I stared at Narian, incredulous he was allowing her to take control, then realized it would do no good to reprimand Rava here, not when his own orders would have been the same. Still, his intense eyes sent her a deadly warning.
Steldor gave us an impudent nod before he was led through the antechamber doors into the Hearing Hall, off of which was the entrance to the dungeon. All except Cannan watched him go—the captain had not once met his son’s gaze.
The moment we were left to debate his punishment, Rava snapped, “Execute him.”
“No,” Cannan growled, and for an instant it seemed he might have let his emotions get the better of him. I was mistaken, however, for he followed up with sound logic. “Steldor has just made himself the people’s hero.”
In substantiation of his point, cries of “Steldor the King!” rang in the brief silence.
“You barely prevented a full-scale revolt with your latest executions,” the captain continued. “Another death and you will create one.”
Rava scoffed. “Your love for your boy is sweet, Cannan. Why don’t you profess it and beg for him instead of trying to convince us your helpless people can work miracles?”
“Believe what you want,” Cannan said, cold, dangerous fury emanating from him. He had endured enough of her condescension. “In time, you will understand that I do not make empty threats.”
“It’s a threat you’re making, is it?” Rava crossed her arms, unsuccessfully trying to ridicule him.
“Yes,” Cannan answered, without a beat of hesitation.
A soundless struggle between them culminated in Rava unexpectedly taking a step back from the former military leader, although neither showed a sign of breaking eye contact. Narian finally put an end to their confrontation.
“Enough, Rava. You’re dismissed.”
Rava blinked at her commander, astonished, then her muscles tensed in anger.
“You are dismissed,” Narian repeated, his steely tone more deafening than any protest Rava could have mustered. She exhaled heavily, making an ignominious exit into her office just as Saadi stepped back out. Grasping the front of his shirt, she tugged him inside after her, slamming the door behind them.
Cannan did not waste a moment before he addressed Narian, his manner controlled, but intense, concentrated.
“What will you do?”
Narian was thinking, and it wasn’t hard to guess what was going through his mind. Steldor’s offense was one that would merit death under an unforgiving government, but he did not want to be that government. And he did not want to hurt me. I had no notion of his personal feelings toward Steldor, though I could not imagine they were overly positive, but I knew they would be the last factor he would consider.
“Don’t put him to death,” I said unhelpfully, only making his decision more difficult.
“I have to be just, Alera,” he told me, then he looked to Cannan. “He cannot go without punishment. You know this.”
“I know.”
Narian nodded. “He’ll be lashed. Publicly. Six times with a rawhide whip.”
“You’ve been merciful. My son asked to be punished. I feared only his death.”
The two men locked eyes, and I sensed something change between them—the former captain gained understanding of the type of man my betrothed had become, and Narian gained understanding of a father-son relationship he had never experienced.
* * *
The courtyard was where it would be done, that very afternoon. I despised the location, not wanting to associate the regal and once beautiful grounds of my home with this type of torture. At the same time, I knew the location made sense to the Cokyrians—the iron gates would keep Hytanican citizens from interfering yet provide a perfect view.
Heralds were sent out to announce the event and, gruesome though it would be, the people came to watch. Narian, Cannan and I, along with several Cokyrian soldiers, congregated in the courtyard, the only ones witnessing the punishment without a barrier to contain us. My eyes fell on Galen outside the wall, staring fixedly at Cannan in a silent demand to know how this had happened, but the captain, though he surely noticed, paid no heed.
It was important for Narian to distance himself in the eyes of the public from such cruelty, so he would not be the one to administer Steldor’s punishment. While this was a relief to me, for I did not want to see him perform such a brutal act, we all knew without confirmation that Rava would take his place.
We didn’t have long to wait before Steldor was led out of the Bastion by two soldiers, preceded by Rava and a young woman carrying a box that was perhaps four feet long. They passed us, Steldor tall and unafraid, the Hytanican crowd immediately resuming its earlier chant. Rava stopped, turning around with a raised hand to bring her cohorts to a halt, and I hoped the support he was receiving would not somehow make his punishment worse.
Rava approached Steldor and removed a dagger from a sheath at her hip. With her left hand, she smoothed the collar of his white shirt, then yanked the fabric away from his chest, slicing through it in a single motion. Spying the silver wolf’s head talisman that he always wore, she seized it, ripping it free of his neck.
“Whether for good luck or good fortune, you’ll have no need of this,” she sneered, dropping the pendant into a pouch that hung from her belt.
“I’m sorry it’s not strong enough to cover your stench,” he icily replied, for the mixture inside the talisman was the source of his rich, masculine scent.
Rava stared at Steldor, then stalked around him to tear the remnants of his shirt from his back, trying without success to strip him of his pride. She perused his muscular torso, and when she faced him once more, her eyes came to rest on the scar beneath his rib cage—the one that marked the life-threatening wound given to him by a Cokyrian blade—and placed the tip of the dagger she still held against it.
