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Should he reach his hand through the cage, he might’ve been able to touch me, but I couldn’t move. The more I struggled against the magical bonds, the tighter they became.
Death stepped into my line of sight, squeezing my chin. I wiggled, trying to pull from his grasp, but there would be no escape.
“Speak their names.”
My mouth formed a thin line.
“So beautifully stubborn.”
In a flicker of motion, a long, corded leather whip appeared in his hands. “You either say the names or tell me where you got that tattoo.”
“I will not break,” I spat.
His breath curled hot around my ear as he whispered into it. “Yes, Deyanira Sariah Faber, you will. And you will do it so beautifully our crowd will weep.”
He shoved my head to the side, forcing me to look out to the people. I nearly vomited again when I saw one green eye and one blue staring back and me, full of tears, as Paesha held the hand of her lover, a massive hellhound standing guard behind them both.
“You will speak, or maybe she will take your lashings for you.”
He didn’t wait for me to respond, circling like a vulture. The backless dress had been planned. He knew what he was going to do with me the second he saw the tattoo when I was lying in that bed… the familiar flowers that belonged to Ro piqued his curiosity, his desperation to win the game with her.
Ro. A goddess. But also, a victim. The one who’d saved me when I didn’t know I needed saving. The one who’d never truly asked me for anything but to keep her secret. The one who’d promised, should her name show up on my palm, she would hold the blade, she would take the guilt. And she’d saved Orin, too. She’d found a way to keep his darkness at bay; she brought us together. And she was a victim. I could and would be strong for her because I couldn’t die here. Only suffer. Just as she had been doing silently for centuries.
The anticipation of pain caused every muscle to shake. The whip cracked through the air, its sharp sound reverberating before the angry strike, biting into my flesh like a thousand venomous serpents. I gritted my teeth, swallowing the cry that caught in my throat. Death circled as his hollow eyes bore into mine, waiting for my decision. I knew what he demanded, and the weight of the choice pressed down upon me like a mountain.
Orin screamed. He’d never recover from watching me suffer. There was a bit of darkness that would never leave him now, and I accepted that as warm blood trailed down my back.
“Garrit Faden,” I managed behind locked jaws, purposefully skipping my mother.
Death smiled, turning to the crowd. He pointed to the man who’d been the first to truly haunt my dreams, and Garrit surged forward on an invisible string of magic, his lifeless eyes and sunken face every bit as dark as I’d remembered.
The second lashing was faster, snapping through the air on a wave of promised pain, ripping into the flesh of my back as I arched.
“Marian Achlen,” I managed.
She was plucked from the audience, but this time, I couldn’t look her in the eyes. Instead, I held mine locked with Orin. He growled, and Death responded with another wave of pain in his direction, taking him back to his knees, though this time, he was silent, too. An unspoken oath between us. You could bend us, but we would never break. And so he rose once more.
The third crack of the whip, accompanied by another name, ripped so much skin from my back, I felt it hang, dangling. The fourth shredded me, taking away my breath as I stared at Orin, his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out. Maybe not for himself, but the sight, I was sure, was its own nightmare come to life.
With the fifth and sixth lashes, each crossing each other, I faltered, my head hanging, my bones rattling, my heart fading. I managed a glance to the side, managed to see the group of my victims standing there, watching. Some were horrified, while some felt vindicated.
“I mourned you,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure they could hear me. “I honored each of you. I remembered your names, and I’ve carried you with me all this time.”
They probably didn’t care, but I did. I needed to remind myself that I was human. I was partially light, not only darkness that everyone in Requiem believed me to be.
Death became maniacal, hardly giving me time to say the next name before ripping through another row of flowers, delighting in his twisted show as the crowd on stage grew. The crowd down below stayed silent, and Orin, my loyal, sacrificing husband, slowly sank back to the floor of that cage.
My skin peeled in ribbons, and I stood in a pool of my own blood. I thought I couldn’t die—I was confident, in fact. But slowly, the edge of my vision faded, the world spun, and whatever contents had remained in my stomach had long since been discharged.
The only thing I could hear were the sobs from Paesha, the crack of the whip like a metronome, and the names I’d delivered from memory. The ones I’d spoken so many times before, I didn’t have to dig through my mind to find them. They sat, waiting on the threshold.
With the next lash, the arch of my back, the white-hot searing pain, I gasped. Finally showing Death the suffering he so loved.
“Stop this!” Orin yelled, unable to stand it any longer. The way his voice broke, the way he remained on his knees, the way he looked at me through tear-filled eyes, I knew we had to be near the end. “Let it be me. Gods, let it be me instead. She can speak the names and I will stand for her.”
“No,” a deep voice boomed from below. “I will take the lashings.”
Ezra. The strong and loyal man who would bend for only one. Would break for her, too.
