The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

“I must go, my darling one.” He stands, and I grab his hand. “But I’ll return to check on you.” Leaning down, he kisses my crown.

“Stay,” I beg and try to grab his pants leg.

“Soon, my child. I’ll see you again very soon.” He walks out, taking the searing energy with him.

The light seems to dim once he’s gone, and I want to follow him, but I’m rooted to the spot. I don’t know how long I stay there, thinking of him, before the door opens.

Grace is there with another Spinner, their batons raised.

My screams seem to come from someone else’s mouth as I’m dragged back to the never-ending dark.

Chapter 2

Adam

Three days. She’s been in there for three whole days, and no one will tell me a goddamn thing.

“Are you listening to me, son?” My father snaps his lighter closed and takes a hard drag from his cigarette.

“Yes.” I try to relax my shoulders and appear nonchalant. “The Maidens are getting back in line.”

“They are.” He lets the last word hang in the air. “But.” It sounds like a shot. “We need to discuss Craig. As Sarah’s Protector, he’s the one to blame for this entire episode. The Maidens are being punished, but it’s time for him to face the consequences.”

Finally, my father and I agree on something. Craig is a fucking animal and deserves to be put down like one.

“What did you have in mind?” I have plenty of ideas.

“The whip isn’t enough, but the cross is too severe.” He raps his knuckles on the desk.

“The river?” Noah asks, his voice tentative as he suggests torture.

My father smiles. “I think that’ll do just fine.” He turns to me. “We also need to discuss your punishment, Adam.”

I don’t react. I assumed I’d be up for some more lashings. If a Maiden disobeys, and especially if she goes to the length of trying to escape, her Protector is punished. In my father’s eyes, we aren’t doing our jobs. The girls should be broken by now, with no spirit except one of service to the Prophet.

“Will I get the drowning treatment, too?” I hold his icy glare.

“At first, I thought the lashes would be the best thing for you.” He takes another draw. “But then I realized you need a bit more.”

“Bamboo under the nails? Maybe let rats gnaw at my fingers and toes?” I hope one of these is correct. Whatever he intends to do, I want it done to me. But the glint in his eye tells me that’s not how this is going to go.

“Bring her!” His voice slices the air.

Castro pushes through the office doors, shoving my mother inside. Noah and I jump to our feet.

Noah starts, “Dad, you can’t—”

“Sit the fuck down, Noah!” His bellow cows my brother, but not me.

I stare him down. “This doesn’t concern her.”

“Everything to do with you concerns her.” My father snaps his fingers and my mother limps over to him, but gives me a pleading look as she goes. She doesn’t want me to interfere. Just as always, she’s trying to shield me. One broken leg and multiple bruises and scars have never stopped her from trying to keep Noah and me safe.

“Don’t.” I curl my fingers into fists and step toward the desk.

Steel presses into the base of my skull.

My father smirks. “If he moves, pull the trigger.”

“Yes, sir.” Castro pushes the muzzle harder against me and grabs my shoulder with his free hand, shoving me into the chair.

My fingernails dig into the skin of my palm. “Castro, I promise you. One day, I’m going to have your warm blood on my hands. And I can’t fucking wait.”

“We’ll see.” He’s still cocky. But soon, I’ll make sure he never takes another breath.

“Rachel, my love.” My father grabs her hands and pulls her to him.

Noah squirms in his seat, and Castro kicks the leg of his chair. “Move and I’ll pop you.”

“Prophet.” She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Have you missed me?”

“I miss my husband, yes.” Her words are strong, even though he’s tried so many times to break her spirit.

“Would you like to prove it?” He takes another drag and blows the smoke in her face.

“How?”

“If you are telling the truth then you won’t be harmed. But if you aren’t in perfect obedience, I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” He grabs her arm and slides up the sleeve of her white shirt.

She doesn’t move. When he presses the burning cigarette to the flesh on the underside of her arm, she makes a small sound, but swallows it.

Castro’s grip tightens on my shoulder. Of all the things my father has done in his presence, this is what bothers him?

“Oh, Rachel.” He pulls the cigarette away and tsks. “You were lying after all. You didn’t miss me. You aren’t in perfect obedience. That’s why this hurts. But my darling—” he tries for a frown but can’t quite get there, his glee at the thought of human carnage too great “—you know it hurts me far more than you.”