by Eva Muñoz
My hands had begun to shake, so I curled my fingers into tight fists. I searched the floor for answers, for what I had to say next. “What’s the harm in you taking your rightful place in your colony? You owe it to the Silent who broke his vow. Don’t let his sacrifice go to waste.”
“Zaire!” Perrin’s sharp voice interrupted our argument.
She stood in the doorway, a wild look in her eyes. “Come quick!”
“Perrin, more words, less panting,” Zaire said.
“Vladimir’s asking Troyan for Atonement,” Perrin answered as she gulped air greedily.
My skin turned to ice. Vladimir had Troyan? “Zaire?”
“We have to go,” he said and ushered me out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-One: Atonement
THE ONCE cavernous throne room was now crowded shoulder-to-shoulder with Inshari. I should’ve been used to cramped spaces since I had been on dance floors so packed that only jumping in place was possible, yet a sense of claustrophobia crushed my lungs.
The women wore expensive gowns to rival any Hollywood red carpet. And the men wore different variations of suits: double-breasted, pinstriped, two-buttoned, three-buttoned—the works. I spotted a tux here and there too.
The atmosphere felt more like a ball than a trial. My nose burned from the multitude of scents around me. Some smells seemed stronger than others. I had never needed fresh air more in my life. How the Inshari could stand the cloying scents without passing out amazed me.
Since Perrin was shorter, I figured I’d create space for her to move around. Every time I bumped into Inshari, they threw disgusted glances at me. Some protested my bumping into them, but the moment they noticed Perrin behind me, their eyes bulged and they let us through with muttered apologies.
The next time it happened, Perrin smacked me and said, “I think you should let me go first. We’ll get there faster.”
“Ow! You’re stronger than you look.” I rubbed my arm.
“You forget the caste. You resemble a Merk. We’re in a room full of Regalia. They would definitely take offense to you being here. While I’m—”
“Superiori.” Awe washed over me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a rumor floating around that I’m Zaire’s pet, does it?”
She flinched. “You’ve heard about that, huh? I don’t want to seem elitist, but that’s just how it is around here.”
“Apology accepted.” No point in feeling sorry for myself. I motioned for Perrin to lead the way. Then I heard the one voice I dreaded the most rise over the din.
“My ward and I will not stand for this affront,” Vladimir said in a high-and-mighty tone. “My family, now her family, cannot believe we have been treated with utter disrespect. From the Effendi Excelsi, no less.”
My blood froze.
“Come on.” Perrin grabbed my hand and maneuvered us to the front of the pack.
A few yards ahead of us knelt Troyan, head bent, hands shackled behind him. Untied and untamed, his hair obscured the sides of his face. Someone had torn his Braylin uniform shirt, revealing the silver crescent scar similar to the ones on Darius and Yaris and on other Inshari men in the room.
My stomach tumbled. Desire, heat, passion, need, want, longing. There weren’t enough words to describe what seeing that mark on his shoulder did to my system. I wanted to run to Troyan and kiss him, even in his state of dejection.
Perrin squeezed my hand and whispered, “Inshari create a connection when a male allows himself to be marked. It is the first stage of mating. To us, allowing ourselves to being bitten is the height of vulnerability. The partner leaves their mark and a bond is formed. The couple are drawn to each other’s presence afterward, urging them to complete the ritual.”
“Has there ever been a time when two males shared the bond?” I asked.
“It happens. Even a pair of females may share bonds.”
The blood roaring in my ears almost drowned out Perrin’s words. I had to concentrate just to listen to her. Not that I didn’t already know half of it. Troyan warned me about what my biting him would do. I felt it every time I saw him.
“The bond is sealed through the act of consummation,” Perrin continued. “During that time, the pair can’t be apart for more than a few days or they will be driven mad. Seals are only severed through—”
“When my ward came to me,” he said, gesturing to Beatrix, who wore a magenta dress with a plunging neckline and a smirk, “I wouldn’t allow myself to believe what she had informed me of. She claimed Effendi Troyan betrayed the trust of their betrothal.” He glanced at the masses for theatrical effect. “Surely the Effendi Excelsi wouldn’t be so reckless.”
