Asrael I

For the umpteenth time, Asrael tuned out the Duma of Ongan's boisterous attempts at conversation with the Circle. The daily feasts were a tiring affair, but they had to play nice for the sake of the Empire - the Duma was a powerful man who could pave a smoother way for the Emperor's southern ambitions, and although his aid was not desperately needed it did not hurt to have one's fingers in many honeypots at once.

His brothers in arms had, for nearly a sennight they had been in Diyehu, politely kept up appearances for the overweight profligate but Asrael had reached a breaking point. He cared not what the man had to say or how many Zubisi pearls he owned. Surely, the Duma would forgive his inattentiveness this night - the continuing storms that held at bay their timely departure had ceaselessly occupied his mind as of late.

His qhin* suddenly sensed a familiar pair of eyes glaring daggers at the back of his head. It was strangely comforting, and likewise he turned his head and raised a toast to the repeat offender seated behind her silk folding screen. He could not clearly see her face but her red, judging eyes were otherwise etched into his mind.

Murderer, they said.

Rapist, they whispered.

Child-killer, they accused.

Did she think he cared what she thought?

He'd never known that one could express so many emotions, so many words with just eyes. The conceited little princess had said nary a word to him - or his brothers - since she was carried of to lands unknown by their entourage. She could however, be found comforting her fellow captives, especially the younger ones, and sometimes deep into the night if you listened closely enough you could hear them praying to the Enkit* for strength and protection.

How foolish.

Three moons had passed and their Circle had razed and beaten to the ground whatever opposition was found in these lands - she had seen these things with her own eyes, and still expected her prayers to prevail, for the Death Mother to swoop in astride her thunderbird and take the 'barbarians' under the dark wings from where none returned? Had it been any other person, he would've had them thrashed for such stupidity.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Safe and sound, Yisril had said. Curse him. The Paleblood positively dripped with misplaced pride and unfound superiority, and if not for the fact that he enjoyed that she completely loathed him...

Ah, well. It was of no use now. He couldn't wait to be free of her, of everything.

One more step. One more step and he could see them again.

And if had to put up with an arrogant little Tayta* to finally go home, his comfort was a sacrifice he could give up.

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He didn't see the dagger until it was lodged in Eshkil's chest, until his brother's blood was splattered all over the floor. He might've screamed. He didn't know. What he did know was that he'd sent the transgressor flying with a furious ezid and then stabbed him repeatedly in the gut. He could faintly hear Jorya yell at him to stop, that they needed the assassin for confession..

He had not cared. It was a foolish thing to do, but he hadn't cared at that moment, he'd only wanted to hurt something.

When it was all said and done and the chaos had abated in the feasting hall, when Eshkil's eyes had been closed and his body taken away, he turned to the spot where the Paleblood had been. He did not know where she was now - obviously safe somewhere in the palace, under lock and key as the Duma informed him - and the mere thought of seeing her face again made him sick to his stomach.

She was the cause of all this.

The assassin had been after her. He'd risked coming face to face with and taken out the second best battlemage in their infamous Circle, just to get to her.

What did a mere fifteen year old who had never stepped a foot out of a temple have that it was deemed necessary for a killer, a Mandi one even, to be sent for her? Who did she offend? Whose hate had she earned?

Abruptly, the pieces slowly started to fall into place. He had thought his final cycle would end in fierce Jabba, but the Circle had been sent to an already winning war against a once powerful but presently no name nation, all for a paltry tribute and one girl.

Safe and sound, Yisril had said.

Suddenly, his discomfort with being in close proximity with the little Paleblood princess wasn't a 'sacrifice' he had to give up for the greater good.

It was necessary.

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Qhin: the power of the elemental forces of nature embodied in an object or person, can also act as a compass or 'sixth sense' around other beings with qhin.

Enkit: Tayta supergods. There are 4 of them; the Moon Maiden, the Flame Father, the Wind Warden and the Death Mother.

Ezid: a spell.

Tayta: the people of Taytamba.