Whipping Adjacent
by @LittleBear

Erion -

“The subject is Halis Onrin,” Maious said. “He will be in his residence in the Selian district.” He handed me a slip of parchment.
If my memory of Canise served correct, the Selian district was the richest, other than the Palace of course.

“What has he done?” I asked.

“Not a concern of yours,” he said, dismissing me.

Knowing better than to protest, I left the room. But I stayed close to the door, straining to hear as best I could.

“Keep your eye on that one, Anions. We never should have taken an Uradavi in,” Maious said to my handler. “His conscious will be the end of us. If he has anything of his mother, then his will is unbreakable.”

“The boy asks a good question. I myself am curious,” Anions said.

“Smuggler. The King wants his wares, a poison of some kind, off the streets,” Maious answered. “The assignment should be easy enough. He will be alone.”

Satisfied, I put space between myself and the door. The risk of a beating was not worth the extra gossip.

He is a drug lord, a thief, a liar; the King has ordered his death. This is no different from a soldier obeying orders, I told myself. This was not murder.

((I’ll write them riding through the city later, too lazy to do it now))

We tied up our mounts a little ways away and Anions turned to me. “Quickly, quietly, and the house burns after us. No traces. Understand?”
I nodded.

The only sound was the whisper of wind though the date palms. Nothing was awake apart from Anions and me, even the crickets were no longer playing their song. The grand house was one of many, all stark and beautiful against the vast desert sky. And most importantly, a second story window was open.

He glanced around and nodded to me. Quickly, we made our way to the wall, I gave him a boost, and he disappeared into the house. A moment later the end of his whip fell down the wall. Just as we had practiced so many times before, I wrapped my hand around the whip and walked up the wall.

“Do not touch anything,” he breathed as I clambered into the room. An office, by how it was furnished

“I am not an imbecile,” I muttered to myself as he made his way deeper into the house, his footfalls barely a whisper. I slipped after him.

We made our way through the house. At every turn I could not help but wonder at the splendors that were here and how they differed from the opulence of home. There were lush rugs inlaid with golden scenes instead of tapestries and painted porcelain instead of crystal vases. The home smelled faintly of incense, snuffed out hours ago.

We finally came to a set of double doors, and, as was the usual for Lianian architecture, they led to the bedroom. Anions motioned me forward with one hand and slowly opened the door with the other.

I drew my dagger, took a deep breath, and slipped through. A large bed took up most of the room, just as expensively decorated as the rest of the house. It was occupied by huge Lianian man who was snoring soundly, his barrel of a chest rising and falling. I crept up next to him and looked down at his face, obscured by a well-groomed black beard.

“I am sorry,” I breathed. He is a drug lord, a thief, a liar; the King has ordered his death. This is no different from a soldier obeying orders, I told myself again. This had become my mantra.

I dragged my knife across his throat – quickly, cleanly, and through both arteries, just as I had practiced on the pigs. His eyes flew open and his snores were replaced with the gurgle of blood in his newly-ruined throat.

I stumbled away from him and scrambled back through the door.

The moment I came through the door, Anions grabbed my collar and forced me to look at him. “Breathe boy. You have done well, but the job is not over.”

I nodded and we each went to a lamp and poured the oil out onto the floor, darkening the beautiful carpets. Simultaneously we lit our matches and let them fall. The light that followed blinded me for a moment and all I could see was the dark liquid flowing from his neck.

The way it shined in the moonlight was seared into my memory.

“Come,” Anions said. He pulled me back the way we had come, out the office window and towards our mounts. When we finally turned to look at the house, it was engulfed in flames.

“You did well. But it is time to return,” Anions said and for a moment I felt a spark of pride. A spark that I immediately squashed down, for it was pride that threatened to rot my insides.

I was about to reply when I heard a scream and then a crying babe shortly after.

No.

Before I could process what was going on, I was running back to the house. I did not get far.

“There is nothing you can do now. What is done is done!” Anions had my forearm in a vise.

“There is a babe in there! You said he would be alone!” I roared.