A wave of murmured disapproval spread through the crowd.
My knees shook. Terror twisted in my gut like a knife.
“I did this,” I mumbled. “He’s here because of me.”
“Breathe, Camron. Just breathe.” Perrin clutched my arm with her other hand. “What are you saying?”
“I bit him.”
“You what?”
I couldn’t see Perrin’s face, but from her tone, I heard her surprise and trepidation.
“That mark came from me,” I said, my voice low.
Perrin pulled me closer to her. Whether she held me back or gave support didn’t matter to me. My focus was on Troyan.
“Explain yourself, my son,” Darius said, sitting on the throne like a statue in robes—the smallest hint of concern in his eyes.
To his right stood a fair-haired Inshari who could have easily been Zaire and Perrin’s mother. She wore a Grecian gown the color of Darius’s robes. Her curls fell loose and elegant over her shoulders. She wore large gold armbands studded with sapphires. One hand rested on Darius’s shoulder while the other clutched her hip. Apart from her livid eyes, glaring at Troyan with intermingled love, concern, and reproach, she hardly moved.
Troyan lifted his head and said, “It is true.”
A collective gasp sucked all the air from the room.
“I hardly believe—” Vladimir swallowed the rest of his words when Darius interrupted. A look of contempt flitted across his face.
“Continue, my son.”
“I am drawn to him, Father. Is that not how we find our partners? We answer the call from deep within us for another.”
Happiness underscored my worry. My heart wanted me to run to Troyan’s side and confirm what he was saying. I wanted to defend him, to shield him from persecution. But Perrin’s tight grip kept me in place. And a small voice inside me warned that if I said anything I might make this experience worse for Troyan.
“But you willingly entered a betrothal with Beatrix,” Darius stated.
Troyan nodded. “I did it for my people. I believed I would not be fortunate enough to meet the one who could change my world with one glance, one word, one kiss.” He paused. “But I have. I am fortunate.” He looked at the woman beside Darius. Her face softened.
“I will not question your choice, my son,” his mother said in a throaty voice that exuded power and grace. “I know what it means to be marked. I know the pleasure of it.” She gave Darius a sidelong glance.
“But, Your Highness.” Vladimir hid none of his fake shock. “It’s not your place to decide—”
Troyan’s mother gave Vladimir a withering glare that could cause the strongest of men to wilt.
“You forget your place, Vladimir,” she said. “You may be Imperator, but I am still Consort.”
A chorus of “bless her beauty” resounded throughout the room.
She said, “I may not be making decisions here, but where my son is concerned, I have the right to speak.”
Vladimir placed his right hand on the center of his chest and bowed slightly. “Yes, Consort.”
“Bless her beauty!” everyone cheered in perfect unison.
“How shall we proceed?” Darius asked impatiently.
“The betrothal is broken.” Vladimir hushed Beatrix’s protest with a curt wave. Then he address
ed the crowd, arms wide, his voice booming to the far corners of the room. “No one would take a marked male.”
Many heads nodded. Whispers buzzed.
Vladimir scanned the crowd, and when he saw me, his eyes widened, then narrowed. “We, my family and I, demand respirari for our honor. Atonement.”
His snake-eyed stare sent tingling dread all over my skin. A wild rage seethed inside me. Perrin whispered, “Keep still!” and I stopped myself from flying forward and ripping him a new one.
Darius glanced at Vladimir. “Name your Atonement.”
Vladimir conferred with the group of Inshari Beatrix stood with. Eli was with them, a smug look on his face. He hadn’t noticed me yet, or if he had, he wasn’t showing any signs of it.
“Where’s Zaire?” Perrin asked through her teeth.
Halfway to the throne room, Zaire had whispered that he needed to take care of something. He promised to join us as soon as he could. I had wanted to question him, but he disappeared down a different hallway.
Vladimir nodded once and addressed Darius. “Your Excellency.”
“Your Atonement?” Darius inclined his head.
