Chapter 2 #2
“You can’t do this,” I said to Fraser, turning my attention to him in time to see his sharp glare cut to me. “The Lysian has no scars on his body. He looks pristine, his muscles conditioned, his skin undamaged. I think—”
For Fraser’s large size, he was quick. Abruptly, he stood, and the back of his hand slammed across my face before I could even finish. Stunned, I lost my balance, only to be caught by his hand on the front of my shirt. He pulled me threateningly close.
“You do not tell me what to do, girl,” he said in a low voice.
The smell of garlic and ale wafting off his breath burned my nose.
My cheek stung, and the fresh taste of iron filled my mouth.
The blow had drawn blood. It was not the first time he raised a hand against me, but it was the first time he had in such a public manner.
The entire room, which was already silent, went completely void of sound, so much so that it was deafening.
My hands began shaking at my sides. Not in fear, but with the yearning to set myself free.
Icy hatred burned inside me, longing to destroy the man who threatened me.
Like the Lysian, my skin was not scarred, but that did not mean that I was not scarred.
My wounds had always been within, hidden from outsiders.
Still, they were deep. Scars that would be with me till my dying day.
I steadied myself from the blow. Clenching my jaw, I reined in the feeling, telling myself that I was not actually in danger, that the man holding me by my shirt was not worth placing myself at risk.
To act against him, to kill the Leader Superior in front of everyone in the room, would not serve the people’s best interest, nor mine.
No matter how much Fraser deserved to die, it could not be by my hand.
To act against the Leader Superior was to turn one’s back on the sacred ways of the Bavadrins.
Often, Fraser was the one most capable of testing my patience and control. This was no different. Just another test for me to pass. He pushed me to lose control, to lash out and release myself completely, but I wouldn’t.
“My Superior.” Shal’s voice rumbled through the room, slow and lazy. The casual tone was a thin veneer, barely masking the desperation to please Fraser or the perpetual anger that seemed to define him. He took a step towards us before letting his gaze slide down my frame.
Desire flickered in his eyes—not a yearning to love, but to possess.
“Sweet Ari spends much of her time at the children’s home,” he said, his words calculated, “and amongst those less fortunate. Her heart is soft, as is her mind. She simply does not grasp the magnitude of the threat before her.”
It was a carefully veiled reminder to my father that I held the affection of the people while subtly belittling me before his advisors.
With a grunt of agreement, Fraser shoved me into the chair beside him before relaxing back into his. “You are correct Shal. Perhaps my daughter is in need of a firmer hand than mine. To remind her of her place.”
Shal chuckled and delight sparkled in his eyes as they drifted to me once more. It wasn’t hard to discern what he was thinking. He wanted to be that firmer hand.
My jaw clenched as Fraser subtly dangled my unwed status before his sycophant. The only reason I hadn’t already been bound to one of his men was that he relished the power of withholding me. My availability served as a promise he could manipulate.
I bit my tongue and looked anywhere but at Shal who approached to stand at Fraser’s other side.
It was where the Leader Superior’s second in command usually stood.
Fraser had yet to name his new second since Valk’s passing.
The position became another promise he could manipulate, as long as the role remained vacant.
No matter how much Shal frothed at the mouth for it, he was never going to be given it. At least not officially.
Bringing my shaking hands into my lap, I clenched them together, willing them to stop. Amongst those standing around the edge of the great room, I found Edda. She always offered me shelter from the storms. Because of her, I grew up feeling safe and loved despite the cruelty of the world I lived in.
Edda’s gaze focused on me, an angry scowl meant for our benevolent Leader Superior on her face. She took a deep breath, and I mirrored her. Once, twice, a third time, until my hands stopped shaking and I regained control of myself. Edda offered a small nod of encouragement.
“Well, now is your last chance to tell me what you were doing in my lands.” Fraser addressed the Lysian. There was no interest in his voice, because he did not truly care. This was mere formality, to make sure the Lysian did not carry a message from his King.
The stranger’s gaze shifted to Fraser, his glare murderous. The features of his face were brutal yet not unattractive, except those teeth that appeared to consistently be threatening the world around him.
