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Chest squeezing, I retreat deep into my heart to stem the tide of serpents until they become the only sensation to rouse my salvation, my Halo. I claw deep down for that star-fire power, but I can’t produce one spark to save my useless self. My shame is too great because I’ve failed to capture the Dragon. I’ve failed to capture my husband.
Noralice!I scream to Thanatos. Not even my greatest trauma seems to trigger him. No escape to Flight, no escape for my wretched soul. Still, I refuse to bow my head and memorize Neo’s destructive eyes.
Now, I preach that trauma over myself again and again. My chest then lifts, blessed, sacred air flooding my lungs. At that moment, I recall what those names mean: truthandhonor. These sacred brands on my soul. Their blessing is a seal upon my heart, upon my arm to overthrow all others, including the Prince’s horned mark. I whisper them in my mind to grant me strength when the audience takes their seats, preparing for the Prince to deal justice.
Gasping on the floor, staring at my splayed-out hands, and hearing the deafening beat of my heart in my ears, in my head, I barely register his fingers light on my curls. He casts them over my face, hiding me, preparing me. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, he loathes this, loathes himself. In the end, he won’t want to remember this. The knowledge that it will ultimately punish him as much as it will punish me—that he will seek penance once his old heart returns—is my only comfort.
The Prince touches the coiled whip to the nape of my neck, a gesture of punishment for my sickle mark. I feel the slight brush of air when he sweeps the whip upward and cracks it once, a single warning before he brings it down! I hold my breath.
“Neoptolemus, Prince of Destruction!” Nita’s voice spears the entire Court, stopping the Prince’s hand in one split second.
I do not look up, but the force of her body rocking the Inner Circle erupts into me, reverberating in powerful currents. Out of the corner of my eye, I detect her horns—deadly black bone weapons in and of themselves. Her voice thunders as a Hydra Monster to battle Destruction’s Dragon. “I invoke the right of Substitution!”
Holy foremothers, no! Dread rips through my stomach.
No, Nita!I scream, I cry, I moan in her mind, my heart weeping and bleeding out love. Her sacrifice weighs down on my chest.
One dire glance at Neo assures me this is the last thing he expected, especially after this morning. Their equal eyes blaze while Neo puffs shades and embers through his nostrils. Every muscle in his body steels, bulging, rattling, nearly shattering every diamond in his armor.
Nita rises, straight and tall, hands mighty as scepters at her sides, her voice projecting venom, “It is myright, Lord Prince. I. Invoke. The. Right. Of. Substitution.”
Please, Nita…I plead with her, unable to tear my eyes from my fingers, aching from how my Halo has abandoned me. Surely, it must be a sign, a symbol that I deserve punishment, that I need to suffer to reclaim my husband, to reclaim my worth.This is all my—
Hush, sweet angel. You have done nothing wrong.Iwill be your Ezer today.
Oh, Saints! Tears form a river below me. My heart quakes inside my chest, threatening to fracture my rib cage.
Neo’s eyes fall. His whole face falls, chin bowing to his chest. I nod, clenching my eyes in understanding. According to the laws of the land, he cannot refute her. I know those laws. Over the past few months at the Tenth Court, I’ve spent numerous days studying them, memorizing them. If I try to deny her claim, we will both take the punishment. She’s doing this, sacrificing herself for me.
Nita, let me join you. I will—
Her Hydra Queen checkmates me in one indomitable move when she falls to her knees before me. Those dark eyes are deadly, dangerous, vowing, not threatening. My chest caves in.
Cupping my forehead, I study those orbs bearing every demon soul in her dungeon lake. My hands curve, clambering with the need to stop this, to raise her up because Nita should never kneel before anyone, least of all me.
Would you deny me my trauma, Elysia? Would you deny my rightful ownership of it?Stunned by her invocation, I shrink before her.Your time will come when you reserve the right to relive yours. Do. Not. Invade.Mine.
A low growl forms in her throat, a subtle warning. My shoulders curl in on themselves in defeat as I swallow my pride in this punishment. It’s not mine to own. As she said, I’ve done nothing wrong. She is doing everything right in taking this from me, inreapingthis from me.
Yes, Queen Amanita…I bow my head in surrender. Desolation and shame overwhelm me, but I cage them somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
The Prince’s shade tethers penetrate my skin like barbs as he charges me back over the balcony. Somewhere within the bond, a part of him wishes to drop me so my body will crash against his throne, beaten and battered to death. But he would never dishonor his sister.
Upon the balcony, I kneel to witness thestrongestwoman of my life reap the punishment meant for me. Quillion slides onto the balcony next to me to share our pain and grief.
Next to us, Lux bristles, her eyes wreathed in amber fury when she gazes down at Nita and then subsequently at me. Amber…not gold, like a sudden flame has burst inside them. But as soon as our eyes lock, they return to that gold lacquer.
Nita’s cry follows the first crack of the whip, trespassing on its edge. Agony trundles my stomach, and I swallow hard, hang my head, and close my eyes for a moment, but I can smell the blood from here.
Quillion steadies my shoulders so I may strengthen myself and force my eyes back to that Inner Circle, where Neo’s hand trembles when he raises the whip again. And strikes! One heart murmur inside me acknowledges how he’s putting on a show, sweeping the whip in such a ferocious arc—but like a master warrior, he pulls his punches so they barely scar Nita’s elite flesh from where her gown back has been ripped. He picks up the pace, preparing to end it in moments. Yet, her mind roars as the Hydra—so deafening, so powerful, it reverberates in my ears, resonating deep into my blood and bones:
Slower!
Nita…I moan inside my mind. Hot, gold tears lash at my eyes when I understand why. If there is more time between each whip strike, it grants her more time to breathe and recover, but the next strike will be worse than the one before. Neo wanted to end it quickly. She’s not just reliving her trauma. She’stestinghim! Her greatest reclaim, a measure of control over her own brother, of commanding his throne.
Oh, Nita! My fingers tighten, gripping the balcony so hard, they pale. Never could I possibly imagine carrying such strength.
I tuck my hands under my chin and scrape at my throat when I hear her next cry. She tips her head back, treading on a whimpering Bryony to bear the burden. I’ve memorized her expressions. Strike six. Still, Nita holds on to her core identity: Amanita. She is determined to bear this pain.
