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.
