Shadows of the Whip

The noon sun blazed overhead, turning the training grounds into a furnace of dust and heat. Lysander stood among the herd, her legs trembling from the boar's cut, her back a lattice of pain from old lashes. The red cloak clung to her sweat-soaked skin, its edges frayed from last night's hunt. She gripped her arms, nails digging in, trying to steady the quake in her hands. Gaius's words still rang in her ears—I'll find out soon enough—a promise that shadowed every breath she took.

Felix paced before them, his voice a gravelly roar. "You've drawn blood. Good. But a Spartan doesn't just fight—he endures. Today, you prove your mettle." He gestured to a wooden post driven into the dirt, its surface scarred and stained dark. A whip dangled from his hand, its leather coils glinting like a serpent. "Ten lashes each. No cries. No falls. Break, and you're out."

The herd stiffened, a ripple of fear cutting through their bravado. Lysander's stomach lurched. She'd taken whips before—five, ten, more—but never like this, never as a test with every eye on her. I can't scream, she thought, panic clawing her throat. A girl's voice, high and raw, would betray her in an instant. She glanced at Damon beside her, his jaw set, his bruise-darkened cheek a testament to last night's fight. He met her eyes, a silent You've got this, but it didn't ease the dread pooling in her gut.

Gaius stepped forward, snatching the whip from Felix with a grin that bared his teeth. "I'll start," he said, his gaze locking on Lysander. "You. First."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. He's doing this on purpose. She stepped forward, forcing her spine straight, her face a mask of stone. The herd parted, their stares a mix of pity and cold curiosity. Damon moved to follow, but she shot him a look—Stay back—and he froze, fists clenched.

"Strip the cloak," Gaius ordered, cracking the whip against the ground. Dust puffed up, stinging her eyes.

She hesitated, fingers fumbling at the knot. The bindings beneath held her secret, but baring her back meant risking scrutiny—scars too fine, skin too soft. No choice. She let the cloak fall, the air cool against her sweat-slicked skin, and turned to the post, gripping it with both hands. The wood was rough, splinters biting her palms, grounding her.

The first lash landed like fire, a white-hot stripe across her shoulders. She bit her lip, tasting blood, and swallowed the cry clawing up her throat. One. The second came faster, overlapping the boar hunt's welts, and her knees buckled. She locked them, clinging to the post, her vision blurring. Two. Gaius's rhythm was merciless, each crack a thunderclap, each strike tearing at her resolve. By the fifth, her breath hissed through her teeth, low and ragged—too low, she prayed, to sound like a girl's.

"Weak," Gaius taunted, his voice close, dripping with glee. "You'll break, runt. I know it."

Six. The whip curled around her side, grazing her ribs, and she choked on a gasp, her head dropping against the post. He wants me to scream. Her mind raced, Darius's death flashing—his silence, her guilt. She wouldn't give Gaius that victory. Seven. Blood trickled down her back, warm and sticky, and the herd's murmurs grew—some jeering, some silent. Eight. Her legs shook, threatening to give, but she dug her nails deeper, anchoring herself. Nine.

The tenth lash was the worst, a diagonal slash that split open an old scar. Pain exploded, white and blinding, and her knees hit the dirt. She caught herself, hands still on the post, and forced herself up, trembling but standing. No cry escaped. She turned, meeting Gaius's glare with her own, blood dripping onto the ground.

"Not bad," Felix grunted, stepping in. "Next."

Gaius lingered, whip dangling, his eyes narrowing as if he'd seen something—a flinch, a shadow of her truth. She snatched her cloak, pulling it on with shaking hands, and stumbled back to the line. Damon was there, his arm brushing hers, steadying her without a word. "You're insane," he whispered, awe in his voice. "Stronger than half this lot."

She managed a weak nod, the pain a pulsing tide, but Gaius's stare burned hotter than the lashes. He's not done with me.

One by one, the boys took their turns. Thales gritted his teeth, silent but pale. Pyrrhus snarled through each strike, earning a nod from Felix. Kratos faltered at seven, a yelp slipping free, and Gaius laughed, adding an extra lash for weakness. When Damon stepped up, Lysander's chest tightened. He shed his cloak, revealing lean muscle and scars, and faced the post without a flinch.

Gaius swung hard, each crack echoing, but Damon didn't waver. His back bled by the third, rivulets running down his spine, yet he stood tall, silent as stone. At ten, he turned, blood-streaked but unbroken, and met Gaius's scowl with a defiant stare. The trainer snorted, tossing the whip aside, and Damon rejoined her, breathing hard.

