Page 32 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

The first strike landed. A searing stripe of fire tore across my upper back, cutting through my flesh like a blade dipped in boiling water.

My body jerked forward instinctively, but the cuffs held my wrists tightly.

I took a gasping breath, my lungs filled with air, as my mouth opened in a silent scream.

Then the sound came, a raw, ragged gasp that cracked in my throat.

The King got down on my level and grabbed my chin harshly as he gritted, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

A deep, animalistic growl that was not me filled my mind.

“Fuck. You.” I gritted my teeth, then spat in his face.

I blinked back tears and forced a smile. My magic boiled, but I kept it locked down.

The King made a clicking sound with his mouth as he wiped my saliva off his face and gripped my jaw tighter with his other hand.

I knew I shouldn’t’ve done any of that, but I was already being punished, so why not?

“You’re going to wish you never did that,” the King said, releasing his grip, causing my head to jerk back as he stood up with the whip in hand.

“I will kill him. Strength lies not in the absence of fear, but in facing it head-on. Stand tall, Flameborn.” His voice had an almost angry tone, giving it an otherworldly quality. I don’t know how he got past my shields, but I didn’t have time to think about that.

Stand tall. I repeated the words in my head.

I stood up with shaky legs and looked up at the King. He laughed, “Such a brave, stupid whore you are! Gavrin, move. I’ll be finishing her lashings,” he barked at him.

I would not shed a single tear for that malevolent man who reveled in my suffering. His twisted satisfaction had been evident in the wicked gleam of his eyes, a perverse enjoyment that had ignited a fire within me.

I knew then—I was going to kill this motherfucker.

I had found myself speaking in a voice unfamiliar, laden with a fury that surged through every fiber of my being.

“You will burn for this!” I declared, my words cutting through the charged air like a warrior.

Each syllable had been thick with anger as I made my vow to the King, my resolve unbending.

I leaned forward, my disdain evident, and spat on him again, this time on his feet—the act a defiant symbol of my contempt.

The King’s jaw ticked, and I saw the fury in his eyes.

“N-NO! Stop!” Fintan gasped from behind me. Fury now laced his tone. “You fucking coward! I’ll kill you!”

His voice rang in my ears, filled with desperation. I couldn’t see him, but the metallic clinking of something heavy resonated, and a thud echoed off the stone walls and fell quiet.

A cruel smile crept on King Aymon’s face. He didn’t say another word as he walked behind me and gave me two very quick, very harsh lashings.

The second and third lashes struck lower. My knees buckled, but I stayed standing.

I sucked in air, unable to release it. My body in shock.

Another lash sent pain that bloomed wide and fast, not just on the surface but deep, in the muscle, in my bones. It was not a sharp pain. It dragged, like something being pulled out of my soul through my spine.

A loud scream escaped my lungs.

By the fifth blow, there was no past, no future, only now—only pain.

I wasn’t going to survive this.

The edges of my vision blurred. My back felt flayed, every nerve ending lit and shrieking. The whip didn’t just hurt; it violated. My body was no longer mine; it belonged to the pain. It dictated my every breath, every twitch, and every broken sob I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I opened my eyes, focusing on Makar standing a few feet away in front of me, and let him in. “Breathe, Elara. Just breathe. Do not take your eyes off me. I’m going to influence you, okay?” He stated, but still asked.

Another lash.

Warmth slithered down my spine as a scream ripped out of me like a storm, primal and unwilling.

Thunder had roared ominously in the distance, and suddenly, the skies opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour.

The rain hammered down on me, each drop felt almost cathartic as it cooled my back.

In that moment, it was as though I had somehow tapped into the very forces of nature.

The rain mirrored my tears, cascading down my face—tears I swore I wouldn’t shed—and mingled with the raindrops, while the thunder cracked overhead, echoing the anger that churned within me.

I lost count of the lashes.

My skin was ruined now, I knew it. It felt shredded, like raw strips of meat where my back used to be. The air itself became cruel, stinging as it touched the open wounds. The blood that dripped down, warm and wet, soaked the waistband of my trousers.

I was about to pass out from the pain.

