“Gwyneth, you cannot do this. Not after all the sacrifices we’ve made—harboring you rather than turning you in.”
I spin on my heel to face her. “Mysincerest apologiesfor being born the way I was!” The words fly from my mouth far louder than I intend. They taste bitter rolling off my tongue.
Mother flinches, stepping back, and I almost feel bad. Quickly, she gathers her composure, but she looks frailer than ever.
“As for sacrifices, didyouget married off like some prized cow? Did you endure nonstop insults from your husband while your mother asked you if you were satisfyinghim? Were you forced to bed someone because it was your marital duty, only to find him bedding another woman?”
For a moment, she struggles to find her words. But when she does, her voice is thick with emotion. “I protected you. Your whole life. I’ve done what’s best for you. I—I covered for you when you couldn’t control yourself. I lived in fear rather than allow them to take you away from me.”
My throat swells, tears burning my eyes. I continue toward the door when a voice calls, “Wait!”
Arionna steps up beside Mother. “Neris is going to be flogged in the plaza,” she says quietly.
My body turns cold, and Mother’s head snaps to Arionna. “What?”
“They’ve already caught her.” A plea shines in her dark eyes. My body feels numb, my heart pounding as though it would soon expel itself from my chest cavity.
“The carriage is still outside,” Arionna continues. “The disciplinary display will be happening immediately.”
Acid tries to crawl up my throat. I swallow forcefully, grimacing. Mother steps forward, but she doesn’t say anything. Her throat bobs and tears fill her eyes.
I turn to Arionna, hardly able to see past the woman who I’d caught bedding my husband. The woman who’s become more and more of a stranger to me over the years. She may have wronged me, but I still love her despite it all. I hate myself for that.
“Don’t fall for his charade,” I softly warn her. “He’s going to hurt you.”
She only pushes back her shoulders stubbornly, schooling her expression into nonchalance. Our mother’s child. I scoff; why did I ever allow myself to feel even the slightest sympathy for her? She isn’t the victim here.
I step out of the house and run toward the carriage, my satchel bumping against my hip. I’m not sure what my next step will be, butsomehowI have to save Neris.
She’s all I have left.
Chapter 37
“Pull over here,”I call out the window to the footman. He brings the horses to a halt, and before the carriage fully stops, I hop out. The air buzzes with anticipation, sounds of muddled conversations from every which way as people gather in the town square. I have to push my way through the crowd to get closer to the platform where the flogging will occur—where the sovereign announced his ascension two months ago.
My heart hiccups in my chest as a deep voice rings out, reading a list of misdeeds for a man handcuffed to the whipping pole. The sharp crack of the whip fills the air, the nauseating sound of leather meeting flesh and cries of pain following.
I don’t look. I can’t.
The cries die down and the limp victim is dragged away. The Peacekeeper announces a name that makes my heart come to a staggering halt. “Reneris Carlile.”
I squint against the orange glare of the setting sun. Neris already sports several bruises on her body, evident on her arm through her torn sleeve and her once-unblemished face.
Heat flushes my entire body while the misdemeanors being read from a list barely infiltrate my mind. A soldier uses a knifeto slice through part of the back of Neris’s dress, then tears through the rest of it with her bare hands.
Neris presses her face against the whipping pole, as though she’s embracing it. She squeezes her eyes shut, her entire face pinching tight. My heart pounds, nausea and heat percolating in my stomach.
The whip cracks again, and Neris cries out as the leather strap connects with her bare flesh. Then there’s another whip. And another. And another, pulling a louder cry from her.
Neris has been my rock, yet I’ve failed to stand up for her when I needed to keep up appearances. I let Gruffud talk down to her and allowed Mother to treat her like a servant. Even after that, she still jumped in to save me from an ill-tempered Gruffud a head taller than her. She always chooses bravery when cowardice would be the safer alternative.
Heat seems to singe my skin as a dark figure walks across the dais. The murmurs from the crowd fade to unnatural silence as the figure drags her flaming axe along the platform, dark hair billowing out behind her in slow motion as if moving through water.
Do something, she hisses.
From somewhere behind me, a chill whispers across my neck along with another voice.Violence is not the way.
They will kill your friend,the armed figure says.