“Only slightly marred.” She traced the knife’s point along the jagged white line, leaving a trail of red. “I’ll see what I can do to change that.”
She tucked the weapon back into its sheath and gave a nod to the soldiers who had brought Steldor out of the Bastion. As they tied his wrists with rope, she went to the woman who had brought the box and lifted its lid. With a satisfied chuckle, she removed a whip more fearsome than any I had ever seen, cradling it like a mother would an infant, and the gathered throng fell silent. It was indeed rawhide, but uncoiled it reached four feet in length before meeting a silver ring, on the other end of which another two feet of metal-studded leather waited to strike. I looked to Narian and Cannan, and knew by both of their expressions that this was not what they had expected. Indeed, Rava purposefully made eye contact with Narian, her demeanor haughty, before returning her attention to her prey.
“On your knees,” Rava growled, dangling the whip in front of Steldor. He obeyed, his eyes never leaving her face, continuing to radiate strength and insolence.
“How can a flag be of consequence in a dead kingdom?” she taunted. “It is cloth. It is meaningless. And it can be burned.”
She ticked a finger for one of the many soldiers around us to come forward, and I recognized Saadi. He extended our rolled Hytanican flag, and Rava took it, letting it unfurl until the end touched the ground. She held out her other hand and Saadi passed her a lit torch, which she touched to the banner of my homeland, letting flames consume it. The courtyard’s white stone walkway would now and forever be scorched.
Steldor’s upper lip lifted awa
y from his teeth, but aside from this snarl, he showed no reaction.
“Tell me, does it seem worth it to you to suffer this punishment for a rag?”
“Without question,” Steldor forcefully answered, and cheers rolled like thunder through the Hytanicans who had gathered to watch, sending chills down my spine.
Rava’s lip curled into a sneer and she walked behind him, motioning to the Cokyrians holding the ropes to pull them tight, spreading his arms wide. With a swift and practiced motion, she raised the whip and brought it down hard upon his broad back, drawing blood with her first stroke, and gasps reverberated almost as loudly as had the cheers.
“Is it worth it?” she demanded.
“Yes,” he managed to answer, gritting his teeth against the pain.
She struck him twice more, and though I could hardly bear it, I forced myself to watch, the muscles of my back spasming as each stroke landed.
“Is it worth it?”
“Yes!”
Once more she struck, and again, until the ragged flesh and sinew of Steldor’s back was coated with blood—blood that flowed so heavily it ran down his sides. Women in the crowd now wept openly, while men cursed and shouted. I took in a shaky breath, knowing only one lash remained. Steldor would survive, and so would I. So would we all.
Rava brought the whip down on Steldor for the sixth time, and his head hung forward. Was he still conscious? Or were the ropes around his wrists the only things keeping him from collapsing? Evidently wondering the same, Rava approached him and reached down, grasping a handful of his nearly black hair to pull his head up. His eyes were open, but barely focused.
“Tell me, boy. Is it worth it?” she said in a near whisper.
He smiled, revealing teeth smeared with blood from biting his tongue to hold back screams.
“Yes.”
Rage marred Rava’s face at her inability to break him, and she brutally shoved his head down. Backing up, she uncoiled the whip that was supposed to have retired, and flayed him again, more viciously than before. Steldor cried out this time, the sound tearing at my heart, and when the soldiers dropped the ropes, he crumpled forward. Knowing he had to be in tremendous pain, I was thankful for the respite the darkness would provide. Silence now reigned around us—no voices, no movements, hardly any breathing. It felt like the world had temporarily been turned to stone.
Rava handed the whip to another soldier and stalked back toward the Bastion without a glance or word for anyone. She was cruel and heartless and arrogant, and hatred for her boiled within me as I watched the Cokyrians remove the ropes from Steldor’s wrists. They hauled him up by his arms and dragged him inside, leaving a crimson trail on the white walk.
The rest of us followed, and I glanced at Cannan, who had managed more stoicism during the proceedings than had I. He had been witness to greater brutality during both wars with Cokyri, but I knew he would have willingly taken his son’s punishment in his stead. After seeing him in the cave, holding and protecting Steldor when we’d all feared the King’s death, I knew that beneath his strength and bravery, he ached.
Rava was nowhere to be seen when the Bastion doors closed behind us, and I could sense Narian’s agitation. She had flouted him, both with the whip she had chosen to wield and with the extra lash she had administered, and her lack of respect for his authority was already far out of bounds. But after what the High Priestess had suggested—that Rava, a close confidante of hers, was keeping watch on him—what could be done to bring her into line?
