even more, growing paler. I realize she must have been beautiful only a few years earlier. Could still be beautiful now, except for the twisted heart that shudders along inside her.

“Allow me to disabuse you of any notions you may have about Adam.” She rises and pulls her baton free.

“I don’t have any notions.” I keep my back straight, though fear turns my thoughts to a TV screen full of snow.

“Wrong. You’re lying again.” She walks around the desk and points to its smooth, perfect surface. “Put your hand here.”

I don’t move. “Adam said if you punished me for—”

A burst of sparks explodes in my vision, and I’m not sure what happened. I slump back in my chair and put one hand to my aching ear. My fingers come away wet. She hit me there, busting my ear open.

“Hand on the desk, Delilah, or the next time I’ll break your nose.”

Shaking, I put my hand on her desk, the smooth surface cold against my bloodied fingers.

She uses her baton to separate my pinkie finger from the rest. “What happened between you? I want every word he said to you.”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Liar!”

I flinch as she raises the baton.

“One more chance to tell me the truth.”

Tears leak down my cheeks even though I try not to cry. I shake my head.

Crack. I scream as she brings the baton down hard. Yanking my hand away, agony radiates from my knuckle throughout my hand and up my arm. I can’t look at my finger. I don’t have to; I know it’s broken.

She hurries around her desk and fiddles with a remote beneath the TV screens. I can barely see her through the tears that well.

“This,” she hisses. “Tell me about this!” She points her baton at the screen where the camera in my room captured a slice of my back against the bathroom doorjamb, Adam’s hand barely visible on my ass. “You think I don’t know what sort of harlot you are? Is that it?” She hurries back around the desk. “Put your hand out.”

I shake my head and cross my arms over my stomach, tucking my injured hand away from her.

“I said, put your hand out!” She yanks at my elbow, trying to drag my arm free.

I lean away from her and duck my head as she digs her nails into me, a wild animal looking for my tenderest parts.

A bell rings.