“LOOK AT ME!” Makar snapped. I opened my eyes, my body in shock.

“Good. Focus on me,” Makar repeated as Eryn stood next to him, white knuckled on her sword. Her nostrils flared. I could see the tears she was holding back in her eyes.

Fixated solely on him, an unexpected warmth enveloped my body, creeping in like the sun’s gentle embrace on a balmy summer day.

It was a soothing sensation that washed over me, yet it brought with it an overwhelming flood of memories.

I found myself transported to endless fields where I had once gathered wildflowers with Mother, their vibrant colors danced in the golden light.

The sweet, nostalgic scent of her lavender perfume filled my nostrils, and suddenly, tears brimmed in my eyes as I was reminded of Mother’s comforting presence.

Makar’s magic wrapped around me like a soft blanket, easing my turbulent thoughts. Yet, the memories of Mother, with all their bittersweet clarity, ignited a deep yearning within me—not just to remember, but to confront the grief I had wallowed in.

A part of me felt masochistic as I forcefully pushed Makar out of my consciousness, erecting my mental shield once more.

I knew that more lashes were imminent, and now I craved that pain, that raw sensation, as it was tied to my guilt—the guilt of killing Mother.

This was punishment for that, and I would take one hundred more.

Makar’s face dropped as I kicked him out of my head. I refused to look at him and Eryn, so I shut my eyes.

As the whip sliced through the air, its crack resounded like thunder, striking my skin with brutal precision. A shockwave of agony coursed through my body, igniting every nerve like wildfire.

Breathing became a struggle as waves of pain crashed over, constricting my chest and tightening my throat. The pain seared through my existence, but I kept my magic at bay.

I deserved this.

“You are more than this moment. Together, we will overcome.” That deep voice rumbled again in my mind somehow, even with my shields up. Yara told me those same words, ‘you are more than this moment.’

I wasn’t sure how the thing got past my shield— perhaps it was Kryndor, God of War.

It growled again. “Stand tall. We do not give up.”

With shaky hands, I pulled myself up the rough wooden beam, feeling the splinters dig into my skin. I refused to let pain deter me; I would not be made a fool by the King any longer.

As I straightened, I clung to the beam like a lifeline. Rain and blood soaked my body. I surveyed the crowd—faces that were now dulled by pity. Some turned away, while others watched with concern, their sympathy igniting a defiance within me. Despite their pity, I would show my strength.

CRACK!

The thunder roared violently as the whip hit me again.

I still didn’t beg.

Even as another blow landed, right across my spine, making me see white, then nothing, I stayed silent, save for the involuntary cry forced out of me. My body screamed, but my will clenched tight, iron beneath the agony.

One more, I thought to myself, you can do one more.

“Do not cry. Do not give up, Flameborn, I will heal you.” My friend whispered to me once more. Its voice was unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.

Focus on his voice.

Deep.

Growly.

Otherworldly.

The King waited for the last lash; the anticipation was almost too much. I didn’t think I could stand any longer as my vision threatened to disappear.

“El-Elara! I’m so fucking sorry,” the Prince cried. The King must’ve allowed them to free his son because he was now standing right in front of me. Horror filled his eyes. Eyes that now reminded me too much of the Kings. I couldn’t look at him.

Just as the whip was about to strike me again, Fintan moved out of sight. I could hear his heavy breathing, but I never felt the pain from the last lash.

The crowd gasped.

I realized Fintan took the last lashing for me.

A man named Bastion suddenly uncuffed me. His rough hands were calloused, lacking any semblance of gentleness as he freed me from my restraints. I looked up at him. His eyes were an unfathomable abyss, a deep, impenetrable darkness swirling with fury, rendering his irises nearly invisible.

I would kill him, too.

My hands were now free.

It’s over now.

Strong arms wrapped around me, careful not to touch my raw back. Eryn and Makar came running. “We need to get her to the infirmary right now!” Fintan shouted. He and Makar grabbed each of my arms.

I didn’t collapse. I couldn’t, not yet. I hung limp, breathing in ragged gasps, my mind spiraling in the haze of torment.

But something inside of me survived.

And it remembered every strike.