“I wish to travel northwest, for they have my kind trapped there as slaves. I want to free them. There is no other way to get to the Sidhe except through your lands,” he answered simply.
I found myself leaning forward.
What he was insinuating was ridiculous. None of us crossed the borderlines, for the treaty kept it so.
The Lysians, Bavadrins, and the Sidhe lived very much separately.
For any of the Lysians to have been enslaved by the Sidhe meant they likely had to travel through our lands.
What the Lysian proposed was simply impossible.
Off to the side, Edda’s eyebrows angled in a scowl, as if she too were questioning whether to trust the Lysian or not.
Edda was remarkably good at sniffing out a lie, spotting one before the words were even spoken from someone’s lips.
For her to appear thoughtful because of the Lysian’s allegations gave me pause.
Was it possible he was speaking the truth?
What’s more, the Lysians were not the only ones with missing people.
“You were not invited into our lands and were not found to be carrying any messages from your King; therefore, you had no right to cross the border. You crossed the border with ill intent. For this you will receive thirty lashings to start,” Fraser answered without a care for what the Lysian said.
Thirty was an incredible number of lashings.
A Bavadrin was likely to pass out after ten, but the Lysians were stronger.
Their bodies were more resilient to injury, or so the stories foretold.
He was likely to remain conscious for the entirety of the punishment.
Despite their strength and resilience, they were not immune to pain.
This would not be a painless experience. It was going to be excruciating.
“Maybe we should hear him out,” I offered, calmly trying to make my tone more submissive.
Bavadrin’s had been disappearing, enough for rumors to spread.
Some said the Spirit had chosen them to ascend into a better world.
The lives taken were not impactful to our leader or his rule, and thus he did not care.
Fraser’s hand hit the arm of his chair with enough force that the wood splintered. Anger radiated off him in such thick waves that it was palpable.
Willis, with the whip in his hands, took a single small step in our direction before stopping himself. His golden eyes found mine, and he shook his head ever so slightly, imploring me to stand down.
Willis was already furious when I went down to the dungeon to speak with the Lysian.
Yet, if it came down to it, he would stand beside me in an unprecedented act of conflict with our leader.
Bavadrins were tied to their Leader Superior.
No one opposed him, and definitely never threatened him.
To do so was treason and went against everything we held sacred.
Once the Spirit chose the Superior, he or she was to rule until their passing, and only then was another chosen to lead.
The Leader Superior was born in blood and ended in death.
I felt Fraser’s gaze on me, though I refused to meet it.
“Proceed,” he said to Willis after a long moment passed.
Nausea rose within me as my friend moved to stand in position behind the Lysian, raising the whip. Sad and regretful golden eyes met with mine before focusing on the Lysian before him.
The first lashing sounded through the great room, and it was as if the world turned on its axis.
By the fifth lashing, the Lysian began visibly shaking.
His skin, which was once smooth perfection, would now never be such.
For the rest of his life, he would bear the markings inflicted this day.
By the tenth, the sound of each subsequent whipping changed with the wet blood dripping from the wounds being carved into his skin.
In the beginning, the Lysian remained silent, but then the pain washed over him.
The grunting accompanying a lashing morphed into menacing growling.
It was not a scream of agony, but one of anger.
I focused on a spot on the floor and prayed to the Spirit that the torture would soon end.
By the time it was over, I could no longer look at the Lysian or anyone else in the room.
After the thirtieth lash, the Lysian was dragged back to his cell.
The great room quickly cleared, the first to leave being Fraser who did not say a word to me.
I sat there in silence until I was the last person left.
Even Edda did not approach, knowing I needed a moment.
It was all I could do to keep myself together.
Hardly hanging on, I focused on forcing slow deep breaths to keep from passing out.
Once alone, I could not hold the memories at bay any longer.
The flashbacks flooded my mind. I heard my mother’s voice, saw her blood on the floor of the very room I now sat in, saw the light slowly fade from her eyes.
Heard the sound of the whips as they continued slashing at her body long after she had lost consciousness. Until she drew no more breaths.
I would have thrown up were there anything in my stomach. Edda had been correct regarding that.