Unmasqued

Erik wasn't altogether certain how many hours had passed, but from the numbness in his arms and the roaring pain encumbering his body, he knew it had been many. The pain always waited, gathering its forces, after a beating like that.

"What is it, dear brother? Have you nothing to say? No gratitude to me for taking you back in, now that you've been left by your true love?" His voice sneered at the last words. "She very much enjoyed her stay here; Christine was quite vocal about it. Ah, yes, we quickly moved to a first-name basis, my dear brother. She spread her legs so quickly, I thought the breeze would put out the candles." He laughed.

And then Erik heard it. The sound that still had the power to set his stomach to roiling. The light, sharp crack.

"It's not befitting the son of a comte, even a bastard, to keep his eyes downcast in servitude. Even with a face like yours."

This time, the whip snapped near his ear and it was all Erik could do to keep from flinching. But he did… With a grim sense of smugness, he didn't move. That first time, or even the second, third, fourth… even when the bite of the sleek leather cut into his arm, his thigh, his ribs, his good cheek.

"Still stoic as ever, are you, dear brother? Or have you fainted?" There was the barest hint of annoyance in Philippe's voice; it was betrayed by the harsher, more stinging whipcrack that he laid across Erik's torso. This time, he couldn't contain a low groan.

"Ah, bien, still conscious, I see."

Erik braced himself for another stripe from the leather, but whatever Philippe's intention, it was interrupted by the arrival of another person.

Awash in the reverberating pain and his own dull confusion, Erik didn't hear their whispered conversation. When Philippe returned his attention, Erik heard his words with relief. "It is your good fortune that I'm called back to my guests. Sleep well, my brother. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Philippe moved soundlessly away, and Erik hung, miserable and aching, sweat and blood dripping from his skin. He pulled on the chains, with the only result low clinks and clanks and more strain to his muscles.

At last, he gave in to his body and allowed himself to sink into oblivion, for only there would the pain ease.

Chapter Twenty-three

Before Christine opened her eyes again, she remembered where she was. Even in her sluggish state, she knew. Dread made her heart thump sharply as she opened her lids and looked around, afraid of what she would see.

But the goggle-eyed girl had disappeared and she was alone. Unfettered. Sprawled on a large bed she hadn't noticed before.

And then she realized she wasn't alone. Someone had awakened her.

"Madame," she whispered in amazement. "How did you find me?"

Madame Giry had a guarded look on her face, and she held a finger to her lips. "Rose told me," she whispered. "She is one of the few who have access to these quarters. It is a secret that you are here. I brought you this." She handed her a warm, wet cloth and Christine used it to gratefully wipe her face and hands.

"What of Erik? Philippe said he was dead!" Christine asked as she washed.

Madame shook her head. "He is in the dungeon. The comte has made him his prisoner. He is hurt, but by no means dead."

Her heart swelled with relief. "Thank God he's alive! How badly is he hurt?"

"Come, quickly, I will take you to him while the comte is busy with his guests. We haven't long, and you must be back-"

"Back?" Christine reared away in fear. "No, if I leave here, I won't come back! Erik and I will leave."

"I hear he is in chains; no one knows where the key is. No doubt in Philippe's pocket. Rose has dared to bring me here, and will guide us to the dungeon-but is too frightened to do more to help us. If you do not come back here and pretend you know nothing, you will not have the chance to find the way to free Erik. Do you understand?"

She understood. And… Raoul should return soon. If Philippe was busy with his guests for long enough, there would be no chance for him to come to her.

"Take me to Erik."

Rose was waiting for them in the hall, her delicate features pinched with worry. Christine recognized her immediately as the girl who'd been hanging on the wall, with the ball in her mouth. It was no wonder she knew Christine's whereabouts.

They hurried like silent wraiths along the corridors and through servant passageways down four floors to well beneath the ground, where it was damp and dark.

"He is down there," Rose said, pointing down another flight of stairs that led into darkness. "Now I must go. I am leaving this place, and I will never return." She disappeared back the way they'd come.

Madame gave Christine a little push. "I will wait here and signal you if someone comes."