Chapter 7 #3
“You see that monstrosity?” Seth’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Blood magic. Imbued by the cut of a king. That is the Seal of Pendara, binding this Lirien to the throne. He is no mere subject—he’s the king’s dog.”
The gathered tribe leaned in, eyes narrowed, some with suspicion, others with fascination. Rykr’s fingers curled, but he said nothing. Instead, he yanked his shirt back down and stood even straighter.
“This Lirien is a grave danger to us. He may have been claimed by a clever trick, but he and Seren should face judgment. If we allow them to go unpunished, we show nothing but weakness,” Seth finished.
A slow breath left my lips, my heart thudding. Seth and Soroush had made their case well. Too well. They’re going to kill us both.
“The Lirien and Seren should be taken to Emberstone,” Olivia said suddenly, her voice carrying authority.
“They should face the Skorn trial at the Harvest Moon Festival in ten days. We’re merely a council—no Viori has been claimed under these circumstances.
Their crimes should be decided by the gods, not us. ”
No, no, no.
The Skorn trial. The harshest punishment outside execution—and it may as well be a death sentence.
“What the fuck is the Skorn trial?” Rykr muttered to me.
Seth overheard and smirked at Rykr, wiping blood from his nose.
“A duel to death with the Skorn, our elite Vangar warriors. If you survive, the gods deem you innocent.” He cocked his head.
“But I’ll warn you, Lirien. Very few survive the Skorn trial.
It is reserved for only the gravest cases, when guilt is unclear. ”
I bristled with anger. The Skorn was a trial meant to instill fear and respect of the Viori leadership.
They called it justice decided “by the gods,” then made it impossible to live through it.
My father had always hated the Skorn and believed those condemned to it were simply being made examples of.
Most people didn’t agree with my father’s opinion, though. Especially not the council members, who were now nodding in agreement with Olivia—including Macklyn and Soroush.
Of course. They would defer judgment to fate, to the gods. They didn’t want to be responsible if I died—or if Rykr lived.
So much for justice.
Fear threatened to overtake me but I lifted my chin resolutely, determined not to show my fears in the face of the proposed consequence.
“We shall defer to judgment through the Skorn, then,” Soroush said in a low voice. I could only hear because I was close to the platform. “Shall we vote?”
One by one, hands rose in silent agreement.
If the council’s decision frustrated Seth, he didn’t show it. “As the gods will it. Mark them for the Skorn trial, Olivia. The Lirien will remain in irons until then but may remain in Seren’s custody.”
Olivia’s cat-like eyes gleamed as she flicked her hand, green rune magic curling from her fingertips toward Rykr and me.
A glowing “S” settled on the backs of our right hands, then sunk into our skin, leaving no visible mark.
The rune ensured that if either of us tried to escape, any Viori tribe that caught us and checked for the Viori rune would recognize our sentence.
Only those who survived the Skorn had the rune erased.
Seemingly satisfied, Seth nodded. Then his eyes met mine. “Seren must be punished for striking her chief. I suggest forty lashes. Anything less might encourage rebellion.”
I fought to keep myself steady.
Forty? The mammoth-hide flogging whip could split skin in a single stroke, leaving wounds that took weeks to heal.
“No fucking way, Seth.” Amahle shot to her feet. “You’re out of line.”
Ciaran also stood. “You can’t do that. You insulted her in front of everyone. She had every right—”
“Enough.” Seth glared at them. He turned to one of the Vangar guards. “Vless, escort Seren’s friends to the officer barracks. They can expect further censure for speaking out of turn. This is exactly the kind of defiance that breeds disorder.”
Even if Vless sympathized, he said nothing. As he reached for Amahle’s arm, she yanked free, chin lifting. “Don’t fucking touch me. I know the way.”
Much as I appreciated their defense, watching them be punished for my sake only twisted the knife deeper. Too many people I loved were suffering because of my choices—my failures.
Seth’s gaze swept the crowd. “Anyone else? I don’t need the council’s approval to discipline Seren for attacking me. I confer with them only as a courtesy, to ensure her punishment is seen as justice, not retribution.”
Rykr let out a low, mocking chuckle. “Do your people really drink this curpiss?”
“Careful, Lirien. You’re at the edge of my mercy.” Seth turned back toward the council.
“Forty lashes might kill her. Render her unable to fight in the Skorn,” Macklyn said. Yet he didn’t object to flogging outright. Dammit. Ciaran would be furious with his father.
“Lucia Ragnall is a well-known healer,” Seth said.
“Ten,” Olivia Galanis said, her voice hesitant. Even that would be brutal, but at least it was survivable.
“Thirty,” Seth countered.
“Twenty,” Macklyn said.
And here I thought he was on my side.
Be strong. Show them I’m not afraid.
But I was terrified.
I dug my fingernails into my palms. Twenty lashes would leave me too injured to prepare for the Skorn for days, at least. It was excessive—meant to cripple me.
I glanced at my mother. She looked ready to speak, but I shook my head slightly. Seth would only punish her for it, as he had done with my friends. Hopefully mother would listen to me. I needed her here.
“Council?” Seth referred the question to them. “Shall we vote? Twenty lashes?”
“Nyxva,” Rykr growled quietly.
Indeed, Lirien. This is fucked.
Silence stretched across the clearing. A few council members exchanged uneasy glances, hesitant to raise their hands. Olivia’s lips pressed into a tight line, her discomfort evident, but she raised her hand reluctantly. Macklyn followed, though his expression remained neutral.
Slowly, the others complied. Soroush hesitated longer than the rest, a faint cough escaping him as he lifted his hand with a weary sigh.
My heart pounded.
My mother was in tears, and the crowd stirred with unease.
I’d never witnessed anyone—let alone a woman—sentenced to more than ten lashes. Fifteen was a severe punishment. Twenty was a statement. That, combined with the Skorn, was a cruel message wrapped in the guise of justice.
I shouldn’t have expected anything less.
Yet, I bristled with anger. Not one voice among the crowd crying out at the injustice. All these people so easily cowered in terror to Seth. I’d already suffered by losing my baby sister, and yet again, I was receiving more punishment. Where is their mercy?
Seth lifted his hands, settling the crowd. I hated that they listened to him immediately. Hated that once, I would have been like them—looking to Seth for leadership after his father’s death. A handsome, dynamic, and natural choice.
Their devotion to him grew by the day … alongside my hatred.
Blood still dripped from Seth’s nose but the satisfaction it had given me had faded.
Even Rykr had remained silent. For a moment, I’d believed we were in this together—that, for now, he’d stand beside me. He’d acknowledged me as his wife, a show of solidarity I hadn’t expected.
But I was alone.
Summoning what strength I had left, I strode toward the flogging post, refusing to let the fear show on my face.
“Do your worst, Seth,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “If pain is the price for giving you what you deserve, then I’ll pay it gladly.”
If they wanted to break me, they’d have to try harder than this.