I’M JERKED AWAKE IN THE middle of the night by my door being forced open and a cacophony of heavy boots thundering toward me. It’s a sound that often haunts my nightmares, and at first I think this is just that, but the rough hands that grab my arms and haul me from bed can’t be imagined. The guards are silent and I think my pounding heart is loud enough for all six of them to hear. I want to scream and thrash against them, but I know well enough that that doesn’t do me any good, so I swallow my terror and try to focus.
The Kaiser sent six guards to escort me, more than he usually does when this happens—when he wants to punish me. I would be flattered if I weren’t so afraid. Still, I gather myself enough to cast a gaze to the walls where my Shadows are watching, praying to all the gods that they don’t do anything foolish.
“Would you mind telling me what it’s about this time?” I ask, snapping like Crescentia does when one of her slaves combs her hair too roughly or doesn’t cook her morning egg long enough. Like it’s only a mild annoyance and I’m not facing a whipping. No matter how many times I’m dragged before the Kaiser and beaten to the edge of death, the horror of it never lessens.
I have to struggle not to tremble, not to retreat so deep into my mind that I’ll never find my way out again. But I know my people have endured so much worse than this. I think of Blaise and his scar. Of Heron’s losses. Of what Artemisia told me yesterday. I have to endure.
“Kaiser’s orders,” one guard barks at me. I don’t know his name, though I should by now. He’s one of the Kaiser’s favorites, a former warrior with a scarred face and a nose that looks like it’s been broken too many times to count. He has a meaner streak than most, which is truly saying something, and I know better than to push him.
“I’ll come willingly,” I say, struggling to keep my voice level. “We’ve gone through this enough times that you know I’m no threat. Whatever it is that’s happened, I’ll take the Kaiser’s punishment without complaint. Just as I have in the past.”
The words are less for them than they are for Blaise and the others. Then the thought hits me—What if they’re not there? What if that’s what this is all about, and I’m walking not toward a punishment, but toward an execution?
What if Cress went to the Kaiser anyway and told him everything?
Those thoughts echo through my mind as the guards haul me from my room in my thin nightgown, not even letting me put on shoes. I stumble barefoot on the cold stone floor, stubbing my toes as two guards pull me along by my arms, not slowing down even when the scrapes and scratches of the stones beneath my feet draw blood and they’re more dragging than escorting me. I barely even notice the pain. All I can think is that Cress went to the Kaiser after all and that he has found my Shadows. He’s killed them and now he’ll kill me and all will be lost.
When we finally round a corner, I nearly let out a sigh of relief. They’re taking me to the throne room, not out to the capital square, which means it won’t be a public punishment, as they usually are. The only times punishments happen in the throne room are when the Kaiser doesn’t want word of what caused them to spread outside the palace. If he were executing me for treason, he would need an audience. This is something else, something embarrassing that’s happened that he wants to keep quiet.
The throne room is less crowded than usual, but everyone who matters to the Kaiser is present. The high dukes and duchesses cluster near the throne, the barons and baronesses, the counts and countesses. All the usual joy and merriment has gone out of them; there is only blood in their eyes. Standing in the shadow of the throne is Ion, the traitor Guardian. His eyes are focused on the ground, as they usually are when I’m called before the Kaiser like this. His cowardice won’t let him look at me, not even at the end, when the Kaiser will instruct him to heal my wounds just enough that I can function with them.
“Lady Thora,” the Kaiser says from his seat on my mother’s throne. He leans forward, the Spiritgems that all but blanket him clinking as he moves.
“You summoned me, Your Highness?” I ask, letting my fear show in my voice. It’s no fun for him if I’m not afraid.
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak; he only watches me. His eyes cross my skin, making me too conscious of the thin nightgown I wear, of my exposed calves and feet. I want to cover myself, but that would only anger him and I cannot afford that right now, so I do nothing. I let him look, which feels worse than any whipping.
Finally he speaks. “Three weeks ago, my son led a battalion of four thousand men to Vecturia. Two weeks ago, I received word that they were met with troops that had been expecting them, but my son assured me that victory was still possible. He and his warriors fought valiantly until days ago, when his ships were attacked from the other side by a fleet believed to be under the command of the notorious pirate Dragonsbane. What was supposed to be a simple Conquering became an ambush that cost many of our men’s lives.”
Many of the courtiers gathered have sons who would have been in Søren’s crew, I realize, young men who had been sent on an easy Conquering that should have bolstered their reputations with minimal risk to their safety. At least until I evened the field.
But these people don’t know that. They can’t. If the Kaiser knew I’d sent a warning to Vecturia with Dragonsbane, it would mean he knew about my Shadows as well, and I would be taken straight to my execution.
