Page 70 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
“But….” To my humiliation, my voice broke. “I don’t have the same….” I gestured at my classmates. I didn’t want to have to say out loud that I was powerless.
“Seven lashes!”
“So there’s no punishment for Pavi?”
“Ten!”
“Turion,” said Aemon, striding toward us. He was dragging Lady Pavi behind him, his fingers curled around the shoulder of her tunic. “I meant to bring Soturion Lyriana over to the pole to watch as Soturion Pavi receives punishment for starting the fight.”
“Arkturion, she—”
“I know, Turion. I know what happened, and that’s why Soturion Pavi will be whipped and Soturion Lyriana will watch.”
Turion Dairen’s jaw twitched, but he nodded. I’d always known he was a prick, but I’d never realized the full extent of it. Something told me he took a certain pleasure in carrying out the punishments.
Aemon addressed our rapt audience, his voice full of menace and threat. “You know what happens when you disobey direct orders. Let this be a lesson to you all to remember yourselves.”
A chill washed over me. I’d never seen a whipping before, and I didn’t want to. The whips at the Academy were infused with magic, designed to cut open a soturion’s back, inflict immense pain, and create wounds that didn’t easily heal. One lashing was supposed to be as painful as it was humiliating for a soturion to endure. The entire practice was barbaric, like a bound five. So much effort was put into weeding out the weakest soturi.
And I was not even a true soturion. Without magic…I didn’t even want to think about what a whipping could do to me.
Rhyan’s jaw tensed as he stood to the side with Pavi’s apprentice, who looked furious.
“This is ridiculous,” Pavi said. She spoke frantically, a kind of desperation in her voice. “Her grace ran in my way. I didn’t do anything on purpose. She fell, it wasn’t a fight.”
“Then three lashes should ensure you do everything on purpose from now on to watch where you’re going,” Aemon said.
“Is this how it’s going to be, Arkturion?” Viktor Kormac stepped forward, his black eyes narrowed on me. “My father feared allowing a non-magical soturion into the Academy would lower its standards. Soturion Pavi did exactly as you asked. But now she’s to be punished because someone who shouldn’t be here stumbled into her way? Are we all to be punished for her grace’s failings? I thought she’d be held to the same rules as the rest of us.”
Aemon’s eyes darkened, his expression like that of a death God’s. He was the Ready—vicious, dangerous. His aura pulsed with violence. Brutal shadows emanated from him, crackling through the air. Viktor stepped back, and the rest of the novices waiting on the edge of the field visibly shuddered. Pavi paled.
“Any soturion who attacks another without warning will be punished,” he said, his voice rippling with power. “There is no special treatment for anyone, including you, Soturion Viktor—a fact your father is well aware of. One more question, and you’re next. We do not tolerate petty, childish attacks, which is exactly what this was. An act of cowardice and spite. Soturion Pavi, for the offense of interfering with another soturion’s training, you will receive three lashes.” The Ready jerked his chin.
Turion Dairen grabbed Pavi’s arms, violently thrusting them above her head. She whimpered as he tied the rope around her wrists, pulling and tightening them until she elicited a grunt of pain.
He moved behind her, pulling on the laces on the back of her tunic. It fell open, exposing her back and shoulders. My breath hitched with understanding for the odd design of the garment, meant to come apart easily for punishment. Though I wasn’t the one being tied up and publicly undressed, I felt the humiliation of it, felt how close I had been to this fate. Pavi was a lady of a noble Ka, niece to the Bamarian Senator, best friends with Naria…it was unlikely she’d ever expected to be in this position.
I stood behind her, beside Rhyan, and Aemon. Pavi twisted and strained to set her eyes on me, black and filled with fire. She got in one look before Dairen took hold of the whip and yelled, “One.”
He swung his arm back, muscles flexing. The whip hummed as it snapped through the air, ending in a horrid thwacking sound against Pavi’s bared flesh. She cried out. An echoing gasp escaped my lips.
“Two.”
I swayed on the spot as another lashing tore through Pavi. She screamed, the sound so full of pain it was almost animalistic.
Rhyan stared at the ground, looking sick himself. He was bent over, hands splayed across his thighs in what might have been a bored, casual stance. But his expression gave him away.
A roar erupted from Pavi on the third hit. This was the one that cut her back open. Fresh blood fell as the whip hit her skin. Turion Dairen released her arms from the rope, and we were dismissed—but not before Pavi stomped toward me, her opened tunic flying out on either side of her torso, blood running down her legs.
“You’ll get yours, Batavia.” Pavi spit at my feet then stomped off, leaving me frozen on the field.
“Now bathe. You smell like shit,” Dairen yelled. Every novice and apprentice in the arena stood, gathering their belongings and heading for the doors.
Aemon pulled me back.
“Your grace,” he said quietly. “I will always punish those who deserve it. But next time…if you’re involved, I’ll have no choice. Don’t let it happen again. The wolves are watching, reporting our every move. One misstep, one favor revealed to his highness, and your bargain dies.”
My knees weakened as I pictured my arms over my head, my own back splayed open for all to see. I trudged across the field, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. The Katurium was flooded with soturi, crowded together, all pushing their way toward the baths.
