Preface:  Welcome to my serial.  The intention of this is to provide a new scene  once a fortnight for free for you to enjoy.  Come travel with me to a world where hate, desire, action and betrayal collide.  This is a fantasy romance, so enjoy.

Disclaimer:  My writing is dark, hot and aimed for those over 18.  If you are under 18 please don’t read on.

2. Revelation

Miksala gasped, the blade fell from his hand and clattered against the floor.  This couldn’t be her.  His frantic gaze ran over her body, a dark pool of blood spreading out from beneath her prone form.  Heart thundering in his ears, he pressed a hand over the wound, the warmth soaking through his fingers.  Everything within him darkened and hollowed out as a sense of impending doom gripped his soul.  Desperation licked at the back of his mind and burned through his body as he adjusted her, bringing her into his body.  Her head lolled against his forearm and he bit back the roar of misery that threatened to break free.

Behind him, the woman he’d entertained gasped.  “By the gods, she tried to kill you!”

Miksala threw a furious stare over his shoulder at the woman who stood several feet away, the sheet her only claim to decency.  “Get the healer.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.  “But she is dead.”

“Not yet.”

“But why would you—“

“Do not question my will.  By all that is holy, if you do not get the healer post-haste I shall not be held accountable for my actions.”

The woman hurried to the bed and quickly dressed, her uncertain gaze flicked to him and the door.  She then skirted around the bed and hurried from the chamber, the door slamming with a resounding boom.

Miksala released a slow, ragged breath, his gaze falling on the woman’s face.  Delicate and pale, he was certain she was the lady he once knew.  No longer girl with a vivaciousness for life and laughter, she was a woman full grown.  Her hair, he remembered was the color of deep red wine, was now held back in a bun. 

With each passing second, Miksala struggled to keep the panic at bay.  Where was the healer?  Now that he had her in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her go.  He wanted answers, by the gods, and she wasn’t going to pass into the otherworld without giving them to him.

The door creaked open, and he glanced up to see an elderly man glide in.  Wearing a black robe embroidered with gold thread, it proclaimed the man as an experienced healer.  His ageless eyes fell on the woman in Miksala’s arms.

“What have we here?”

“You must save her,” Miksala demanded

He inclined his head.  “I will do what I can, my lord.”

The healer approached and knelt beside them, his dark eyes following the lines of her body.  He then raised thin fingers and pressed his palm to Talia’s head, his other hand hovered over the wound.  Miksala’s arms tightened around her, watching the healer do his work.  Several minutes passed, his body taut with emotions.  Still, Talia remained motionless in his embrace.  Anger burned through his veins, his heart thumping against his ribcage.

Finally, the healer drew back and sighed.

“What is it, healer?”

“Her soul has accepted the inevitable and is ready to pass.”

Darkness soared through him and roared in his ears.  With a growl, he grabbed onto the healer’s robe, the velvet fabric wrapped around his fist as he jerked him forward.  “You are a healer,” he grit out.  “Do your job or by the gods I shall find a way to make you pay.”

The healer’s dark eyes widened.  “But—but I heard she tried to kill you, my lord.  Why would you want to see her survive?”

“My reasons are my own.  I shall see she is given what she deserves, but on my terms.”

The Adam’s apple bobbed as the healer nodded.  “Yes, my lord.  But perhaps I could do my job better, by the fire?”

Miksala released the older man, and stood with Talia in his arms.  She weighed barely anything, her lithe frame soft and unresponsive.  Carefully, Miksala laid her upon his bed, the silk whispering as she settled over it.  The healer inserted his body before her, and Miksala stepped back to watch from a distance. 

Embers cracked in the silence, and he struggled to stay the old emotions that washed over him.  Last he saw her, she had turned away from him, despite their proclamations of love for each other.  She had left him adrift in confusion and misery.  He was expelled from the village as a disgrace.  Anger tightened his chest and thinned his lips.  He’d promised himself many years ago that he would find a way to make her pay, even though he still harbored love for her.  She couldn’t see it in herself to love him enough to leave the temple of Sheza.  As the Goddess of Power, many worshipped her and paid many a nun for fortune.  Talia was one such nun.

But now, here she was, ready to end his life.  Fury soared through him, the misery that held him in sway burned out under the power of the hot emotion.  Why now?  After nigh ten years would she seek to make him pay?  And to pay for what?  As far as he was concerned, he’d paid enough.  She was the reason he’d risen to such heights.  To get enough power to destroy her.  And now, here she was, within his grasp.

The air brushed against his body, and for the first time he noticed he was naked.  He glanced down at his body and the blood that coated his arms and torso.  Talia’s blood.  A shiver rocked his body.  Swallowing hard, he approached the bed, noting that the healer had removed her tunic.  Immediately, he cut his gaze from her, the wound burning its image in his mind.  Guilt mixed with anger whirled in his stomach as he snatched up his robe at the edge of the bed. 

Silently, he strode across the room and descended the steps into the bath.  The water, heated by pipes hidden behind the tiles, lapped against his body.  The blood’s metallic aroma dissipated, swallowed by the cleansing scent of water.  He moved to grab the soap and noticed his fingers trembled.  He clenched his hand into a fist and dropped it into the water.

Fury and desire for Talia burned through Miksala.  Ten years ago he had loved this woman.  Loved her fiercely.  But she had betrayed him, no, betrayed them and the love they shared.  For years after, he was plagued by her image and was filled with a longing that was forbidden for a youngling priest to feel.  She had permeated every part of his being and he was ready to turn his back on the Order.  All for her.  But instead, she left him and took with her, his soul.  He had hated her for the life and dreams she stole from him.  And now, here she was, trying to steal his life from him for the second time and in a more terminal way. 

Finishing his bath, he dried off and pulled on his robe.  At the other end of the room, the healer was still bent over Talia, working to save her life.  A glint of something metallic caught his eye and he frowned.  He’d recalled she carried a blade, but he’d forgotten about it until now.  Retrieving it, he held it up to the firelight.  The weapon was perfectly weighted and an excellent tool of death.  Its flawless silver blade was engraved with delicate scrolls and wording.  Icy trepidation marched along his spine.  It was not there for decorative means, but a curse.  A curse to make any wound sustained to fester, unable to close.  Unable to heal unless the word that only the bearer knew was uttered.  He shuddered to think of the fact that he was at the tip of this blade at one time.

“It is done.”

Miksala glanced up at the healer, his frame hunched in exhaustion. “Very well.  Send for someone to clean this mess and you may take your leave.”

With a nod, the old man shuffled out of the room.

Left alone with Talia and his thoughts, Miksala eased himself into a chair by the bed and stared contemplatively at the blade.  This was one weapon no person could obtain.  Even the black market couldn’t easily produce such a blade.  He’d only seen such a thing in his readings.

 It was an Assassin’s tool.

A sigh of disbelief left him as he cut his regard to Talia.  She lay in his bed looking  innocent in the face of such clarity.  It couldn’t be.  And yet, in his hand, the evidence lay bare the darkness in her soul.

Hurt pulsed in his chest and he rubbed an absent hand over it.  He should have let her die, should have let her life bleed from her as he bled for her.  But he didn’t.  Now, in the face of leveled thinking, he couldn’t undo it.  It was too late.  For both of them.

To be continued…