Change of Darkness (The Change Series Book 3) by Jacinta Jade (best new books to read txt) 📕

Zale peered carefully over his shoulder, winced at the pain the movement clearly caused him, and then jerked his chin back around.

His actions gave Siray enough warning to brace herself.

Sure enough, two more cracks split the air.

‘If it was a test, then you passed. You didn’t make a sound.’ Zale’s voice was quietly admiring, but Siray could hear the agony underlying it.

Siray ignored the praise and simply said, ‘Trust me, it wasn’t by choice.’

Zale shook his head slightly, either not believing her or just expressing his disbelief at what was happening.

Another pair of cracks sounded, and Siray couldn’t stop herself from automatically twisting to look—with an accompanying gasp at the flare of pain that accompanied the movement—to see Wexner on his knees, turning his head to glare at Herrin, his spine ramrod straight despite the freshly torn skin that now adorned his back. And even though Wexner could be difficult at times—rude, even—Siray almost felt like running over and kissing him for the way he held Herrin’s eye as he carefully stood, then looked away dismissively from the trainer, as if saying, Is that the best you can do?

The whippings carried on, and Siray watched the other captives who had run beside her take their punishment, some with scarcely controlled panic, and a rare few, like Melora, with barely restrained anger.

Soon the line of captives reached those who had walked, and by this point, the remaining forty-two captives in the line had had plenty of time to watch the whippings and the pain caused by just one lashing. As such, many of them were now pale, and a couple had thrown up whatever had been in their stomachs.

Herrin merely clenched and unclenched one fist as he called out the next numbers. ‘Twenty-two and twenty-three—you’ll receive eleven and twelve lashes, respectively.’

When the next male captive was too scared to step forwards, Herrin tilted his head, that scarred face impassive. ‘Twelve lashes for you both, then. Shall I keep increasing the number?’

When the shaking of the male’s hands only increased, Siray sucked in a breath, pushing sweaty strands of her long red hair away from her face, realising that the male was simply rooted to the spot in fear. She glanced to Herrin, whose stance was lazy but tensed, like a predator about to spring.

The trainer opened his mouth—

And the male captive stumbled forwards abruptly, taking three steps before blinking, and then a couple more. After gaining some initial momentum, he seemed able to get his body to obey, and he angled off towards one of the guards holding a bloody whip.

Behind him, grim-faced and resolute, stiffly walked another male with pale-red hair—Canvell. Siray recalled the male’s face from the Gonron tunnels just before the Faction had captured them. And Siray realised that Canvell had pushed the first male forwards.

To save him. To save them both from Herrin’s lust for violence.

In silence, both took their places kneeling before the guards.

In silence, the pair of guards flicked their wrists.

Crack! The two whips sounded as one at the first blow.

The red-haired male grunted, then Siray saw his teeth bear down on his lip.

Crack! Two. This time, both males groaned a little.

Crack! Three. Only silence now, as the pain began to make the male’s grow dizzy.

On it went.

Siray’s breathing became more rapid as she watched blood begin to fleck the side of the males’ faces and form dark trails down their bodies as it flowed out and away the wounds in their backs.

By the time they had made it through their allotted twelve lashes, both captives had their hands braced before them on the ground to support themselves—and then only because not doing so and allowing themselves to collapse fully would give the Faction guards just more skin and vulnerable flesh to shred.

And certainly, the pair of torturers seemed to be enjoying their job, their faces a reflection of each other as they let their pleasure at carrying out their bloody task show.

‘Twenty-four and twenty-five!’ roared Herrin.

Still kneeling, the ground around them beginning to turn red as their blood soaked into the sand, the male captives attempted to stand. And failed.

Siray’s mouth open and closed, watching them. She wanted to do something. Wanted to help them. But would Herrin allow it?

She looked to Herrin, whose eyes were narrowing as he noted the males’ lack of movement, and she took a hesitant step forward.

And gasped as two other forms bypassed her to go to the males’ aid.

Zale and Kinna.

The two separated, Zale going to Canvell on the far side while Kinna dropped to her knees on the bloody sand next to the other male and attempted to help him to stand.

That was enough for Siray to start marching forwards, and she refused to look at Herrin as she strode across the sands to assist Kinna, clamping down on her fear of what the trainer might do to them for helping. Together, they managed to half support and half carry the almost-unconscious male captive from where he had been kneeling towards the area where the captives who had only received one lash were waiting.

As they hobbled along, Baindan passed them, heading towards Zale, who was also beginning to lead Canvell back.

Upon reaching the group, it was clear that the male Siray and Kinna were supporting wouldn’t be able to hold himself up, so Siray directed Kinna to lay the male down on his front, where hopefully no sand would get into his wounds.

Then Siray made the mistake of looking down at the male’s back.

It was a fleshy mess, with raw gashes crisscrossing his spine and dark blood covering all.

Siray fought the urge first to faint and then to throw up when she realised that it was another being like her—another Kaslonian—who had done this. This … butchery, which was against everything their people stood for.

The frequent cracking sound of the whips managed to break through her horror at what had been done to these males, and she looked up and across the sand at Herrin,