Lyra frowned in disappointment but dared not disobey the queen's orders.
She waved her hand, and Sinclair's lips were unmuted. The woman could only moan and quake in pain, still unable to speak.
She could still feel the snakes crawling and their fangs tearing at her insides—and wondered how she was still alive after such excruciating agony.
''If you don't speak, I'll take it as you're withholding information.'' Lyra grasped the whip handle and gave it a slight shake in the air, making the woman tense, her words breathless and slurred.
''Crack!'' Lyra swung the whip close to her; the sharp sound sent icy dread straight to the woman's heart.
''Speak louder,'' Lyra said softly, as if she hadn't just cracked the whip a moment ago.
Elora watched from her seat, picked up a fruit cake from the dessert tray, and took a bite, not caring that the other women were too terrified to make a sound—afraid she might notice them.
