“Be still, woman,” the guard hissed.
Her lip curled into a snarl, but she made no sound.
The nomarch bent to retrieve his flail from the ground, then walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
“You want to save this man and his child from his punishment, eh? That is very generous. Very generous, indeed. Butsomeonemust pay the price for his insolence. I suppose now that someone is you.” He smiled. “I should thank you. I will enjoy beating youa great deal more.”
He turned to the guards. “Strip her.”
They ripped the tunic from her body and threw it to the side, leaving her in only her loincloth. She tried to fight back, but there were too many of them.
The guards shoved her face down in the dirt. Sharp pebbles scraped her breasts and belly, and she coughed as sand went down her throat. She made to get up, to run, but a foot came down on the back of her neck. Panting, she felt a shadow fall over her, as the nomarch’s fine beaded sandals stepped in front of her face.
“Hmm,” he growled. It was a hungry sound, full of hatred and desire.
With a whistling and a crack, the flail came whipping down on her back. The pain was sudden and searing. Before she could react, the sensation came again. And again.
Don’t cry, something inside her commanded.Don’t give him the satisfaction.
She clenched her teeth until she felt that they would shatter.
He whipped her. Again, and again, and again, until she lost count. Until time lost all form as her flesh parted from itself, first in one place, then another. A curtain of warm blood coated her, dripping down the curves of her shoulders and pooling between her breasts. She drooled, the saliva intermingling with the blood and the sweat and the silent tears streaming down her face.
But she didn’t make a sound.
Dimly, she heard the nomarch panting with exertion above her. The strokes came less and less frequently, and with less force. Still, each felt worse than the last. She tried to hide inside her mind, to untether herself from the pain, but her body kept her present. She never went numb. She felt everything.
The strokes slowed until, with one final gasp from the nomarch, they stopped altogether.
It was quiet then, broken only by the occasional bleating of a lamb.
Rae’s back pulsed with the beating of her heart, each time spilling a little more blood down the sides of her naked body. Fingers dug into her scalp and pulled her head up by her hair. Her eyes fluttered, and through the mist of pain, she saw the nomarch kneeling at her side.
“That’s very good,” he cooed, licking his thin lips. “But I would have enjoyed it more if you screamed.”
Rae stared at him, a long string of spit dripping from her chin. Then, with effort, she chuckled.
The nomarch’s smile dropped from his face. “Are you… laughing?”
“You’ve used all your strength,” Rae said, pink-tinged spittle spraying from her mouth, soiling his pristine white robes. “And you still can’t break me.”
The nomarch recoiled in disgust, dropping her head to the ground. His foot made contact with her temple, and everything went black.
***
Rae had no idea how long she was out, but it couldn’t have been very long.
Sound returned first, like a rush of wind in her ears. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened—then the blinding pain in her back and head reminded her. She opened her eyes to a blur of noise and color, and her stomach twisted with disorientation.
“You have two days to prepare your flock for transport,” a voice said, distorted and strange. “Your fields are unburned, and the girl still breathes. Is that not mercy, shepherd?”
There was a pause, and then: “Yes, Nomarch.”
Rae felt a cloud of dust pass over her, stinging her eyes, as the nomarch and his guard departed.
Baki’s stricken face appeared before her. She watched his eyes rove over her body, his nostrils flaring, before he reached for her tunic and laid it gently over her.
“Yati?” a tiny, frightened voice said.