“My family and I have come to ask five hundred lashes for breaking the betrothal.”
Frantic whispers erupted.
Could anyone—Inshari or not—survive five hundred lashes? I felt nothing from my waist down.
Darius’s impassive expression hardened.
The curtains on the right wall parted, and a hush swept swiftly over the crowd as everyone turned their heads.
Perrin sighed in relief.
I tore my attention away from Troyan long enough to watch Zaire stride into the throne room flanked by six Vityas—all ice blond, all impossibly tall, and all smelling faintly of the forest. He wore an immaculate gray suit with a maroon tie. Robes similar to Darius’s were draped over his suit. He had his usually unruly curls slicked back. A gold circlet gleamed on his forehead. He looked so much like his father.
Zaire held up his hand and the Vityas stopped. A second later, they moved to form a loose semicircle behind him. Each one had his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
Vladimir paled, hiding his surprised expression by bowing. “Effendi Demarcus, what an honor that you could join us today,” he said.
Zaire inclined his head and said, “It is my pleasure to be here when my cousin is facing Atonement. In fact, I wondered why I was never informed of this.” He stared pointedly at Vladimir.
The seriousness and air of formality that surrounded Zaire reached inside me and clutched my heart. This was what he could be as king. I liked his playful nature, but his powerful aura inspired admiration. I shivered. He was glorious. All he needed was to sit on the throne Darius occupied and the ensemble would be complete. He lived to be king.
“It was so sudden, Effendi Demarcus.” Vladimir pulled at the lapels of his jacket self-consciously as he straightened. “And with your ne’er-do-well ways, I didn’t think you would find a gathering such as this worth your time.”
“Braylin Majesty.” Zaire tilted his head at Darius, shifting his gaze away from Vladimir.
“Demarcus Majesty,” Darius greeted, lifting his right hand to his chest.
Zaire turned to Troyan’s mother and bowed. “Aunt Yalena, lovely as always.”
“You flatter me, nephew.” Yalena smiled.
“Now.” Zaire slid his frosty blue eyes to a more composed Vladimir. “What Atonement are you asking from my cousin?”
“Five hundred lashes, Effendi.” Vladimir smirked.
“That is excessive, considering he is the Effendi Excelsi and was only following the urges he felt for the one who had marked him.”
“But—”
“Urges, Vladimir, you remember them, I suppose. Urges rule the way we live. They are what make us who we are. Seeing as you are not marked, could it be that your own urges to find a partner are impotent?”
Vladimir flushed scarlet.
Darius defused the situation before the Imperator blew a gasket by saying, “Show respect for our beloved Imperator, young Demarcus.”
Zaire blinked. “Your Excellency, I merely state a fact, for our beloved Imperator does not show marks.”
“State your case, Zaire.” Darius’s manner held a mix of exasperation and affection.
“I request to lower the lashes to one hundred. My cousin will perform the Sword Dance with me tomorrow at the Winter Solstice Festival and I need him fit for the task.”
Yalena gasped. “Zaire, you cannot be serious!”
He shrugged. “He has already made the arrangements with me, aunt.”
Troyan growled in protest.
“I am sorry for spoiling the surprise, cousin,” Zaire said. “One hundred lashes and no more, Imperator.”
An expression of sheer malice formed on Vladimir’s face. “Then I request the use of the zavaton.”
The Inshari around me cried out in outrage. Perrin, in her lilting voice, cursed, shocking on a girl who looked so young. Troyan shuddered. Darius gripped the arms of the throne. Yalena looked sick, clutching at her midsection. While Zaire’s brows knotted.
“What’s a zavaton?” I asked Perrin.
She rubbed her forehead. “It’s a special whip.”
“What’s so freaking special about it?”
Perrin held my hand with both of hers and gave me the kind of look people attending funerals give the loved ones of the recently deceased.
“The zavaton is made of a special alloy that burns Inshari skin,” she clarified. “We heal slower that way. After being hit several times, we stop healing all together.”
“How many times?”
“Thirty, fifty at most.” Panic mixed with sadness shadowed her pretty face. “But it really depends on the strength of the person being whipped.”
