The fifth lash hit.
I cried out—soft, but it echoed anyway. The sound of my own voice cracked something open in me, and I shook, trembling uncontrollably.
Behind me, Father inhaled like he was disappointed as if my pain were an inconvenience.
“Five.”
Halfway.
My arms moved involuntarily, not trying to tug free, not trying to escape, but still, James and Paul held firm. Their hands felt like bands of iron.
“Bless him,” someone whispered, voice trembling. “Bless him…”
The sixth lash struck, and this one felt deeper somehow—heavier. I gasped, a broken noise that scraped its way from my throat, and my vision blurred at the edges with tears I refused to let fall.
“Six.”
I waited for breath to return.
It didn’t.
Not really.
I could hear Father shifting behind me, the slight creak of his sandals on the dais. The anticipation was almost worse than the pain. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.
I tried to pray again, but the words got tangled, lost in the fog in my mind.
The seventh lash came.
A choked sob escaped me before I could stop it. My shoulders quivered violently.
“Seven.”
More people were crying now—I could hear it.
Silas pleaded again, incoherent with grief. Someone else murmured, “He doesn’t deserve this… he doesn’t deserve…”
But no one moved to stop it.
The eighth lash landed with a force that knocked the wind completely out of me. I doubled forward slightly, but they hauled me upright, setting my spine screaming.
The world tilted, swam, blurred. A high ringing filled my ears.
“Eight.”
Two more.
Just two.
I was shaking so hard my teeth clicked. My breath came in thin, fast gasps that barely reached my lungs. I didn’t want to cry—I didn’t want Father to see that—but the tears kept building, hot behind my eyes.
The ninth lash snapped across my skin.
I cried out again—louder this time, unable to swallow it down. My vision whitened with pain. The room swayed dangerously. Each lash sounded wet as it hit my skin.
“Nine.”
I wanted to see Jace.