“Sometimes the intelligence is wrong. You did not verify,” he said matter-of-factly, as if we had not just condemned the life of an innocent.

“May Rionel have at you,” I cursed as I drew my sword and smashed the pommel into his face. It was if Lehion himself was guiding my hand, for Anions crumpled immediately.

I did not bother with the window again; instead, I went for the entrance. I tore off my headscarf and held it to my mouth before I put my boot through the grand window. The smoke that billowed out stung my eyes and burned my throat. With a last prayer to Lehion, I stepped into the inferno.

“Where are you?” I yelled over the roar of the flames and the groaning of the house. What had seemed grand only minutes ago had transformed into a hells cape. “Where -” I was racked with a coughing fit.

“Help!” the voice called, clearly feminine, just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony.

“Keep yelling!” I shouted and followed the voice through the house.

Suddenly, an almighty groan rose above the rest. I looked up and saw a beam bow and then break. Luckily, I leapt forward just in time to escape its crushing blow. Plaster rained down around me and added to my urgency. After what seemed like an eternity, I came to the woman’s door. A burning armoire had fallen in front of the door

“I am here. Hold on!” I yelled. “Move away from the door!” I bit into my headscarf and used both hands to lift my sword high over my head. I do not know if the fire had just weakened the wood or if it was the adrenalin coursing through my veins, but I made short work of the armoire. I shoved the pieces and the blankets that it held aside and grabbed the door handle. White-hot pain screamed up my hand before
I could realize my mistake. Cursing, I grabbed my headscarf again then grabbed the handle and pulled.
The woman was crouched in the farthest corner of the room, a nursery. She curled around her child, trying to keep him from the smoke that swirled all around her. When she saw me, she leapt to her feet and rushed forward. She was barefoot.

I sheathed my sword and grabbed her.

“No!” She screamed, terrified. It was then that I realized that she was only in a thin shift.

“You are barefoot – I will have to carry you,” I croaked. “Here, take this.” I handed her my headscarf.

She nodded slowly. I swept her and the baby into my arms, and I stumbled back through the house.

“Go through the back,” she shouted, straining to be heard over the blaze, “It is much closer.” She became my eyes as I stumbled through the deadly maze, shouting a new direction every few moments.

When we finally came to the back door, the world was beginning to spin and my entire body was shaking. “Hold on,” I wheezed and I kicked the door open.

We spilled into backyard and clean air flooded my lungs. The woman and her child tumbled out of my arms just before my stomach heaved. I narrowly missed them when I vomited black sludge into the grass. We laid there for a moment, with the sound of the dying house taking over the night.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I do not even know you and you saved us. How can I ever repay you?” Her words were worse than the raging fire.

“Forget that I was here,” I said as I picked up my headscarf rewrapped my head. “Tell everyone that you got out yourself.”

“But -” she objected.

I was already walking away from her, towards the back gate. I had to face the Anions’ wrath. I skirted the edge of the property and slowly made my way back to where I had left him. But he was not there. Cursing, I started towards the horses. I had not made it five paces before someone appeared behind me and wrapped his arm around my throat. Instantly spots danced in my vision. I slammed my fists at his arm, but the effort was feeble. My strength was gone.

Hot.

That was the first thing I noticed. The heat was oppressive. I could not tell if the wetness on my face was sweat or tears. The salt burned my eyes and my parched throat screamed at me for water. But when I tried to wipe my face, I realized how truly, deeply wrong things were. I was in stocks and there was a roaring fire in a hearth not ten feet away. “Let me out!” I tried to scream, but my throat was too dry, producing only a harsh and guttural sound.

There was a gust of cool air as the door opened and the Spy Master strode in, a bucket in one hand, cane in the other. “Ah, the princeling awakes,” he purred as he rapped my chin with his cane.

Without thinking, I lunged forward, causing the stocks to jerk.

“And yet still so hostile,” he tutted. He crouched so that he was level with me. “You do not understand. Your dear mother has given me all the license in the world. We will break you, Uradavi; keep you dancing between life and death until you learn.” Then he threw the bucket’s contents at me. Cool and beautiful water.

