AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Zasquátz nës Demechnef!” the Ringmaster roars with a gaping smile.
I stand in front of the woman bowed to her knees, naked and terrified. With my chin held high, my eyes trace over the unusually quiet audience, meeting a few narrowing stares. Some taken aback in surprise. Others taunting, daring me to get myself into trouble. I find Kaspias in the top row with the other higher ranked soldiers. He slides his mask off, watching me with a blank stare.
“Pathetic,” I shout loud enough to reach each corner of the stadium.
The Ringmaster raises his pointy chin.
“Maybe some of you can understand me. Maybe not. But for those who do, translate to your friends the carefully selected word: pathetic.”
The Ringmaster seems to translate, as well as many soldiers conversing in the stands.
“Pathetic because you think it makes you all-powerful to prey on those who are weaker. A mother. A child.” I don’t move an inch as I watch their faces, listening to those who can translate. “But maybe you can prove me wrong! You know who I am. You know the great and terrible Patient Thirteen. And yet we’ve taken down leagues of your own men. Not so all-powerful if you ask me.”
“If you’re so powerful, why are you nothing but a dirty prisoner in our country?” the Ringmaster asks me from his platform, accent twisted and thick, loud enough for others to hear.
I stare back at him, tempted by the void that grazes my skin.
“What makes you think we aren’t exactly where we want to be?” Dessin’s voice booms across the stage, deep enough to make the Ringmaster flinch.
The Ringmaster pauses before he releases a cruel, throaty laugh.
“You think you are so special, don’t you? Then why don’t you both take the mother’s place at the whipping post!”
The crowd roars in agreement.
Dessin and I don’t hesitate. We walk confidently to the post, unlatching the woman’s bound wrists. She looks at us through heavy tears and confusion. I only nod, helping her back into her rags, shielding her naked body from her son.
The sentinels strap us to the post with rough movements. My hand is so close to Dessin’s, I caress the back of his knuckles with the pad of my index finger. He looks at me from under his thick lashes, speculating about my expression to try and understand what I’m thinking. I smile up at him, nodding my head once.
There’s a tangible connection that radiates between us. Like it’s this right here. This is what we were sent here for. An empowering shiver races over every inch of me, filling my veins with explosions of adrenaline.
Dessin grabs my hand, entrapping it within his warmth, within the safety of his embrace. And neither of us fear the pain, fear the humiliation. Because this is our choice. And we make a decision in this moment to not to flee to the Ambrose Oasis. Not to let another alter take over. We’ll feel it all.
“How strong are you now?!” The Ringmaster roars right as we hear something whistling through the air. Dessin’s upper body barely flinches. Only a subtle jerk at first contact.
It whistles again, carving into my skin, feeling as though someone has dragged a dagger down my spine. I could scream. I want to. It’s a way to relieve the pent-up agony forming in my lungs. But my eyes remain locked with Dessin’s. It kills him to watch me suffer, but we both know I am no longer that shy girl he met in the asylum. I have released my dragon.
I can breathe fire.
“Watch the Demechnef heroes bleed!”
The stadium of belligerent soldiers drum their feet against the floor, creating the vicious beat of a war drum. They howl with murderous rage, desperate to see me cry, hear him beg.
I grip Dessin’s hand harder as the lashes come fast, burning a hole through my back, into my ribs. I’m flexing every muscle, clenching down as the white-hot pain shoots through every cluster of nerves. Tears gather over my eyes, and I swallow them down. The stubbornness to show my strength overpowers the need to weep on this post.
“Stay with me,” Dessin grunts under his breath.
“I’m with you.” The words scrape from my throat, carrying the weight of my need to scream out.
The teenage soldier huffs and curses as he throws all of his youthful strength into each lashing. It’s clear his only goal now is to show the world how weak we are. He won’t stop until he hears us fall apart.
But that won’t happen.
We’ve made our decision.
We are prepared to lose every scrap of skin on our backs. We are prepared to prove a point.
And the whipping goes on for what feels like another sixty minutes. My back is numb and lifeless. I’m hanging like a broken doll from my chains on this post. But I have not made a sound. Have not shed a tear.
