Page 54 of Shadowlands Omega

Yaron nods, as if expecting this answer. He releases Olac. “Very well. How would you have them punished? An attempted rape was not sufficient?”

Olac’s fists clench as he tries to find his footing. His wife’s hands come to his arm, steadying him, and I see her lips moving.Enough. Olac sags into her slightly. He shakes his head. “I am…I am… This is not who I am, my Lord. I must apologize to the Omega. I tried to stop the Rider from handling her when he made his intentions known, but I still let him leave. And before that, I put my hands on her when I should not have. My wife is right. She is the goodness in me when I am only my temper. I would gladly accept a punishment from you, my Lord. Whatever you deem appropriate…”

“No!” I shout, trying to lurch away from Cyprus, who grabs my shoulders and pulls me back. “No, please, Yaron.” Yaron. I call him by his first name, which incites the crowd to excitement bordering on violence. There are some laughing, there are still some crying and screaming, there are cheers. There is so much emotion, I want it to stop. My bones are still weak, my flesh bruised, and my heart…it’s been too much in too short a time…I can’t breathe. “Yaron,please.”

He turns to look at me, his expression cold. He comes forward as I break free of Cyprus’s grip, but only because he lets me. As I stumble forward, he catches me against his chest. He slides his hands around my throat and squeezes gently, a reminder of what Olac did…a threat… “My Lady,” he breathes against my lips, but he doesn’t kiss them. Instead, he brushes his softer than sin mouth over my nose and then my forehead. “Do not break my heart. I cannot stand your begging.”

“Then I command you…don’t hurt anyone else. Not for me.” I grab the front of his tunic in shaking fists. I’m scared. My feet are cold.

He brushes his lips over my temple and his words, unlike his actions, are so, so soft. “You are master over me, Kiandah, but I am still Lord of this city. Rejoin your family and do not interfere again. I will not ask you twice.”

Fury fires through me as he barks an order and Cyprus comes and takes me back to my kin. I clench my fists and cross my arms,hatingYaron as he approaches Olac again. My muscles are all locked and they’re too tired for that. I feel lightheaded despite getting a good night’s rest — the best I’ve had in a long time — and having eaten well last night and this morning. I think…my greatest fear is knowing that Yaron was right in the chariot — he does…he is capable of having my love. But I don’t want to love a man who hurts other people like this…who is capable of such unrepentant and merciless violence.

“You are good to renounce your anger and request punishment. What do you see fit for yourself?”

Olac doesn’t answer, but I see how his gaze nervously shifts to the pile of dead Rider, a thick carpet of blood leading back the way he came. “Whatever manner of punishment you select for yourself will also be delivered unto the Ubutu family.”

Olac’s eyes widen. “I… You are right, my Lord. The Omega has been through enough and, perhaps, isn’t responsible for the crimes her family comm—”

But Yaron cuts him off. “A public flogging, perhaps? A good lashing?”

“Uhm, yes. That is customary.”

“How many lashes for putting your hands around my Omega’s neck?” Lord Yaron’s hand opens and the tail end of a black whip tumbles out to hit the ground. I hate him for it. I hate him so much for that. He came prepared to lash my family.

“My Lord?”

“A number. How many?” He speaks to the crowd now. “How many lashes does this village deem appropriate for Olac for laying hands on the female that is to be your Shadow Lady?”

Several voices shout numbers, but I can’t stop myself from shouting, “None!”

“One!” Cyprus says, shouting over me and drowning me out.

Yaron turns to look at Cyprus over his shoulder and nods once. “Very well.” Turning back to Olac, he says, “Prepare yourself.”

I clench and watch in horror as Olac nods and moves to the end of the square. His wife struggles to release his arm, but he reassures her. I find something absolutelytragicin that. I find it more tragic that Yaron could stop this, but doesn’t. Instead, he positions himself at the opposite end of the clearing, raises his whip and only just waits for Olac to lift his shirt to fully expose his back before bringing the whip down. One strike, that’s all. But it feels like a hundred.

The last public flogging happened when I was only ten. Yaron was eighteen then. He’d been Lord for only two years and his master of coin thought he could filch from the public coffers. A new Lord, a young Lord, Yaron had made an example of him. Eight lashes later from Yaron’s own arm, he fainted. He died at lash twenty-two. My parents had let me watch the first lash fall, but had taken me away after the second and still, the sound that it had made was and is forever burned into my memory.

Yaron turns to face the village while Olac’s wife rushes to him. Yaron points at the medic called Finn and gestures him towards Olac. The male responds immediately, carting supplies across the space in a small satchel. A chair is produced from somewhere within the crowd. Olac sits and Finn begins administering to him immediately while Yaron points his whip at my family. At me. It’s only when Cyprus clenches my hand tighter that I realize I’m shaking.

“And how many lashes until the Ubutu family has learned their lesson?”

Silence.

“You all were so confident in their guilt moments ago, yet now you are silent? Tell me, how many each?”

“T-two?” a young woman says.

“None!” another shouts. Justine — I’d recognize her voice anywhere. I scramble to find her in the crowd and when I do, I meet her gaze and we exchange small, scared smiles. They do not all hate us. Some that know us will know our hearts and believe that the killing strokes were not delivered by our hands. By mine least of all.Because I am not my family.

“Two only?” Lord Yaron says, ignoring Justine. “You can do better than that.”

“Three!” someone offers and I recognize that voice, too. It’s the pig farmer, the one who threw shit at me. “No more! Any more than that and they’ll bleed out. These are townspeople, not Crimson Riders! They cannot take more than that…”

“You care? You intend not to kill them?” Yaron’s tone is condescending and cruel. The crowd is murmuring, unsure. “For such wickedness, I would think at least ten lashes apiece would do.”

The pig farmer doesn’t respond. Silence prevails. I can’t believe it. My stomach is in my eyeballs now. That I haven’t vomited is only a testament to the fact that my shock outweighs my terror. Yaron begins to turn away, but a voice from deep within the crowd says, “Fifteen.”

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