“The pain was like fire in her belly, molten lead poured down her throat, and a glowing hot poker shoved up her nether regions. She screamed. Her bowels heaved and flowed, and she threw up. A girl’s gentle hand touched her forehead with a damp cloth. “I am here, my queen.” It was Rima, her servant girl. Kallia whimpered and leaned gratefully toward the damp cloth. Another attack rolled over her. “Don’t touch her!” a hard voice said. Some dim part of her mind said it was Chantmer. “But, my lord,”... the girl said. “Please, I beg you.” “Someone get this girl out of here,” Chantmer said. “We don’t need her or want her here.” “For pity’s sake,” came another voice. This one was Darik’s. “What harm would it do?” “We are not trying to ease her pain, you dolt. The more suffering, the better. It’s flowing out of her like a river, we only need to capture it. Roghan, ink the boy. Quickly, before the attack passes.” A chanting voice, a tearing sensation at Kallia’s belly, like clawed fingers reaching into her belly and ripping at her guts to pull away her pain and use it for its own purposes.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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