Chapter Nineteen
Thehoursonhorsebackjarred Yarif’s bones, his hands tied before him and a big smelly brute at his back. Gentle hills gave way on the fifth day to steeper terrain, then to the mountains Yarif used to admire from his window coming into clearer view. It might be a grand adventure if he wasn’t pretty certain he’d die at the end.
The horses in front of him stopped.
Illa wheeled her horse around, holding up a hand. “We’ll make camp here.”
Yarif had never slept outside in his life before his abduction unless one counted the temple courtyard where he’d fallen asleep learning about the stars. The brute dismounted, pulling Yarif along with him.
Illa brushed dirt from her ill-fitting Delletinian uniform, snapping at two of her men in Cormiran. “Strip his tunic and tie him to that tree.”
What? Tie who? Rough hands grabbed Yarif, answering his question.
He fought, but his waning strength was no match for two men who augmented their rations with his own. His head still hurt days after his attack. What had they hit him with? The two men ripped his ill-used tunic. Yarif shivered. Cold, so cold already. Now, without a tunic and tied with his arms above his head.
This couldn’t be good. Illa strode forward, one side of her mouth lifted in a smirk. In her hands, she held a whip. Deities. She planned to whip him. Why? What had he done to her?
Illa disappeared out of view behind him. He braced, but the lash didn’t come. When at last he relaxed…
Snap!Fire sizzled over his back. His screams echoed off the mountains, his knees buckling, leaving him hanging by his wrists.
“Pick him up,” Illa shouted. “We can’t have him dislocating his shoulders—yet.”
Once more, the lash carved into Yarif’s skin. “Ahhh!”
Illa laughed. “Not too tough now, are you, little princeling?”
Laughter rang out, along with shouts of “Harder!” and “Not so royal now, are you?”
Lash after lash rained down. Yarif’s consciousness faded out for a few moments, only be brought back to agonizing life. At last, the two men untied him, lowering him to the ground. Yarif panted, his back on fire and muscles aching.
“Why?” was all he could get out when Illa crouched beside him.
Illa snarled, “Who are you to question me? But if you really want to know, the damage to your body must show to be done over time. When you’re found, Renvalle must believe that you were tortured repeatedly for days. Mere killing would be too easily forgotten.”
She lifted Yarif’s chin with the coils of her whip. He shuddered and tried to pull away, but Illa grabbed him by the hair, holding him in place. Her blood-chilling smile would haunt his dreams. “Years from now, they’ll still tell the story of the poor tortured Renvallian prince. We’re sending a message.”
A message?
She stalked away, only to return, knife in hand. She yanked back what remained of his hair…
Yarif lay on his side, pretending to sleep, though the pain wouldn’t allow him to rest. He’d read in books about whippings, some that resulted in death. His could have been much worse. Illa wanted him alive and not too badly damaged—for now.
At least he hadn’t been whipped in two days, though he had no delusions that he wouldn’t be beaten again.
While Yarif had ridden on horseback many times, he’d never ridden so far, so fast. Or traveled strapped across a horse’s back after a whipping. Illa took great joy in wielding the lash and made him watch as she threw his hair on the fire.
His wedding ring hung from a leather thong around her neck.
She intended to make him suffer, then leave him for someone to find. Find him, or find his lifeless body?
If Draylon cares for me, even a little bit, please let him make her pay. And keep her from doing the same to another.
Illa, the commander of the emperor’s forces, spoke Renvallian to Yarif but already knew he spoke Delletinian. However, to the rest, she spoke Cormiran, though they wore Delletinian uniforms. Based on the old bloodstains, they’d been taken from soldiers who no longer needed them.
Her swearing at her subordinates under her breath in Delletinian and Renvallian might mean they didn’t understand those languages. So, they weren’t from Renvalle or Delletina.
May the deities punish them for robbing the dead for those uniforms. And for taking Yarif from his home. For what purpose? Illa boasted of her connection to the Delletinian throne but didn’t mention Yarif’s ties there. Was it possible she didn’t know? Mother’s family had done their best to keep others from learning the truth.
