And within a minute, I was sweating.
The rest of my guests on the dais arrived—each one garnering their own round of applause. Imperator Kormac—now the Emperor—and the Bastardmaker proudly stood beside my father, and fucking Kane. And then, of course, what stripping would be complete without the Examiner. Without the one who would execute me in the end—Kunda Lith.
The Emperor sneered, his black eyes full of sickening triumph. He’d won. He’d fucking won. And I didn’t think my father knew it yet. Not that I cared.
Because what did any of it matter now?
I looked away, trying to breathe, trying to think of Lyr, to remember her face and her smell and her voice. I needed her in my mind, the only place I could keep her. But she was gone. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t lose myself in her because the crowd was only ratcheting up their noise and excitement, their auras pulsing through the arena with a vicious cruelty.
The Emperor cleared his throat, a wolfish glint in his eyes as he swept his gaze over me, then began calling out my crimes. Listing them out one by one.
I scoffed. My crimes.
There were no crimes as far as I was concerned. Being vorakh wasn’t evil, it was just who I was. It was power. It was a gift. And loving Lyr? Fuck anyone who called it illegal or forbidden. As if some Godsdamned made-up law could dictatewho I loved. As if loving her wasn’t my destiny or my entire soul’s purpose in being here.
Helping Jules escape? And Galen? Getting them away from the black-eyed monster who stood before me, the one who orchestrated his own uncle’s murder, who kidnapped, raped and tortured thousands for his own gain? There was nothing more honorable than freeing them from his clutches.
If I regretted anything, it was that I hadn’t freed more from his prisons. Saved more from his grasp. That I hadn’t strangled him or cut out his heart when I’d had the chance.
Beyond that my only other regret was that I lived in a world that made doing the right thing—that made being on the side of justice and goodness—a crime.
I held my head up, realizing that that thought alone had given me courage. Had made me feel strong again. That and knowing just how deeply and well I’d loved Lyr, and how much she loved me back, accepted me, all of me.
But a look from my father, from my own blood, the one who captured me, who turned me in, who’d been the one to damn me, and it all went to shit. Even I could only be so strong. My mother was gone. It was just him. And he hadn’t just abandoned me. He’d damned me.
Something inside of me broke.
Auriel flashed before me.
“Am I done?” I asked him. “Is it over?”
He slowly shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I’d trade places with you if I could. But I can’t.”
Kunda announced the first strike of the whip. Immediately I tensed, and tried to breathe, tried to prepare. I could withstand this, I could bear the pain. After all, it wasn’t as if I hadn’t been whipped before. Sometimes even just like this, with my father and Kane looking on. I just had to brace myself. I had to breathe.
But then the pain came. And, fuck.
I couldn’t do it, couldn’t withstand it. I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
I panicked and bit my tongue. I could feel the whip not just striking and wounding,but pulling my magic out of me, like someone had taken a burning poker and sliced me open with it, poking and prodding, searching inside of me, my skin, my muscles, my bones.
I screamed, feeling the whip retreat. Feeling my magic go with it. Part of me. Part of my essence, part of who I was. Part of what made me Rhyan. It had been taken. It was gone.
The crowd roared, and blood dripped down my back as I spat. The whirring in my ears as the whip came again was worse the second time. Even worse was the third.
The fourth strike.
I wet myself.
They cut off my pants next—leaving me nearly naked, save my underclothes.
I heaved my guts up. My stomach roiled painfully.
I was weakening. Dying. Closer to death with every strike. Losing my soul. I knew it was coming. I knew how this ended. No one survived the stripping. No one survived the pain, the rearranging of their insides as their magic was torn out.
I knew there couldn’t be much left when my father laughed. By now, I welcomed it. I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to end.
Someone screamed. Someone in the crowd. It was strange— strange that someone else seemed to be in pain—someone who wasn’t me. More yells followed, more cries of terror, and then there were cries for help.
