Maiden of Pain Read Online Free PDF Page B

chose to shield Ythnel from this pain. The girl had been raised as a ward of the manor, told she had been orphaned when she grew old enough to ask.
    What's done is done, Yenael told herself, and she is better off for it. She does not need the distractions a family brings. They would only hinder her in the task she has ahead.
    Shaking her head, Yenael turned down the hallway into the manor. She needed to clear her own head, and performing her evening prayers would provide the focus she required. The only question was which whip she should use.
----
    Ythnel rose from her bed and pulled back the curtains, letting the sun into the room Master Saelis had rented for her at the inn. She removed the shirt Master Saelis had provided as a nightgown, folded it, and placed it on the floor beside the bed. She then reached behind her neck to untie the thin leather strap from which hung a small, ceremonial whip with nine tails, the symbol of her faith. Ythnel knelt on the folded cloth and began a prayer chant. Every few seconds, as the chanting would reach a crescendo, Ythnel lashed herself with the whip, leaving pink welts on her smooth, sallow skin. With each lash, Ythnel felt a tingle of pleasure that transcended the pain.
    A creak from the door brought the prayer to a halt. Ythnel quickly stood, just catching a glimpse of someone stepping back from the doorway. Remembering that she was still naked, Ythnel scooped up the nightgown, put it back on, and traded the whip for a towel and her clothes and walked out of the room. Prisus stood across the hall with his back to her. Ythnel tried to slip quietly past him, but he turned as she closed the door.
    "I... uh, I didn't mean to.. I mean, it wasn't my intention...," Prisus stammered.
    "Perhaps it would be best to knock first before entering in the future, Master Saelis," Ythnel said, unable to look directly at him.
    "Of course." Prisus's cheeks were flushed. "I only wanted to tell you that I've booked our passage. And.. and Leco has your things. I'll have him bring them to your room. We can go as soon as you're ready."
    "Thank you. I'm going to take a bath before I meet you downstairs." She didn't wait for a response.
    They made their way to the docks after morning-feast. The city was already buzzing with activity, but Prisus seemed oblivious to it, lost in his own thoughts. As they approached the pier, Prisus finally blurted out, "Why do you beat yourself?" Several dockworkers who were loading cargo looked askance at the pair.
    The embarrassment from earlier in the morning came rushing back. "I thought you were not interested in my religion, Master Saelis?" Ythnel raised a questioning eyebrow. She did not want to talk about it, but the deflection failed.
    "I'm not," he replied a bit more discreetly. "To be honest, my wife was part of a group that dallied a bit in some of the less... exotic rites of your faith. She quit before we were married, thank Tymora. I just... I don't understand what could motivate someone to... to—"
    "To suffer?" Ythnel finished. Prisus nodded, but Ythnel hesitated, unsure how to answer. She had been told time and again by the clerics at the manor why they served as they did, and had repeated the reasons back just as often, but this was the first time she had been asked to explain to someone unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, with the Loviatan beliefs. "Why did you come all the way to Bezantur to find a governess for your daughter?"
    "Because I love her, of course."
    "And I love Loviatar. She is the only mother I have known. I want to show her my devotion, just as you wish to show your daughter how much you care for her."
    "I don't think the situations are necessarily equivalent, but I guess I can see your point." Prisus shrugged. The pair walked in silence to the waiting ship and boarded.
    For the first two days of the voyage, Ythnel was violently ill. The roll of the ship on the waves of the sea wreaked havoc on her stomach, and she spent most of her time leaning over