Page 43 of Healing His Mate

Aye-vah is correct; I do have the ability to change lives with my creations. I certainly did today. Sadly, the life I changed is the one that matters most to me, and I have caused him an incredible amount of pain.

There is no excuse for what I have done. Or rather, what I have not done. Because there must be something in my design I did not check. Something I failed to see when assembling the sticky bomb.

What frightens me is how sure I was that the bomb was ready to be tested. That there was nothing more for me to do before detonating it near a group of people I care deeply about.

Arrogance.

You will never be as good as you think you are. Remember that, Nalba. Your confidence will be your downfall.

How many times had Yignnuf said those words to me? Every time I completed a successful project, so . . . often. He never let me celebrate a victory. He would offer a pat on the shoulder in praise, and then remind me just how inadequate I still was.

Suddenly, the memory hits. Not one I have been missing from the last five years, but from long, long ago. One I certainly wish I could forget.

I brace my shaking hands on the ground, just above my knees. Sweat pours down my back.

No, not sweat. Blood.

“How many times must I tell you this?” Yignnuf shouts, the muffled flex of the whip in his hands causing my body to jerk. “You must prioritize your creations above all else!”

I suck in a breath, knowing what is to come. I do not hear Yignnuf pull back, but the pain that shoots up my spine and out my fingertips upon his release tells me I have two more lashes to endure before I can crawl away.

“If you had spent more time reviewing the research that I have put into this type of weapon over the last two decades, instead of fraternizing with the prince, you would not have disagreed with my findings,” he bellows, his breath becoming ragged from exertion.

I force myself to swallow the laughter that threatens to escape. Is this an inconvenience for him? Or too much exercise, perhaps? Abusing me with his chosen punishment tool?

But no. I must remain silent. Even a scream will earn me another lashing. I have learned that the hard way too many times.

“I-I am sorry, sir,” I mumble through tears. As quickly as they fall, I wipe them away. Yignnuf is often disgusted by the display of emotions. I must not let him see my pain.

“You are sorry!” He grunts before the next one snaps at my back, tearing my skin open in long, curved lines. “Sorry? Are you truly, Nalba?”

“Y-yes, sssssir.”

One more. I know there is one more. Please just do it, I want to say. Get it over with.

The thud of his boots has me pinching my eyes shut in anticipation. I follow the sound as he circles me and stops just above where my hands still shake.

“Up,” he commands.

At first, I ignore it. I know I am owed one more lashing. Surely, he has not forgotten, has he?

“Get up!” he shouts.

I scramble to my feet, careful to remain hunched over, as straightening my spine will only cause intense pain from the fresh wounds.

He tosses the whip into the corner of the dark, windowless room. Yignnufprefers to dole out punishment on the bottom level of his facility, far from where anyone could overhear it. “I am proud you see it my way,” he finally says, opening the door and gesturing for me to follow.

And the memory fades. The saddest part is the gratitude I can still feel the moment he opened that door. He gave me fewer lashings than he planned. I wanted to hug him for it. I wanted to thank him for being so gracious.

It did not matter how much he hurt me, or how often he criticized my work. I still wanted to please him. With each new project, I was sure thatthis time, he would truly be proud of me. He never was. But maybe seeking his approval was a foolish pursuit. Maybe . . . he was right all along.

Your confidence will be your downfall.

I was extremely confident in my design of the sticky bomb. Complete failure was the opposite outcome I expected today. Had I been a little less confident, had I taken the rest of the day to examine each individual component, perhaps Waldric and Ahlvo would be without burns on their skin. They would be doing the things they usually do. The things that bring them joy.

Now, here they sit, in the med room, covered in bandages.

I know they will heal. This will not leave scars on their bodies. But how will it affect their minds? Those are scars we cannot see, and my carelessness may have left them with deep ones that will never fade.

---