“Three hours more. Then I want him in the throne room,” he said as he left. “Call all the apprentices in. I want the consorts too. Bring –” and the door closed, locking out all the cool air.

I think I made it another thirty minutes before passing out again.

This time, the air was mercifully cool. But, I could tell that I was not alone. There was the gentle hum of a confused crowd. This time took full stock of my position before I opened my eyes. I was not wearing a shirt, I was bent over on something curved and soft, and my feet were solidly on the ground. Most importantly, my wrists were tied down.

I opened my eyes and immediately wished I had not. I was indeed surrounded by a crowd. Everyone was in the throne room. All the other apprentices, instructors, and guards were watching me. Even the courtesans were here. Instantly I knew what was coming.

“There he is! Let us begin then!” He said, his voice like a like velvet. Gods, he was going to paint it as entertainment. “Thank you so much for joining us today for the trial of Janon Hane.”

“His crimes include questioning orders, disobeying orders, reckless endangerment of mission, reckless endangerment of self, attacking a handler, and endangerment of identity. Thus – ”

“The babe would have burned to death!” I squawked. My throat burned in protest.

“Oh, let us add interrupting me to the list! I will be merciful – five lashes for each infraction. That brings us to,” purred as he mimed counting on his fingers, “thirty-five. Anions, you do the honors.”

The crowd fell completely silent and I knew that all my gods had left me. There was no getting out of this.
It felt as if the air had turned to molasses. Each of Anions’ footfalls took an eternity and the pounding of my heart drowned out everything else. He came and tightened my bonds, his face drawn and almost remorseful. “Forgive me.”

I focused on the Spy Master, lounging in his throne, grit my teeth, and grip the bonds. There is a crack and instantly I felt a blinding pain across my shoulders. I jerked but did not make a sound. I wound not give him the satisfaction.

My mind goes to another place. A place where I cannot feel the skin curling off my back or the blood dribbling onto the floor. A place where I can repeatedly punch the Spy Master in his teeth. I did not take my eyes from him. I pulled all my strength from my hatred of him and drew joy when he straightened in his throne. I realized He wanted to hear me call out. He wanted to hear me break.

I would rather die before breaking.

“Stop!” he barks after the tenth lash. The tension leaves my body. “Bring his partner.”

My heart drops.
“Unhand me!” her pretty voice shouts. “I have done nothing wrong.”

Two guards come through the crowd, a blonde twisting and thrashing in their grip. Her hair is disheveled, she is still in her dressing gown, and it looks like there is a handprint blooming across her face. They brought her directly in front of me and I could see that it is unmistakably Sela.

“Janon, my God,” she cried, “What have they done to you? What is going on? I am so scared.”

“If you will not cry out for me, perhaps you will do so for her,” the Spy Master growled.

He would not dare. To mar a courtesan would be the same as condemning her to death. No man, no matter how pretty the face, would deign to let an imperfect courtesan warm his bed. He would lose all that he had paid for her and she would have to take to the streets.

“So be it. She will take your remaining twenty-five.” His grin brought bile to my throat.

“What? No! Please, master! Please!” Sela screamed, dropping to her knees.

He was bluffing.

I made no move. No sound.

“Oh, you do not believe me!” His smile turned predatory.

He stormed down from his throne and grabbed one of the guard’s whips. He was bluffing.

I watched in horror as he drew it back and it snapped across her back. The sound seems to reverberate across the room, louder than the others were. With a cry, she fell forward. Her gown was torn and blood was already flowing from her flesh. What had I done?

The Spy Master raised his hand again and he has won.

“No!” I roared.

There is no pride left to fight for.

“Stop. Please,” I said. “Have mercy.”

Triumphantly, he lowered his hand and called out, “Proceed, Anions.”

Again, the whip whistled through the air and it cracked across my back. And I screamed. I screamed like an animal in the throes of death.

My poor, parched throat cracks again and again from the force. The pain came in waves. It was relentless.

My vision swam and Sela blurred away.

