The Witch's Cursed Daughter

47. Withstanding It All

The air hummed in anticipation while onlookers pressed their faces hungrily against the glass, the mist of their breaths forming ghostly shapes. Julian heard the weight change under Jailer Faris's feet, and he apprehensively braced himself.

A ripping sound and tearing sensation sang hand in hand as the whip met Julian's skin. A sharp cry of agony escaped through his gritted teeth as he attempted to remain on his feet. Sweat trickled frantically down his brow as cheers echoed in the round, signalling an entertained audience. Before he had time to prepare himself for the next stroke, Julian felt his young frame bow under the force of the next lash.

The ugly stench of fresh blood greeted his nostrils as the gashes grew larger as each stroke met its target. Straining to remain conscious, Julian gnashed his teeth, counting in his head. He was terrified that his teeth would appear like marble the next time he saw them due to the pressure of them mincing against each other. By the time he was enduring the last ten lashings, Julian could no longer feel his back, but an unnatural pain emanated from every orifice. His dark fringe, the same black as the prison shadows, hid his expression from those watching; he chuckled as the final strike met his flesh.

He refused to collapse in relief; the gaze of the villagers was a painful reminder that his actions would become a spectacle which was what the king desired. With the now musty air, warmed by sweat, breath, and blood, kissing his opens wounds, Julian kept his feet firm on the ground as the Jailer removed the shackles from his wrists. His shirt, holding the appearance of little more than a fishing net, revealed hideous scars layered above old ones, evidence of previous whippings from before Voster was capable of healing them and any Imperial Mage would not dare assist the despised bastard prince.

As he began to stagger away in Romile's direction, Julian heard Faris whisper, "Well done."

Unable to summon the energy to reply, Julian limped away. As he came to the dark corner, which was not a cool as he had hoped, he was met by Romile's firm yet shaky grip. Not permitted time to converse, Romile led Julian gently to a bench before being led himself to the pillar in the centre of the room.

Much like Julian, Romile held the dignity of his position while being chained to the post. As the son of a noble house, a personal Guard, a member of the Order of Anzu, and a Blade Master, Romile had no less to protect than a prince in front of the crowd of viewers. Romile's mind reeled with flashing images of Julian's painful whipping. Having watched the entire event, he felt like a failure for having his master experience such a humiliating punishment. As he focussed on Julian, worried for his wellbeing, the first lash met his back.

Unprepared for its arrival, a silent yell left his lips as a string of pain and anger radiated from his spine. Jamming his knee against the pillar, Romile allowed the burning reality to set in. Closing his eyes, he focussed on the sound of the lash as it shot out with the speed of a lightning bolt carried by an unearthly creature to punish him. The atmosphere buzzed with the singing of the whip, the muffled cries of Romile as he bit into his arm, the chattering and shouting of the spectators.

Between blows, Abner Faris hailed, "I thought a Blade Master would be more resilient."

Although Romile couldn't see his face, the Jailer's leering tone scratched meanly at his wounds. "Trust me," Romile grunted confidently between sharp gasps and groans, "when I don't have these chains on, I'll show you just how resilient I am."

Seemingly amused by Romile's words, the Jailer sped up the lashing. Whether by kindness or cruelty, the punishment ended sooner, though Romile could barely comprehend the events occurring around him. As The Chamber guards helped to carry him away, his eyes rolled in the dark. Blurry visions and noises registered as Julian helped him onto a carriage and a torturous weight applied to his back seemed to be a cold towel to cool his injuries.

As the boys were escorted back to Lupine Palace, their lesions exposed to the storming weather, they grimaced subconsciously as raindrops and gusts of unkind wind licked areas covered in fresh blood. As Julian had said in The Chamber, Romile could hardly move and needed immediate medical attention. On the other hand, though in constant agony, Julian could still function as a nurse at Romile's expense until their arrival.

As the palace came into view, Julian's tired mind morphed the purple landscape into phantasmagorias of Evianna; he prayed that wherever she was, she was in less pain than they were.