No, this is merely a show, a way to make the Kaiser and his dearest supporters feel better about their embarrassment. Most of them must have daughters they would like to see made kaiserin as well, another strike against me. They called for this, and the Kaiser was all too eager to agree. After all, this is how he likes me best: beaten and broken.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. That is terrible news.”
His eyes narrow and he shifts again in his seat.
“Your people were behind this,” he says.
It isn’t the first time he’s accused me of this, but this time I actually am responsible, and I am proud of that. These will be scars I will wear with pride.
But the war isn’t won yet, and we have much farther to go. So I drop to my knees and let Thora come forward to do what she does best: beg.
“Please, I have no people, Your Highness. I haven’t spoken to another Astrean in years, on your orders. I had no hand in this, you know that.”
His games grow boring when he wins them too easily.
“Theyn,” he says, snapping his fingers.
The crush of nobles parts for the Theyn, scarred face drawn and stoic, a whip in hand. He doesn’t look at me, but then, he never does. Not like the Kaiser, who enjoys every grimace, every scream, like a child watching a puppet show. The Theyn does this out of duty, which somehow makes me hate him more.
One of the guards rips my nightgown so that my back is bare, but thankfully everything else remains covered this time. The two who hold each of my arms brace themselves, as if I could possibly overpower them. But I don’t even try. Fighting only makes it worse. I learned that lesson a long time ago. Better to save my fighting for when it can actually make a difference.
“Twenty lashes,” the Kaiser says, his voice so soft I almost don’t hear it. “One for each family here who lost a son due to the foolishness of Astreans.”
Twenty. It doesn’t seem like a lot of men, all things considered, but if they are this highborn, this close to the Kaiser, they would have been farthest from the actual battle and better protected than anyone else. If twenty of them were killed, the overall numbers must be much higher.
This is worth it, I repeat again and again in my mind, hoping that will lessen the sting.
The Theyn’s boots click on the stone floor as he approaches from behind. I keep my head down so that it will be harder for them to see me cry. The first strike is always both the hardest and easiest to take. When it comes, I lurch forward, held in place only by the guards gripping my arms. The shock of it alone is almost worse than the pain, but at least it lands on unbroken skin. The next ones do not. They layer over one another until I could swear the tail of the whip is cutting through skin and flesh to kiss my very bones. Until it feels like it’s slicing through my bones instead.
On the fourth strike, I can’t hold back a scream. On the fifth, my knees buckle but the guards force me to stay upright. On the sixth, the tears finally come, streaming hot down my cheeks. By the time the tenth hits, I make it to that place where I am only half in my body. The other half floats somewhere above, feeling nothing, only watching. My mind grows fuzzy and dark spots dance in front of my eyes. I want to pass out to make the pain stop, but the last time I did, the Kaiser waited for me to wake up before finishing the punishment himself and adding another five lashes.
My hair is plastered to my forehead with sweat, despite the cold. The room is still, the jeers and shouts from the audience falling silent—at least to me. Nothing exists outside of my body, outside of this pain that I know will consume me.
My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara, Queen of Astrea, and I will endure this.
The whip cracks again and I feel it all the way to my toes. My arms ache from the guards’ grip. I can’t stand up, can’t stand tall the way my mother would have wanted me to. All I can do is scream and cry.
My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara, Queen of Astrea.
Another crack that bites through skin and muscle and bone. Another wound that will never heal.
My name is Theodosia Eirene Houzzara.
The next one hits my spine, sending a wave of shock that makes my whole body spasm. The guards don’t loosen their grip, so I only hurt myself worse.
My name is Theodosia.
Lost count now. It will never end. The guards release me and I fall to the hard floor in a huddle as another blow hits.
My name is…
My name is…
I focus on the tiles beneath my feet. I took my first steps on these tiles, my mother’s hand clasped tightly around mine to keep me up. If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel her now, urging me to be strong, promising me that it will be over soon.
My name is…
One of the tiles is cracked. Unsurprising, considering how old they are and how little care the Kalovaxians take. But as I stare at the tiles and the Theyn brings the whip down again, another tile splinters, thin cracks bursting out from the center like spider’s legs.
I am imagining things. It isn’t the first time the pain has gone to my head. But even as I think it, I know it isn’t in my head.
I look up, past the gathered courtiers to the back of the room where my Shadows watch, their faces hidden by drawn hoods. Blaise. Energy pours off him in waves, though no one else seems to notice.
Even in the shadow of his hood, I can make out the green of his eyes, locked onto mine. He’s struggling to hold back, but it’s a struggle he’s losing. Artemisia and Heron are trying to calm him, but it isn’t any good, he’s about to erupt.
I do the only thing I can: I meet his gaze and hold it, even as the whip bites into my back again. I’m not sure if he’s soothing me or I’m soothing him, but the tenuous tie between us feels like all that’s keeping either of us alive, and I don’t dare break it.