Chapter 36

“Someone will come for her soon,” the guard tells Mikael before walking away.

Widad watches him go before coming closer to the cell.

“How could you have been so foolish?” she hisses. “You have hid your power for years and for this, you expose yourself?”

“I had to,” I defend weakly. “I could not watch him die. And what do you care?”

“Do you not think your father will question me as to how you’ve had powers, and I never sensed them? Never told him? I have protected you without you ever even knowing it and for what? For you to leave yourself vulnerable like this in the end?”

She shakes her head as confusion courses through me. Protected me? How? When? By not telling my father? But something in her tone, the anger in her eyes, tells me it’s more than that.

“You have put not just yourself in jeopardy, but me as well. And Nur.” She continues, “He will try to break you like never before for this. The betrayal of hiding your magic and for calling upon The Unspoken One. Do you know what you have done?”

I march to the cell door then, letting my anger take hold of me. “And what have you done?” I shout. “Stood by for years as my father destroyed this kingdom, followed his every command no matter how it farther plunged Nur into the darkness we find ourselves in now? Do not lecture me on doing what is best for Nur when you have not done the same.”

“I had no choice,” she reminds me.

I know she’s right. I know she must do as my father commands or her magic is forfeited. And that her life wouldn’t be far behind. She’s a prisoner to my father’s whims as much as I am. But my anger won’t let me pity her.

“We all have a choice.” I slam my hand against the bars.

An electric pain tears through me when my hand meets the cell door. I recoil, gripping my hand to my body. Widad just shakes her head again.

“I hope he was worth it, child.”

“He was.”

Widad leaves, and Mikael watches her until I can no longer hear the fabric of her dress swishing up the stairs. Then his eyes snap to me.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he whispers. “What has happened?”

“I will be punished for summoning the Unspoken One,” I say. He’ll find out soon enough anyway, I’m sure.

A shocked gasp leaves him. “I don’t, I don’t understand. No one even knows his name.”

“I do.”

“And the king, he will have you…” He swallows loudly. “Lashed?”

“Yes. I’m sure he will. When has being his child ever stopped him from causing me pain?”

He chews on his bottom lip for a moment before looking around nervously.

“Zaynah,” he speaks low, stepping closer to my cell. “She can get you out.”

Confusion fills me at his words, at his familiarity with Zaynah.

“Get me out?”

“She knows people who could help you avoid this, Your Highness. But you’d have to leave Nur. And I don’t know if you could ever come back.”

“How do you know this?” I puzzle.

“Who do you think told Zaynah they were looking for a lady-in-waiting to come to the palace?”

“But why?”

“Because there are many…of us who will not endure Qarun’s reign much longer.”

“The rebellion?” I marvel. “You?”

“Most of us here. Not anyone too close to your father, of course.”

“Hud?” I inquire.

“I will let him answer that for himself.”

That’s a yes if I ever heard one. But I push that thought to the side, that the people closest to me have been plotting a rebellion, and think about what Mikael first said. They can get me out. They can get me to Hamza, to Shams. I can be free of my father forever. Free of the pain that awaits me should I stay. Didn’t Hamza just offer me this earlier? To run away from Nur and it’s problems. I told him and I will tell Mikael the same, as much as it terrifies me.

“I can’t.” I shake my head. “I must stay. If I leave, Nur will never change, except for the worse. I must stay, no matter what that means.”

A smile filled with pride forms on his face, but then it saddens, dropping to a frown.

“I will try to tell the guard who carries out the punishment to be as easy as possible with you,” he offers.

“I don’t think there is an easy with a whip Mikael. Harder, yes, but not an easy.”

I shudder as all the torn up backs I have tended to flash through my mind. The skin bleeding and split open. The whelps extending to their sides from the whip curving around their bodies. The sound of their groans and hisses from something as gentle as me cleaning their wounds. That will be me, and there will be no one to tend to me. My father will make sure of it.

“I will do what I can,” he promises.

“Thank you.”

“Why did you summon him?” he asks low.

“I thought he could help me avoid a marriage to Azar.”

“And could he? Help you?”

“He helped me in other ways.” I give a small smile. “Many other ways.”

“Maybe he can help you now,” he suggests.

I shake my head. I will not summon him here knowing that the witch now has a spell to paralyze him. To bring him here would be to put him right back in the position I found him in when I entered the throne room. I won’t do it, even as my heart pleads for him. I keep picturing him in Shams, his leg bleeding, barely able to walk. Alone and in pain, waiting for a summoning that won’t come from me. My heart breaks a little more, but I close my eyes against the pain, knowing I need to gather all my strength to me right now. I will need it desperately for what’s to come.

“He can’t help this time,” I say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

He walks away, and I sit down, leaning my head on the wall behind me. Tiredness from a night without sleep seeps through me, but my eyes fight the heaviness of my eyelids. There’s too much to figure out, to think about, to fear. I worry for Hamza, if he’s okay, if his wound will be tended to, if I will ever see him again.