Soon, it was too much to exclaim. All that escaped are pitiful whimpers. Then the cool fingers of darkness dragged me under and I felt nothing at all.

An unholy moaning filled the room and crashed in my ears, like a tempest’s waves on the shore. Put the poor man out of his misery, I want to say, but then it dawns on me. I am the man. I am the moaning. My mind was heavy, stuffed with cotton. But I felt nothing.

She appeared like an angel and put a cool hand on my forehead. “Shh,” she soothed. “I am so sorry, Erion. I am so sorry.”

Why? Why is she sorry? “No…” The words are hard to form. “I have killed you.”

She sobbed and covered her mouth.

“No, no,” she choked. “I am so sorry, Erion. It was all fake. Every moment of it. They found me beforehand and threatened – they said they were going to kill you if I did not act out the scene.”

I did not understand. There was blood. Her gown ripped. “They ruined you.”

She shook her head. “It was paint. It was pageantry. The dress was already torn when they brought me to you. When I heard the sound, I was supposed to fall forward and pretend.”

Her words were confusing and it grew harder to muddle through them. She faded away just as she appeared. Maybe she was a dream.

The first thing I saw is my bandaged hand. It smelled strongly of something sharp that irritated my nose. With my good hand, I tried to push myself up and suddenly I was on fire. There was nothing but pain. My world was pain and the air filled with cries.

“No! Do not move!” Suddenly Anions is here. He guided me back down and forced something into my mouth. “Swallow, boy.”

Hopefully, he has come to finish me off.

Darkness comes again and I greet it happily.

I could feel his eyes on me. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall.

“I had no idea what they would do to you,” he murmured. “I am sorry Erion. What you did, I respect you for it. None of us here would have done that.”

As I fell asleep again, I could not help but think that that was the first time he had used my true name.

((Back in Estonie, much later on in the book))

Finally, there was a knock at the door. If it was not so worrying that Delpe was so late, I would be cross.

“Enter,” I called as I selected a shirt from my office bureau. “Where have you been, I expected your…”

I turned and froze. The person at the door was not Delpe. It was Eline.

Cursing, I yanked the shirt on.

“Erion, your back…” She was as white as a sheet and her hand was at her throat. “What happened to your back?” she asked as she stepped forward.

“Nothing.” My mind was racing.

“Those are not from sparring or battle. These are whipping scars. What happened over there?” She reached out to me.

“I said –”

“Do not lie to me. I know what I am seeing,” she whispered.

I could not do this. No one could know. “No,” I said. And pushed past her. I could not be here.
_________________________________________________
Someone knocked furiously at my door and within seconds, I had my dagger in hand.

I wrenched it open and found Eline standing there. With a heavy sigh, I tucked my dagger into my trousers. “Eline, what are you doing here? If someone sees you here, the scandal –”

“Fie on scandal!” she spat. “I care about you more than the prattle of gossipmongers. What happened? I will stand here all through the night if I have to.”

“Do not do this to Solin. You cannot be here,” I begged, willing Tian to give me patience.

“If he knew, he would be here as well. Let me in. You have nothing to bargain with.” She crossed her arms and glared at me.
I let her in. It was no use.


Notes 

Riorlyne:

In all, this section is very vivid and gripping. You can feel Erion's moral struggle and pain and there wasn't a single place where I felt that anyone's words or actions were out of character, even given the little I know of these characters. I loved the little touches of worldbuilding - the lush carpets, the smell of incense, the conscience of an Uradavi - and they came at just the right moments too - they didn't feel shoehorned in at all. I hope you want your readers to hate the Spy Master, because I most certainly do (I'm not feeling all that affectionate toward Erion's mother, either). I even learned a thing! (that we have two arteries in our neck)

If this is a rough draft, you must know your characters and setting extremely well, because it flowed beautifully. Whatever the sheer amount of minor edits in the linked document might lead you to believe, I really enjoyed this piece.

 https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xddE_C4kOLwY2oIGXEIz9KjaNQpCsuq5urGmD8kO91M/edit