Honored Vow

of their semel. I understood when I was stripped, along with
    Teresa and Yusuke, and secured to a saltire cross, that Mikhail’s answers
    were more important to me than I had originally thought. The semels were
    shackled to the wall in front of the cross so that I could see Logan and he
    could see me, but only he could see Mikhail. My sylvan stood behind me.
    Apparently the semel was to be able to see the face of their mate when
    they took a lick of the lash. It would not have been as frightening if not for
    the stipulation that went along with every test: there was no shifting in the
    pit. We were not allowed to heal the damage until the trial of law was
    concluded.
    It was more frightening than I thought it would be, being spread-
    eagled on the cross, wrists and ankles immovable, waiting, anticipating the
    feel of the whip on my skin.
    Once the trial officially began, before the first question was asked,
    the gallery was allowed in.
    There were rules for the spectators. If they made a noise, they were
    dismissed. If they spoke to one another, they were dismissed. If the name
    of the mate was yelled out, or the sylvan, or the semel, they were
    dismissed. There was to be silence so that the questions could be heard,
    the person who answered quickly identified, and the crack of the whip
    audible.
    What went through my mind was that it was like Jeopardy if it had
    been played back in Roman times with gladiators. Basically, the priest
    asked a question, and the mate of the semel of whichever sylvan answered
    first and correctly avoided the sting of the lash. The other two were
    flogged for their sylvans not being the one who answered. If the sylvan
    took a chance and answered wrong, the mate got two strikes instead of just
    one. I took a deep breath as I realized how long the day was going to be.

    Honored Vow

    209

    The sylvan had to yell out the name of their semel to be called on,
    and that, too, was designed to drive their leader right out of their mind.
    The mate took a lash, or didn’t, right after their semel’s name was called. I
    could only imagine the therapy we were all going to need once the sepat
    concluded.
    The sylvan was allowed to speak to the mate of their leader before
    the trial began. When Mikhail walked around in front of me, I realized
    how pained he looked.
    “Listen,” I told him. “There’s no way to avoid me getting hit. Even if
    you know all the answers, someone will get picked before you, and I’m
    gonna get hit. Remember that I can heal whatever damage I take, I’ve
    come back from more than this, Mikhail, you know I have. This trial is
    just like Yuri’s: it’s not about winning, it’s just about enduring. We just
    have to make it through until it concludes. That’s all.”
    He nodded, tight-lipped, his eyes lifting to the people above us
    sitting around the edge.
    “Look at me.”
    His eyes returned to my face.
    “Please don’t beat yourself up about this.”
    He gave me a quick nod before he heeded the priest’s order and
    slowly moved out of my range of vision. I took a breath and the questions
    began.
    The first lash of the whip took my breath away before it felt as
    though my back was sliced open with a razor blade and alcohol was
    poured on it. I absorbed it, breathed through it even as Logan’s wail of
    pain tore through me. The sound of his anger, frustration and helplessness,
    was worse than anything else… at least at first. By the tenth lash, Logan’s
    torture, I was sorry to say, was secondary. Each lick of pain was
    indescribable; I could feel the blood running down my back, and the sting
    had blossomed from white-hot to aching to screaming, tensing agony.
    I could see Logan through blurry tear-filled eyes, and even though I
    still hadn’t made a sound, Logan made enough for the both of us. Each
    snap of the whip that hit me sent a jolt of fear and anger and fury through
    the man. He looked like he had been electrocuted.

    210

    Mary Calmes

    Every part of me screamed to shift, to make the horror stop, free
    Logan, and annihilate the man beating me. It made no sense to remain still
    and do nothing.
    I didn’t move. I lost track of the strokes.
    There was no food or water, and still the day wore on. There was the
    crack of the whip and more questions, and time slowed, dragged, and
    finally, simply stopped. And then exploded all at once in red and white,
    and each time it took a little longer to come back, swim up through an
    ocean of pressing, smothering