Beautiful Torture *Book Two of the Beautiful series*

26) Decision

Lucy stood in front of a crescent shaped table, in which several monks were seated behind. She had her hands folded in front of her stomach, which had grown big enough it was barely concealable under her dress. She kept her head bent, not wanting to look at the men watching her with hateful glares.

"Luciana Clement, you are here before the elders with a great accusation of violence." The Abbot's voice was hard, but there was clearly sympathy in his expression when he glanced at the dragon king. Who refused to sit behind the elders, and stood against the wall closest to where his queen was standing. "We gather today to put this matter to rest. To find the truth and continue accordingly," the Abbot went on, his voice boomed in a startling echo around the room. Lucy had grown so used to the quiet of the monk halls that the sound made her flinch. "It is my obligation to make all here today aware that we will swear on great Hexos, our beloved Sun God, to be honest. A lie told under his pledged oath will result in the offender living a life of curse and shadow. The Sun God does not take this oath lightly."

The Abbots eyes grazed over everyone seated in the great room. From the members of his council to the lesser monks perched on the stiff wooden benches set in rows on either side of the door. All had been asked to attend—everyone but the slaves. At the last thought, Lucy sent an anxious glance over her shoulder to where she had whispered the urgent task to her Familiar.

Gather the slave women, beg them to come if you must. Most importantly, find the girl called Jenaya, I believe she can help me...

Lucy had doubts about her plan, to be certain. For one, it was only a pull at her gut that made her think Jena might have possibly witnessed what the dark haired monk, Rickon, attempted in the baths, but she also had an aching suspicion the weasel took such liberties often with the slave girls. If even one of them would attest to this, to the man's true nature of the urge for sadistic pleasure despite the monk's vow of celibacy...perhaps she would not even need to admit the full story. Perhaps she could get away with a half truth that would not result in her dragon king slaying Rickon on the spot, but also end in a form of punishment for the despicable demon of a monk.

Yet, when her eyes fluttered back up to appraise the council of gray wizened old men, Lucy felt a deflation of her hope. Who was to say they would care what he was doing to the slaves? Or that they would trust the word of a girl they viewed as nothing more than livestock to be traded and used as they deemed fit.

Lucy gnawed on her lower lip, fingers twisting nervously over her belly. A faint muffled voice registered in the back of her mind, but it was not until the Abbot spoke her name rather sharply that she snapped out of her impending daleria.

"I am sorry...w-what was the question?" Her voice squeezed out, weak and feeble.

A low murmur and the trading of smirks rumbled from behind her amongst the seated monks and did not cease until the Abbot called for order and silence.

"I asked, dear child, if you understand the extent of the severity of the alleged crimes and if you are prepared to take the oath of Hexos."

Lucy's gaze skittered up again, only this time it was to stare at the stained glass window behind the seated council. A mural of Hexos, their favored god, was artfully crafted into it, all shining shades of gold and amber. He looked so different from his brother, Venyres who Lucy had met in the realm of purgatory, though from the way his eyes shone...she feared he might have more in common with the God of death than what might be good for her if she lied.

A sharp swallow wet her dry throat and she steeled her shoulders, squared her jaw to meet the mocking eyes of the old men one by one. "I understand. I will take the oath."

Lucy rose to the stand. She felt Alexander's gaze follow her like the warm entwine of a blanket. She settled into the hard stone acquisition seat and spoke the words more ancient than the mountains around them. The heat of the magic they held sent her blood rushing and pinpricks trailing down her arms.