Page 46 of A Shard of Ice

“But now is our chance,” he whispers.

It’s true; the guards close to the tent have their eyes on the entrance.

The others are busy going about their various tasks. No one is paying us much attention. We could slip away. I doubt we’d make it, but we could try.

There is no way I’m leaving Damon. It’s as simple as that.

I march back to the tent, but two guards block my way. There is another crack from inside. And another…and another. I flinch each time. I don’t like the sound. It makes me feel ill.

When Damon emerges a few minutes later, his shirt is striped with red at the back. It’s sticking to him. His face is stoic like nothing happened. The bloody whip in the general’s hand tells another tale.

“Damon!” I cry and run to him. “What happened? What did he do to you?” I want to throw my arms around him, but I don’t want to hurt him, so I don’t.

“This time, you got away with a warning,” the general tells Damon. “Next time, you won’t get off so easily.”

“He got a few lashes…for treason. How can that be?” Cyrano yells. “He got off too easily. I demand—”

“Shut up!” I grind out between my teeth. If I had a sword, I swear I might kill him. Kakara knows that he would deserve it.

“You two,” the general points at the two closest guards, “bring this male inside.” He points at Cyrano.

“Do you want a word, General Belen?” Cyrano turns smug. “I would be happy to fill you in on—”

“No!” the general rasps. “I want to show you exactly what I think of snitches.”

The guards snigger. The two he pointed out grab Cyrano with one on each of his arms.

He tries to pull free, but they hold him fast. “You can’t be serious.” Cyrano looks petrified but soon breaks out in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are wide with terror. “You’re making a jest.” He laughs. It sounds forced and humorless.

“Do I look like I’m jesting? I hate tattletales. And you are one of the worst I’ve ever encountered. It would be ten lashes, but because some of what you had to say was useful, I’ll lower it to five. Same as the icefae. Seems fitting.”

Cyrano looks at Damon’s back; his face is ashen. “No, please, General Belen. I thought I was doing the right thing. Iwasdoing the right thing.” The guards drag him to the tent.

“Who needs enemies when you have friends like that?”

“That filthy fae is not my friend!” Cyrano yells from inside the tent.

“He might just earn himself ten after all.” The general chuckles darkly. “Tie them up. Keep a close eye on them,” he tells the remaining guards. “I’ll use my left arm since you are a weak human,” the general says to Cyrano as the tent flap falls closed behind him.

Damon holds out his arms, and I do the same. The guards are still tying us when the screaming and begging starts. Not long after, the first crack sounds, and Cyrano shrieks.

I wince, but I can’t find it in me to feel sorry for him. He brought it on himself. Damon is lucky he still has his head.

There is another crack. The screaming doesn’t stop; between cracks, it gets worse. Thankfully, we are led away.

We’re made to sit in one of the tents. There are guards all around, but none are very close. This is my chance to glean some information.

“He’s a monster,” I whisper. “You’re still bleeding.” I wipe my eyes, realizing that I’m crying. I can’t help it. I sniff.

Damon has his hands bound tightly at the wrist, but he still takes my chin in his hand for a moment. “Please don’t cry. I’m fine,” he says under his breath. He lets me go.

“You’re not fine. Your shirt is soaked through. Guard!” I try to get someone’s attention. “We need herbs and bindings.”

“Be quiet, human,” one of the guards sneers.

“I swear, I’m fine,” Damon repeats. “We heal far more quickly than humans.” He smiles. “I don’t even feel it much. It’s just a sting.” He looks over his shoulder at his bloodied shirt.

“You’re covered in blood. He opened your back. He’s a—”

---