The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“So, does anyone see Sharon in here? No. They took her after she tried to escape. Does anyone know where they took her? I can assure you it’s not somewhere any of us want to be. And if we stay here, we’ll only get more and more damaged. That’s what they want.” She glances at the door. “They’ll be back any second. Look, if you aren’t with me, fine. But if you are, you don’t have to say anything. Just let me know one way or another. Keep yourselves safe. And if anyone is even thinking of ratting me out—” She glares at Mary “—just know that I will find out who it was, and I will visit so much pain on you that you’ll think I’m a Protector.” She darts up the steps as the door opens and Abigail returns to the projector.

“These lessons are necessary and set you apart from the godless whores who thrive outside Heavenly’s gates…” The Prophet’s voice comes to the fore once again, promising reason and protection in a place that has neither.

We don’t have lunch. A few of the women grumble as the Spinner leads us past the dining hall without stopping. We walk straight to the training room and disrobe, then spend two hours taking turns with a flogger. Unfortunately for me, I get paired up with Mary.

Sarah raises a brow at me as I drop to the floor and the Spinner instructs Mary—over the rumble of my stomach—how to hold the flogger and swing from the elbow.

I flinch as the first strike whips across my bare bottom, but am relieved to find that Mary is a light touch with the leather. She swats me several times, the pain faint and bearable. I think about how I would feel if it were Adam holding the flogger, abrading my flesh again and again until I begged for the soft touch of his tongue. Heat seeps into my veins, and I switch my concentration to something else, quick. Bad things—like the women at the Chapel, their degradation, and the senator there who grabbed me. My blood cools, and I take the hits without complaint.

“Swap.” The Spinner claps her hands, and the row of Maidens stands and switches.

Mary hands me the flogger, but the Spinner walks down the row and switches them out with fresh ones. At least hygiene is important, if dignity isn’t.

“Get to work.” The Spinner claps her hands.

I use my wrist to fan the leather strips along Mary’s backside. She tenses at first, then loosens her shoulders when I go easy on her. A few more hits, and I’m getting into a rhythm, focusing on my movements and ignoring the gnawing hunger in my gut. Down the row, one of the Maidens is going to town on poor Susannah. Even the Spinner tells her to take it down a notch, because “more intensive training comes later, once we all have the technique correct.” Naturally.

The training room door opens, and the Head Spinner walks in. Her hands are joined in front of her as she strolls along the row of Maidens. I silently will her to keep walking past me, to ignore that I’m even here. But, no. Of course not.

She stops right behind me. “Poor form, Delilah.”

My arm falters, but I swing anyway.

“Pathetic, really.” She moves to my back, her starched dress pressing against my skin, and grabs my wrist. “Like this,” she hisses in my ear. Pulling back, she swings my arm forward, the leather slapping against Mary’s backside. She jolts but doesn’t make a sound.

“Harder.” Grace pulls my arm back farther and swings even harder.

Mary lets out a cry as red streaks appear on her pale skin. This is nothing like the other Spinners taught us.

“That’s what I want to hear.” Grace releases me and steps back. “Hit her again.”

Mary is tensed, her back quivering from the strain. I strike her, but nowhere near as hard as Grace. The room is quiet now, all eyes on me.

“I see.” Grace retreats to the wall and drags down a short whip. “Either you do this right, or I’ll show you how.”

Blood rushes to my head and sound becomes thick in my ears as I imagine the damage that whip could do.

“Hit. Her.” She slides the leather through her palm, her light eyes on me.

I pull back and put a little more force into it. Mary jerks, but doesn’t make a sound.

Grace clucks her tongue. “I’m afraid that won’t do. Step back and I’ll—”

“I can do it.”

Her blonde brows furrow, then smooth out. “Go ahead.”

Mary glances at me over her shoulder. I mouth “I’m sorry” to her, but she doesn’t respond, just lets her head hang between her shoulders.

Bile churns up my throat, but I swallow it down and draw the flogger back. With a vicious swing, I land the leather with a resounding slap.