"You didn't have to watch," he muttered, wiping blood from his lip where he'd bitten it.

"Couldn't look away," she said, voice hoarse. His strength was a mirror—hers faltered where his held. He's too good for this place.

Felix clapped, ending the ordeal. "Passable. Rest till dusk—then we march." The herd dispersed, limping to the stream or barracks, but Lysander lingered, her body screaming for reprieve. Damon tugged her toward the water. "Come on. We need to clean up."

She followed, each step a jolt of pain, and sank onto a mossy bank. He knelt beside her, dipping his cloak in the stream to dab at her back. "Lift it," he said, gentle but firm. "You're a mess."

"No," she snapped, pulling away. The bindings were soaked with sweat and blood—any touch risked exposure. "I'll manage."

He frowned, water dripping from the cloth. "Stop being stubborn. You'll fester if—"

"I said no!" Her voice cracked, too sharp, and she cursed herself. His eyes widened, hurt flashing, and guilt stabbed her. "Just… leave it, Damon. Please."

He sat back, jaw tight. "You're shutting me out again. Why?"

Because I have to. The truth pressed against her lips, begging release, but she swallowed it. "It's not you," she lied, staring at the rippling water. "I'm just… tired."

He didn't buy it—she saw it in the set of his mouth—but before he could push, a shadow loomed. Gaius stood over them, whip coiled in his hand, his grin a slash of menace. "Resting already? Soft, both of you."

Damon stood, squaring up. "She—he—took ten lashes and stood. What more do you want?"

"More?" Gaius stepped closer, towering over Lysander. "I want proof. Something's off about you, runt. Always has been." He grabbed her arm, yanking her up, and she bit back a cry as pain flared. "Small hands. Weak grip. You flinch like a girl."

Her blood froze. He knows. She jerked free, heart hammering, and forced her voice low. "I killed that boar. I took your whip. Call me weak again."

Gaius laughed, a harsh bark. "Bold words. Let's see if you back them up." He turned to Damon. "You fight for him too much, pretty boy. Makes me think he's hiding behind you."

"Try me," Damon growled, stepping forward, but Gaius waved him off.

"Not today. Soon." He pointed at Lysander. "You'll slip, and I'll be there when you do." He stalked off, whip slapping his thigh, leaving silence thick with threat.

Damon turned to her, eyes blazing. "He's hunting you, Lys. What's he after?"

"Nothing," she lied, too fast, her voice trembling. "He's just a bastard."

"He's not wrong, though." Damon's tone softened, probing. "You're hiding something. I feel it."

Her chest seized, panic and longing warring inside. Tell him. The urge surged, reckless and raw—I'm not a boy, I'm a girl, I'm terrified—but fear clamped it down. "You're imagining things," she said, turning away. "Drop it."

He grabbed her shoulder, gentle but firm. "I won't. You're my—"

A horn blared, cutting him off—Felix's signal for the march. The herd stirred, gathering in the distance, and Damon cursed under his breath. "Later," he said, a promise and a plea. "We're not done."

She nodded, numb, as they joined the line. The march began, a grueling trek through the valley, their bare feet pounding the earth. Her leg bled through Damon's bandage, her back wept with every step, but Gaius's threat loomed larger than the pain. He'll find out. The certainty sank into her bones, cold and unyielding.

Hours later, as dusk painted the sky crimson, they halted at a ridge overlooking a ravine. Felix barked orders—set camp, gather wood—but a rustle in the brush stopped him cold. A figure emerged, cloaked in black, his face hidden. "Felix," the stranger rasped, voice low. "We need one of yours. Now."

Felix frowned, scanning the herd, then pointed at Lysander. "You. Go with him."

Her stomach dropped. "Why me?" she demanded, voice cracking despite her effort.

The stranger stepped closer, eyes glinting beneath his hood. "Orders. Move."

Damon grabbed her arm, fierce. "She's not going alone—"

"She is," Felix snapped. "Obey, or you're both out."

Lysander met Damon's gaze, his fear mirroring hers, and pulled free. "I'll be fine," she lied, her voice a whisper. The stranger beckoned, and she followed, heart pounding, into the ravine's shadows. Gaius's grin flashed in her mind—I'll be there when you slip—and as the dark swallowed her, she wondered if this was the moment her lie would finally break.