I had learned from the reports Saadi had been providing me that it was customary for criminals to spend a night in the dungeon following their punishment, but Narian halted the Cokyrian soldiers who supported Steldor.
“I’ll send for a doctor,” he told Cannan. “Where would you like him taken?”
“My bunk, for now,” the captain replied, meaning the room off his office where he was provided a bed. “I don’t want him moved more than necessary.”
Narian directed the soldiers holding Steldor to Cannan’s office, none of us addressing Rava’s conduct. Then he left, keeping his thoughts to himself though I desperately wanted to know what they were. I followed the captain, who dismissed the Cokyrian soldiers with a wave of his hand before stepping into the small room where Steldor had been laid facedown upon the cot.
I stood hesitantly in the doorway as Cannan knelt by his son. With a hand on Steldor’s head, he inspected the hideous wounds crisscrossing the young man’s back.
“Will he recover?” I asked, the blood enough to make me queasy despite all that I had seen during the Cokyrian siege.
“It’s worse than I expected,” Cannan answered, alluding to the whip Rava had used. “If you have the chance, thank Narian for me. Steldor would not have fared well if he’d been thrown in a cell with these injuries.”
“I’m assuming I’ll need stitches?” said a tired but sardonic voice.
Not in the mood for Steldor’s dry humor, Cannan instructed him to lie still, and I stumbled out of the room, covering my mouth in an attempt to keep my nausea in check. How could the Cokyrians be so cruel? But that wasn’t quite right. The cruelty belonged to Rava. And it was time I did something about it.
I took several deep breaths to gather my nerve, and then strode to Rava’s office to pound on the door, the drag of a chair across the stone floor confirming that someone was inside. It was but a moment later that Narian’s second-in-command appeared before me, her face registering shock, then immense satisfaction.
“Grand Provost,” she sneered. “What a pleasant surprise.”
She stepped back to permit me to enter, and I walked forward, glancing around as she returned to her seat behind the desk. My back stiffened as I noticed a collection of weapons mounted on one wall—a collection that had formerly belonged to Cannan.
“What can I do for you on this fine day?” she asked.
As I had not come to exchange pleasantries, I immediately stated my business. “I would like a return of the prisoner’s property.”
Rava’s brow furrowed, as though she did not know to what I referred, then a sly smile crept across her face.
“We have a lot of prisoners, Grand Provost, and they have—”
“I want Steldor’s pendant,” I bluntly interjected, not in the mood to play games.
She stood and slowly pulled the talisman from the pouch on her belt.
“This old thing?” she taunted, holding up the chain so that the silver wolf’s head dangled in the air. “If this is the source of his power and protection, I’d say it’s not working very well.”
“Be that as it may, it belongs to him and I intend to return it.”
I stepped forward and she abruptly tossed the pendant at my feet.
“Makes no difference to me,” she said, walking around her desk. “Although it does seem to be a pretty poor substitute for a crown.”
I bent to retrieve the talisman, which had been through many an ordeal with Steldor, realizing as I did so that she had managed to get me to assume a subservient posture—it looked like I was bowing down to her. I took a deep breath, reining in my frustration, and met her gaze.
“Is there anything else?” she asked, her smug expression wearing on my nerves.
“Yes. If you ever again lay an excessive lash upon the back of a Hytanican, you will feel it upon your back, as well.”
This time Rava’s initial surprise turned to anger, her blue eyes icing over. “Be careful, Grand Pro
vost,” she cautioned, closing the distance between us so that we stood face-to-face. “I don’t react well to threats.”
I stared at her, my heart thudding, then pushed further, unwilling to back down.
“The High Priestess is a great leader of a great empire. You and I both know that a great empire cannot be founded on deliberate disobedience. And a great leader will not be forgiving when someone under her command steps out of line. So I suggest you learn to count.”
Holding Steldor’s pendant against my heart, I turned and left her office, feeling her glare burning into the back of my neck as I walked across the Hearing Hall toward my own study. I had once before safeguarded Steldor’s talisman—when he had been fighting for his life during our time in hiding in the caves—and I was more than willing to do it again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
SACRIFICE
SHASELLE
I made it another two days before the lack of good food and a decent place to live got the best of me. The day of Steldor’s lashing was the first one in which I had not heard whispers of Cannan searching for me, and when, at long last, I started using my head, I suspected he knew exactly where I was—and had people keeping track of me. Who wouldn’t be willing to do the captain a favor, especially when his son had just made himself the people’s champion? But at least my uncle wasn’t forcing me to go home. He seemed to want me to come to that conclusion on my own.
The conclusion I had reached was that I needed to go somewhere other than the streets. I was still too afraid to approach Cannan, so I waited, wanting to talk to Steldor. I had not gone to see his punishment meted out, but knew he had spent a night in the palace afterward, and now was at Galen’s manor house. It was not difficult to hear news of my cousin these days.