The door to the glamourhame opened. "Enter and be silent." Dannel stepped into the torture chamber and bowed to the fae lord within. The door closed behind him. Dannel had been in the glamourhame once before. When he had been brought here for Lord Falthro to torture to death. He still didn't know what had made the lord stop and listen to him. Believe in his innocence. Dannel was alive because of the fae's honor and honesty. He was a slave, and about to be tortured to feed the fae's glamour, because before learning of Dannel's innocence the fae lord had sworn an oath to punish him.
The lord snapped his fingers impatiently, pulling Dannel out of his thoughts. "Strip and kneel." The lord pointed to the center of the room.
Dannel removed his clothes and knelt in the indicated spot. Small pieces of grit on the floor dug into his knees. He stared straight ahead and ignored the discomfort, sure worse would come.
The lord said nothing further. He settled into well-padded chair and seemed to fall into a doze.
The grit pained Dannel's knees, but he ignored it. A few blessed minutes without the housekeeper or cook cursing him, berating him, dumping slops on him and otherwise making it clear to all and sundry that Dannel was to be the whipping boy for the rest of the slaves serving Lord Falthro. A few minutes free of that was worth a little pain.
He shifted his weight, unconsciously trying to find a comfortable position. All he did force the grit into new areas of his knees. Why wasn't Lord Falthro doing something?
Dannel gritted his teeth and did his best to block out the pain. The whips, knives, and "furniture" everywhere he looked reminded him that the fae could do much worse than have him knee on a gritty floor. He didn't remember the floor in here being dirty, but he hadn't exactly been paying attention last time either.
Lord Falthro had sworn to craft punishments for the councillors of Elm Grove, who had falsely condemned Dannel. Dannel tried to distract himself by imagining what the fae might do. Lord Falthro had also said that in some way, Dannel's presence would be a punishment to Lord Falthro himself, who carried out his sentence. Though in a different fashion that the council had expected.
The pain slowly blossomed into agony. Maybe Dannel should have asked the fae to just kill him. Death couldn't be worse than a lifetime of this. Could it?
Sweat dripped down Dannel's face. No matter how he tried, he could think of nothing but the pain, the pain, the pain. He was bent over, arms wrapped around himself and rocking back and forth. Lord Falthro had sworn Dannel would not be crippled, but how could he hurt so much otherwise? It was not obedience that kept him on the floor. He couldn't believe his legs would still carry him if he tried to stand.
Lord Falthro stood. "You may sit in the chair. I will send someone for you."
Dannel couldn't hold back a sob. He tried to stand and fell over onto his side. Lord Falthro helped him stand and offered him a shoulder until he reached the seat. The freedom from pain was a bliss he had never imagined. "You did well," the fae said. Dannel pulled away from the fae's hands and snarled. To his surprise, Lord Falthro only nodded and left the room.
A few minutes later, Dannel had his arms wrapped around himself as his body tried to shake itself apart. He didn't notice when a young woman entered the room. She draped a towel around him and pressed a mug of water into his hands. "There now. It's alright. You'll be down soon."
Her voice grated on his ears and he growled at her, his mind not clear enough to find words. She retreated to a corner of the room and waited.
Slowly, the shaking stopped. He drank the water in small sips, surprised at how good it tasted. He had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak.
"Thank you."
"It's a simple enough thing. Are you settled now?"
He sat up, stretching carefully. "I think so."
"You'll be wanting something to eat soon. If you go to the kitchen Cook will have a snack for you. Or I can fetch it."
"I'm not hungry."
She snorted. "Five hundred years people here have been tending the master and his needs. Your body needs food to recover."
He shrugged. "What do you care?"
"Daft man." She sighed. "First, it's my job to care. The master sent me to tend you, after all. Second..." she crossed the room to crouch down next to him, "there's a reason the master sent me and not someone else. He needs me right now too, you know. But he's had his eye on you, and he knows there's no one else in the manor will give you the care you need."
"What makes you so different?"
"I know the truth."
Dannel stared at her.
"I'm the master's personal servant, fool. I was standing right there when he asked you to choose your punishment. Heard the whole thing."
He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Rage turned his vision red. She slapped him. "Don't you be grabbing me." His hands were clenched around her shoulders. He had no idea how they got there. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "Listen to me. Listen to me now. You want to hurt someone? You want to hit something?" She pulled him out of the chair and propelled him across the room. A man-shaped figure made of leather and stuffed with hay was propped in the corner. "There," she said, dropping his arms, "there's your target."
"Why?" Dannel collapsed in the corner several minutes later. Hay and leather scraps were scattered across half the room.
"Which why would that be?" the servant crouched next to the chair.
"Why didn't you tell anyone I'm innocent?"
"It's not mine to tell now, is it? I keep my silence on the master's business. It's none of theirs, and none of yours unless he chooses to make it so."
Darrel growled. "Is that to be part of my 'punishment' to, then?"
"If you'll not talk sense, I have other things to be doing." He waved vaguely around the room, taking in the rest of the manor, "Them, everyone, spending the rest of my life as a pariah for something I..."
"Nah, the master doesn't think of how humans react to the things he does. He won't have realized yet that housekeeper and them are being so harsh because they've heard the story your council tells. The master treats us well, mind, but we're, well, we're not people to him." She shook her head. "Except for you."