“That still leaves fifty lashes that Troyan has to endure without the possibility of healing. I think I’m going to be sick.” I doubled over, breathing hard.
“So be it,” said Zaire with noticeable reluctance.
“Brilliant!” Vladimir clapped once. “Bring in the implements.”
“Camron, you can’t show any weakness right now.” Perrin yanked me up.
My world spun. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the whipping. My lungs couldn’t seem to take in enough air. I felt woozy.
“Camron, breathe.” Perrin slapped my hand.
Four Bogatyr entered. Two carried poles with rings at the top. Another brought rope while the last one held a silver horsewhip that crackled from an electric charge running through it.
A deathly hush fell over the room. Vladimir smiled and rubbed his hands together in excitement. Darius and Yalena held hands. Zaire’s lips were in a hard line, while his guards all remained impassive. Perrin and I huddled together, holding each other’s hands.
The soldiers carrying the poles positioned themselves on either side of Troyan. The one with the rope kneeled behind Troyan, turned him to face the crowd, and removed his shackles. Then he tied the rope around each of Troyan’s wrists and tossed one end each to the Bogatyr on either side of them. They threaded the ends into the rings at the top of the poles, raising Troyan’s arms. In a swift plunging motion, they planted the poles into the floor. The Bogatyr who had brought the rope ripped the rest of Troyan’s shirt away, leaving him naked from the waist up. A hard tug on the ropes suspended Troyan a foot off the ground.
Troyan lifted his head, and our eyes met. I clutched Perrin’s hands tighter. He mouthed something to me, but I couldn’t quite get it at first. I shook my head at him. My gaze focused on his lips.
What? I mouthed back. When he repeated himself a third time, I felt all the blood in me rush to my feet.
His lips formed the words: Look away.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Wounds
I STOOD frozen, unable to feel, barely able to breathe. The air crackled with electricity. The hairs on the back of my neck and arms rose from the static.
Anxiety coil
ed inside me like a rubber band with no way for release. Troyan stared at me with determined eyes, silently begging me to do as he had mouthed before the whipping started, but I couldn’t look away. I needed to hang on to what connected us.
If I couldn’t prevent the whipping, the least I could do was bear it with him. The only time he betrayed any sign of pain started about a few minutes into the Atonement. The muscle twitching along his jaw gave him away. Seconds later, he pulled back his lips and bared all his teeth. But never did he cry out.
I didn’t know how he managed to remain conscious for so long, but when he finally fainted, I was glad. Another part of me wanted his eyes to keep holding my gaze. With his eyes closed, I couldn’t tell if he was still alive. No one checked for vital signs. The Bogatyr with the whip just kept going, his face expressionless.
The sound was the worst part.
As the ordeal continued, my knees weakened with every resounding whapack. My legs, arms, and hands went dead. Perrin gripped my fingers as hard as I clutched hers. She called my name at one point, but I ignored her, concentrating on Troyan while trying to remain aware of everything else around me.
Zaire stared stone-faced at the proceedings, hardly moving. His guards barely shifted. Uncanny.
Vladimir relished every whipcrack, his hands clasped as if in reverent prayer. His eyes sparkled with unabashed joy. On the other hand, hellfire burned in Beatrix’s eyes. She stared at me the entire time, blame and hatred. I actually thought she would charge me. And Eli. He enjoyed the proceedings immensely.
The crowd displayed a mix of emotions. Some flinched. Others remained still. Women turned away. Men placed bets on how long Troyan would stay awake. Some, I noticed, inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly—a classic sign of healing. The disease continued to ravage the Inshari even as their Effendi Excelsi endured one hundred lashes.
Another portion of my mind—the more rational side—discovered something new about the Inshari. They bled blue. The blue of the Mediterranean Sea, shimmering in the morning sun. No wonder rumors of a human had surfaced after I vomited blood all over the deli floor. I may resemble them in skin, hair, and eye perfection. I may have my own scent signature. I may have been as strong. But, fundamentally, I still stayed human. I still bled red.
