Page 66 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
“Fintan?” I asked, not wanting to see him. Not yet. I couldn’t. Not when his eyes reminded me too much of his father’s.
Makar shook his head, “You screamed at us to get him out. You didn’t want to see him. He is fine though, the whip got his chest but luckily, he had on his leathers and the lashing didn’t leave a mark.”
I sighed with relief when I realized he wouldn’t be barging in.
I slid off the bed with careful, deliberate movements, half-expecting the fire in my back to roar to life again. But it didn’t. My body ached, but the sharp agony was gone—just a ghost now.
Gavrin quickly came to my side, supporting my weight by grabbing my elbow.
I looked up at him and smiled.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“You need to eat. It’s been four days,” his deep voice rumbled.
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped. Gavrin let go.
“Please, everyone, go. I wish to be alone.”
“Elara, but—” Eryn stopped when I gave her a look.
“Alright, everyone out. You heard her,” she ushered everyone to the door. She stopped before leaving. “I’m glad you’re alright. You are so fucking brave, Elara. I’ll send for Molyara.”
She closed my door.
The full-length mirror stood next to the armoire, half-covered by a drape of linen. I walked toward it, the floor cool under my feet, my heart pounding harder with every step.
I stopped in front of the mirror and turned, slowly, painfully aware of every motion. I let my shirt slide to the floor.
I didn’t recognize my back.
What should have been open wounds and torn flesh was now a landscape of scar tissue—no blood, no bandages, just skin that had been carved and sealed. I knew I had gotten nineteen lashes, but not at all were there. Some scars faint and narrow, others deep and jagged, crisscrossed from my shoulder blades to the small of my spine. Some lashes had overlapped, creating thicker ridges, pale and raised like silvery welts frozen mid-heal. It looked like molten metal had been poured over me and cooled in streaks—violent, permanent artwork.
I counted every single one that I could see.
Ten.
Ten, just like all the gods and goddesses themselves. Like each had blessed my skin with a wicked touch.
I lifted a hand and brushed my fingertips over one of the deeper scars. The skin was ridged and warm, as if it remembered what had happened even if the pain had been taken. I pressed harder. No sting. No burn. Just… texture. As if someone else’s back had been grafted onto mine.
But it was mine.
The marks curved slightly with the shape of my body, following the path of each lash. Some had left starburst patterns where the tip of the whip had bitten in and curled. Others were long and deliberate—measured cruelty.
I swallowed hard. They didn’t hurt. But they would never fade. I didn’t remember healing. I didn’t feel power surge through me. No magic. No chant.
Just the door.
The voice.
Theheat of unseen flame.
Chapter Seventeen
“Elara, I really don’t think you should be training,” Eryn said, her voice sympathetic.
“Oh, please, I’m perfectly fine! You saw my back.”
