Page 33 of Daughter of the Serpent

“Sylvie, child of the light. Since we cannot come to an agreement on the events that occurred yesterday, we must leave such matters in the hands of the gods. You will face the trials come spring, and face their judgment.”

“Furthermore, for the satisfaction of the families of those we have lost, sixteen lashings will be awarded you, not only for the deaths that have taken place but also for your willful disobedience against thelaws of the temple and the oaths of the light you have sworn to uphold.”

Sylvie nodded, her shoulder slumping as the gravity of their decision sunk in.

“As for the rest of whom were involved, they too will be punished appropriately.” Rederick straightened. “Tara, Sylvie’s chambermate will also receive sixteen lashings for her willing or unwilling actions of disobedience.”

“Their guard, Hjalmarr also will be stripped of his status and reassigned, for failure in upholding his duties.”

Sylvie’s heart sank. She began to speak, her mouth opening, yet quick to click shut when the stranger turned to face her.

Eyes of fire burned into hers, knocking her senseless.

The stranger before the crowd, was no stranger at all - but the amber eyed warrior who had murdered Baldr’s men in cold blood.

Chapter Seven

Blood was in her mouth, the smooth metallic taste against her tongue spiking fleeting memories. Her face felt hot against the stone floor, her heart still racing in her chest as she heaved for breath. She heard a creak in the room, yet she couldn't place it. Disoriented, she urged herself to open her eyes. A flutter of images began to form, and slowly her mind began to piece reality together. Feeling more vulnerable than ever, she lifted her head. Shooting pain sliced down her back, instantly sharpening her mind to recall what she had just experienced.

Sixteen lashings.

That’s how many the high priest had awarded her for her behavior - one for each of her years of service to the temple, one for each year he had to suffer her insolence.

Her back felt torn, shredded like pulled meat.

Suppressing a cry as she moved, she restrained herself from reaching back to feel the damage.

Memories ushered back in, hitting her like a rushing wave.

The lash of the whip. The delight in Rederick’s eyes. The satisfaction of the families who demanded her pain.

They had taken her into the town square before the crowd, so all could know her shame. Bjorn had taken his place in front, along with the other family members of those lost - so they could witness every wince, every whimper - up close.

It had felt like a living nightmare.

At first her mind had struggled to grapple with her reality -was she truly here? Was this really happening?

But all illusion quickly shattered when they had forced her to her knees.

Cold fingers had yanked her hair aside, ripping open her robes to expose the bare skin of her back and in that moment, reality struck with brutal clarity: there was no way out.

Not even Godvick or Haldor could shield her from this fate - the inevitable consequence of her own recklessness.

As the first lash ripped into her flesh, and the sting of its kiss coursed heat through her body - the people had cheered, and even now she could still hear them in her mind. Searing pain, sharp and piercing wracked her body, and it had taken everything she had to keep herself from screaming.

When they finally dragged her away, Rederick had made sure that they did so slowly, lingering just long enough so she could hear the screams from Tara’s lips as they tore into her next.

A tear traced her cheek at the thought of her friend being harmed, beaten so cruelly - humiliated in front of all.

How would she ever forgive herself for this?

As she lay exposed and bloody on the floor, she wondered if she deserved it.

Between Tara’s screams, and the families of those who were lost, they were forever seared into her memory.

A stain of shame she would never be able to wash away.

She may not have forced Tara to go to the celebrations that night, but she had conceded, when she should have known better. She may not have held the ax, or been the owner of the hand who killed thosemen - but if it wasn’t for her appearance that night - all of them would still be alive.

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