I worry for Maryam and the way I’m sure my father will strike out at her. He will not let the council stop him from finding some way to punish her for having the audacity to teach me what he would not, for helping me hide my magic. The other advisors can protect her standing on the council, but who will protect her in every other way? If anyone came to attack her, I know she would fight, but I worry it would be a fight to the death.

I worry for Zaynah, for Hud, if my father will set his sights on them. If he will convince himself they knew I was summoning Hamza, or if he’ll just make up some other offense to punish them simply because he knows it would further hurt me.

I worry for Nur. It’s people are preparing to rebel against an evil king who would do anything to stomp them out the moment they rise up. And at its borders will soon be Azar, whether he comes for a wedding or for a war.

Lastly, I worry for myself. Can I endure the pain of what’s to come? Can I endure what my father has planned for me, my punishment and Maryam’s? Can my resolve stay strong or will it break the moment I’m chained to the whipping posts? Can I survive not seeing Hamza again?

As my eyes finally begin to lose their battle to sleep, I think again of the plan that began to form in Sameer. And my last thought is if I have the strength, the will, to see it through.

I start awake when I hear the dungeon door being opened. Boots, more than one pair, stomp down the steps. I stand up, straightening out my gown and tightening the knot at the back of my headwrap. My father comes to stand before my cell while Mikael opens it. The sinister smile on his face turns my stomach. One of his guards comes into the cell and grabs me by the arm to drag me out.

When he brings me face to face with my father, I tamper down the rising fear in me and jut my chin up. His smile only deepens.

“We shall see just how much pride you have when the blood runs down your back.” He grins. “Take her to the courtyard.”

The guard begins marching me forward, up the steps on the opposite end of the dungeon, that leads directly outside. The sunlight when he opens the door makes me squint as he walks me to the middle of the courtyard. Once my eyes adjust, I have to fight the gasp that tries to escape me at seeing the courtyard is full. Not just the nobles and advisors that stand in the balconies, watching me with grim faces, but the people from the nearest village are in the courtyard as well. Their faces are different. On theirs is horror, sorrow, pity, and pain.

Then I look up towards the balcony again and search until I find Maryam among the people there. Her face is wrought with angst and worry, her hand gripping her chest as if seeing me this way is almost too much to bear. I focus on her while I’m walked over to the whipping posts, even when the manacles are clamped around both my wrists. The chains are pulled until my arms are straight outward. Even if I wanted to slouch or fall to my knees now, I couldn’t. The chains would hold me up…even if I lose consciousness like I’ve seen many do in this courtyard.

My eyes finally leave Maryam as my breaths begin coming shorter and shorter. The coldness of the manacles bite into my wrists, even through my sleeves, and the chains stretch my arms at my shoulders to the point of pain. But my mind tells me this is the least pain I will feel today. That thought sends my heart racing an even faster rhythm. My chest begins heaving and sweat gathers at my hairline and the back of my neck. Every single part of me wants to cry out to spare me, to stop this. My quivering lips want to beg my father to change his course, but I clamp my mouth shut. I refuse to give that to him. I refuse to let fear and terror win.

My father, who would at any other time be on the balcony with his precious nobles, comes to stand on the other side of the whipping posts. His arms close across his chest and move with the deep breath he takes. It’s as if he’s savoring this. This moment, seeing his stubborn daughter chained to the whipping posts. I’m sure my fear is clear in my eyes and shaking arms. His lips curve up until a joyful, maniacal grin forms.

“Rip her dress down the back,” he tells the guard behind me.

If it’s the same guard who retrieved me from the cell or not, I cannot tell now. And does it really even matter as I feel hands unbutton the first few buttons at the back of my neck. I clench my jaw when rough fingers brush my skin. The guard gathers my gown in both hands before ripping it down the middle. The sweat on my back chills when the air hits it, and I have to close my eyes at the feeling of utter nakedness that fills me. But I refuse to feel humiliated like my father wants me to. I have chosen what others will see of me for all these years. Him removing that choice from me only further shows what a bastard my father is.

“Remove her headwrap,” he demands.

A whimper fights, claws, it’s way up my throat, and my chest moves with the effort I have to use to keep it down. My head wrap is quickly yanked off my head, and the weight of my curls settles on my neck and shoulders. A gasp comes from the crowd around me, and I have to hope it’s at my father’s cruelty and not just at seeing what they could not before.

My eyes open, and I look into the smug, hateful face of my father. Tears prickle at the bridge of my nose, trying to rise to my eyes, clogging my throat with too many emotions. My father’s eyes move over my face, wanting, demanding, to see proof of the way he has brought me down. Instead I let every ounce of enmity and loathing I feel for him fill my gaze, clenching my jaw so hard, my teeth ache. His face hardens then, his grin dropping, and his eyes clouding with anger.

“Let us begin,” he shouts.

And my world shatters.