Chapter 68 Nun Argo
Amarien's POV
The bell rang once.
Then again.
Its sound crawled through my bones like a summons meant for the dead.
"Bow your heads," the head nun commanded.
The hall smelled of cold stone, old incense, and rot disguised as holiness. Rows upon rows of women knelt in rigid lines, their heads dipping in perfect unison. I followed a heartbeat too late. My movements were still palace-soft, untrained in submission. I felt it immediately; the eyes. Hungry. Waiting.
I bowed.
My forehead barely brushed the floor when the silence broke.
"Well?" a voice rasped. Old. Sharp. Smiling without warmth. "Why does the whore hesitate to kneel?"
My spine locked.
The hall inhaled as one.
I didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Nun Argos.
She led the procession with the authority of someone who had buried more women than she had ever prayed for. When I finally raised my head, I saw her standing before me. She was tall, iron-backed, her face a map of cruelty etched deep by years of righteous punishment. Her eyes were pale and merciless. The kind that enjoyed the breaking.
"Stand," she said.
I didn't move.
Her staff struck the stone.
"I said, stand, harlot."
Hands pushed into my back. Hard. Someone hissed, "Obey." I stumbled upright, heat flooding my face. Every nun was watching now. Some with pious disapproval. Others with thinly veiled delight.
Nun Argos circled me slowly.
"So," she said loudly, for all to hear. "This is the cursed concubine."
A ripple went through the hall.
"The one who spread her legs for her own son-in-law," she continued, voice dripping venom. "The one who betrayed the emperor. The one whose body lured him to his death."
"That's not..." I whispered.
Her hand struck my mouth.
The sound echoed.
My head snapped sideways. Blood filled my mouth. I felt its metallic hotness. Laughter broke out. Not all of it is quiet.
"Silence!" Argos snapped. "Who gave you permission to speak?"
Tears burned my eyes, but I swallowed them back. Crying here would only feed them.
Argos grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head up.
"Look at them," she ordered. "Look at the women who survived without selling their bodies."
My vision blurred as I lifted my gaze. Faces stared back. Some were twisted by satisfaction, jealousy, and cruelty. Some crossed themselves. Others smiled.
"She thinks she's still palace-made," Argos sneered. "Still silk and perfume. Still special."
Nun Argos did not shout at first. She smiled, a thin, satisfied curve of her mouth, and lifted her staff as though she were blessing me.
"Kneel," she said softly.
I obeyed.
The stone floor was cold enough to bite. My knees hit hard, pain shooting up my legs. Before I could steady myself, the staff came down across my shoulders.
The sound cracked through the hall.
I cried out. I couldn't stop it, and the sound seemed to please her. She struck me again. And again. Each blow was measured, deliberate, never rushed. My back burned, heat blooming beneath my skin.
"Count," she ordered.
"I..." Another strike stole the breath from my lungs.
"Count," she repeated calmly.
"One," I gasped.
The staff landed harder.
"Two."
She circled me as she beat me, forcing everyone to see. I could feel their eyes like hands. They were entertained. Some leaned forward. Some whispered. No one looked away.
"This is what happens," Argos announced between blows, "when a woman forgets her place."
The staff struck my thighs. My arms. My ribs. She avoided my face, not out of mercy, but calculation. Bruises healed more slowly where clothing hid them.
I lost count somewhere after ten.
My knees buckled. I fell forward, palms scraping raw against the stone.
"Up," she said.
I couldn't.
Her boot came down on my back, pressing me flat to the floor. The air crushed out of my lungs.
"You don't collapse until I say you may," Argos said, grinding her heel in.
I sobbed then. I couldn't stop it. My tears soaked the stone.
She removed her foot and gestured sharply. Two nuns stepped forward, grabbed my arms, and hauled me upright. My legs shook so badly I thought they would give out again.
Argos stepped close and slapped me across the face.
Once.
Twice.
The third slap split my lip.
Blood dripped down my chin.
She watched it fall with quiet fascination.
"Look," she said to the others. "Even her body knows it is guilty."
Someone laughed.
"Pray," she said. "Pray for forgiveness for the sin that rotted an empire."
"I didn't kill him," I said, the words tearing out of me.
Argos laughed. A harsh, barking sound.
"No?" She leaned down, breath sour. "Then why did he die after touching you?"
The hall erupted.
"Curse-bringer."
"Whore."
"Death-bed temptress."
"Monster."
The words rained down like stones.
Argos stood and raised her staff. "Behold," she announced, "the woman who thinks love excuses treason."
She turned to the others. "You will remember this face if any sickness comes. If any child dies. If any dream turns black...this one will be blamed!"
My chest caved inward.
I wanted to disappear.
"Strip her," Argos said calmly.
My heart slammed against my ribs. "No! Please..."
Hands grabbed my sleeves. Fingers tore at fabric. I fought weakly, shame stealing my strength. My outer robe fell away, leaving me shaking in thin underlayers.
"Look at her," Argos spat. "Still soft. Still untouched by punishment."
She traced the staff slowly down my spine. Deliberately.
"This body has caused enough ruin."
She shoved me forward, and I fell full-length before the altar. My forehead struck stone so hard my vision burst white.
"Hands out," she commanded.
I raised them, trembling.
She poured melted candle wax onto my palms.
I screamed.
The pain was immediate and blinding, liquid fire sinking into skin. My hands jerked instinctively.
Another nun struck my wrists with a rod, forcing them still.
"Hold," Argos said, watching closely. "Pain teaches focus."
The wax hardened, pulling at my skin when I shook. Tears streamed freely now. I could barely breathe.
Argos leaned down, her shadow swallowing me.
"You will thank the gods," she whispered, "that we burn only your hands tonight."
She straightened and addressed the hall. "Let this be remembered. This is what corruption looks like when it is corrected."
She struck the floor beside me, Crack! I flinched.
"Tonight, you scrub latrines."
Murmurs of approval.
"You eat last."
More murmurs.
"You sleep where the rats can reach you."
A few laughs now. Open ones.
"And you will thank the gods," Argos finished, "that this house believes in correction rather than execution."
She leaned close one final time.
"But do not mistake mercy for safety, Amarien."
The bell rang.
I collapsed the moment they released me. My palms throbbed, blistering. My body shook uncontrollably.
They left me there until prayer ended.
No one helped me up.
\---
My room was barely a room.
Stone. Damp. A single narrow cot. The air smelled of mildew and fear. I shut the door behind me and collapsed against it, sliding to the floor as sobs tore out of me raw and ugly.
I pressed my fist into my mouth to muffle the sound.
This was my life now.
As my breathing slowed, I noticed them.
Scratches on the wall.
Not random.
Words carved shallowly into stone:
CURSED
WHORE
LEAVE OR DIE
Beneath the cot, something glinted.
A small bundle of black thread. Knotted tightly.
A curse marker.
My stomach dropped.
Someone didn't want me here.
Someone believed my presence would poison them.
And someone, perhaps many someones, would not wait for the gods to punish me.
I hugged myself, r
ocking silently as the weight of it all crushed down.
The palace had turned its back on me.
Daevir had turned his back on me.
I stared at the carved words until my eyes burned.
If this place was meant to cleanse me...
Then it would first try to kill me.