Chapter 2

I tore off the tattered coarse-cloth apron I was wearing.

My hands trembled as I bound the strip of cloth tight around my bleeding forehead.

At the village entrance, Leslie Finch the butcher's mule was tied to the old locust tree.

I stumbled over and yanked the reins loose.

Leslie chased out of the house after me.

"Old Mrs. Swanson, where are you off to?"

I paid him no mind at all and hauled myself up onto the mule cart.

I raised the willow switch in my hand and lashed it desperately across the mule's back.

The cart tore down the pitted dirt road, jolting so hard it nearly shook apart.

The gale drove sand and dust mercilessly into my throat.

My windpipe felt as if it had been scraped with a razor.

I coughed up a big mouthful of blood that stained the front of my shirt.

It was a full thirty li from the village to the Hall residence on the outskirts of Highcourt.

This time, I couldn't be late.

When the cart reached the Hall residence's secluded side gate, the mule's front legs buckled and it dropped heavily to its knees, foaming at the mouth.

I leaped down from the cart shaft and gripped the dull-edged bone cleaver in my hand.

The side gate stood ajar.

Two gate servants were huddled in the shadow of the gatehouse, tossing a few bits of silver back and forth in their hands.

"The fresh goods Steward Lambert brought in today is a real looker."

"Young Lord Hall likes them not yet grown."

"Once the young lord's had his fill and passes her down, us brothers can get a taste too."

The two of them let out a sickening, filthy laugh.

I gritted my teeth and rushed up the steps in a few strides.

I swung the flat back of the bone cleaver, using the momentum to strike left and right.

The back of the blade slammed squarely into both servants' mouths.

Before they could even scream, their front teeth shattered on the spot, and they collapsed to the ground with blood filling their mouths.

I kicked the half-open side gate wide and stormed into the Hall residence.

The rear grounds of the Hall residence were vast, thick with rockeries.

Following my memories from my past life, I felt my way to the abandoned underground icehouse.

The icehouse's iron door was half open.

Down the slick stone steps, a chill mixed with a nauseating stench of rot hit me full in the face.

Torches were fixed in the walls all around, their light dim.

The walls were hung with barbed iron whips and clamping rods.

Every one of them was crusted with dark red scabs of blood.

My heart lodged in my throat.

In the center of the icehouse stood a huge iron cage.

Millie was locked inside.

The pleated skirt she'd worn when she left had been torn into rags.

Her hands were hauled high by rough hemp rope, her toes barely touching the ground.

Her fair ankles had been rubbed raw by the iron shackles, and blood dripped drop by drop onto the ice.

Her eyes were squeezed shut, her whole body shaking uncontrollably, a wad of rag stuffed in her mouth so she couldn't make a sound.

Outside the iron cage.

Karl Hall stood in a loose undergarment, his chest bared.

He gripped a red-hot branding iron and let out a stomach-turning, crazed laugh.

"Cry. I love hearing you lowborn wretches beg for mercy."

"The more you cry, the more it excites me."

Branding iron in hand, he stepped closer and closer to Millie's thigh.

In the shadows around the icehouse stood more than a dozen armored guards holding steel blades.

I drew a deep breath and locked my eyes on the young lord's right hand, the one holding the branding iron.