The Assassin's Blade

The Assassin?s Blade by Lyssa Hart

© copyright July 2003 by Lyssa Hart Cover Art by Eliza Black New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

Faylyn was just congratulating herself on her cleverness in bypassing the famous royal security of the fif'Steorra Lumen when she made a most unpleasant discovery. The Royal ball in progress was a masque. Though she remained outwardly calm, indecision churned through her as she stared out over the milling throng below her from her position on the second floor balcony mezzanine overlooking the massive, glittering ballroom. It occurred to her after several moments that there was no need to abort her mission. The discovery simply required an adjustment to her plans?a contingency she?d been well trained for. The upside to the discovery was that stealth was no longer a particularly high priority. There seemed to be no particular theme to the masquerade and, considering the outlandish costumes the guests were wearing, it seemed unlikely anyone would think much of a ?blue? garbed as a Kilrathi assassin. In truth, it occurred to her that her chances of carrying out her assignment and living to tell about it were dramatically improved, though, like all assassins trained in the death arts by the Kilrathi, Faylyn had long ago accepted that her first mission might well be her last. In this particular case, Faylyn had allowed no doubts about possible failure, no qualms about the likelihood that she?d been sent on a suicide mission. She?d been born for this opportunity, had yearned for it throughout the years of training, waiting impatiently for her coming of age. If she could only kill Talor Sylvanos, Emperor of the fif'Steorra Lumen, the man who had destroyed her world, she would die a happy woman. But therein lay the crux of the problem, and the inescapable downside of her present circumstances.

She had memorized the face of the man she?d come to assassinate and now saw that she was not likely to find him among the hundreds of guests, even if he was present. Thrusting her doubts aside, she stepped from the shadows and moved casually toward the stairs that led down to the ballroom. As she made her way slowly down, she gazed out over the throng of guests, scanning and discarding possibilities. As massive and crowded as the room was, it was well lit and her vantage point on the stairs allowed her to see the entire room, from the entrance just below, to the wall of glass doors along the back that opened onto a wide, open air walk. The room was elegantly appointed, displaying the craftsmanship of artisans from the many worlds that comprised the fif'Steorra Lumen in everything from it?s furnishings; to the gilded moldings; to the eating and drinking vessels the guests used; to the fine silk that covered it?s walls and the carpeting that covered all but the tiled dance floor. There must have been upwards of five hundred guests in the room below, seated along the raised banquet that surrounded the dance floor, or gyrating on the dance floor itself. Nevertheless, the Emperor had been described to her as a ?giant of a man?, well over six feet tall, powerfully built?a formidable warrior. Surely, with or without a costume, he would find it difficult to disguise such an imposing figure? She was halfway down the stairs when she spotted a knot of men who fit that precise description. A frown of puzzlement gathered on her brow as she scanned each in turn. There must have been a dozen of them, and all fit the general description. All wore identical costumes; a mask which covered the upper portion of their faces and their hair; a deep purple cloak; leather leggings and knee boots; a loose flowing, white shirt, opened to the waist, beneath the cloak; and on each chest glittered a medallion indicating rank in the royal guard. It had just clicked in her mind that the group she?d discovered could be none other than the Emperor?s personal guard when she realized that she had caught the interest of one of the men. From halfway across the ballroom, their gazes locked. A ripple of something unidentifiable went through Faylyn. What was this strange, almost breathless anticipation that surged through her? Uneasiness? She was certain it could not be. She had never known self-doubt where her abilities were concerned. Why then would she feel uneasy? She was in no danger, that she could see, of discovery. It seemed a poor time for self-analysis. She dismissed it after only a moment, allowing her lips to curve in a faint smile of invitation before she broke the hold his gaze held upon her with an effort, studying the men around him as she continued down the stairs. She was no closer, however, to singling Talor Sylvanos out when she reached the ground floor. She hesitated, filled with unaccustomed doubt. Finally, she decided it would be best to wait and see if the man who?s interest she?d captured sought her out and play it from there. Turning away from where she?d last seen him, Faylyn made her way to the refreshment table. She was not accustomed to drinking beverages with alcoholic content. One of the primary lessons of her training in the death arts by the Kilrathi was that an assassin never polluted their body, or dulled their senses, with drugs in any form. Their wit was as necessary to their mission as their physical skills. To allow even a little was to risk a moment of hesitancy, or indecision, or a slowing of reflexes that might mean failure and death.

Unfortunately, the Emperor?s staff had made no allowances for the possibility of a Kilrathi assassin among the guests. She?d just requested a glass of water when she felt warmth at her back. A hand?a very large hand?skated across her lower back and settled on one hip, just above the waistband of the skirt that rode low on her hips. Faylyn did not jump, but, despite her training, she could not refrain from stiffening. Slowly, she turned her head. As tall as she was, as accustomed as she was to finding herself looking down at the average man, or at the very least, eye to eye, she found herself gazing at a very broad, very muscular chest. That strange, unidentifiable emotion washed through her again, more intense than before, more disorienting. With an effort, she lifted her gaze, noting a strong, youthful neck, a square jaw and decisive chin, a hard mouth, curled faintly in a smile beneath the mask, before her gaze at last met the one bent upon her. ?I thought my eyes had deceived me ? or, at the very least it was no more than a part of your masquerade. You are a blue.? Faylyn wasn?t certain of how she should respond to the comment. It was a statement, after all?not a question. His surprise was understandable. Her race had been all but obliterated when their world was destroyed. The handful that had survived were scattered across the known universe. She had only once met one of her own kind herself--not surprisingly since she?d spent fifteen of her twenty three years of life inside ?the citadel? of Kilrathi?but she was well aware of their rarity and might have met no others even if she had not been cloistered. His obvious pleasure, however, confused her. ?As you see,? she responded finally. She steeled herself as he reached toward her, relaxing only fractionally when he grasped a lock of her hair and lifted it to study the gleaming blue mass. ?What are you called?? he asked when he released the lock of hair at last and met her gaze once more. Faylyn hesitated, then forced a coy smile. ?I thought the point of a masquerade was to allow you to pretend to be someone else for one night?? He frowned, but finally smiled ruefully. ?This is not the game I wish to play.? She was taken aback by the comment, briefly at a loss for words. ?I?m not at all certain I want to know what game you had in mind,? she said dryly. His rueful smile broadened into a grin that made her heart skip several beats. ?I like to flatter myself that it?s one you would enjoy as much as I.? To her surprise, she felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Although unaccustomed to the art of flirtation and seduction, she was fairly certain she knew his meaning. He frowned as he noted the blush, but his surprise was quickly replaced by a heated look that made her blush more pronounced. ?You?ve not experienced the awakening?? It was more a statement than a question. Disconcerted that it was apparently so obvious, Faylyn turned away. ?You are far too bold for my taste,? she said coldly. ?If you will excuse me?.?

He grasped her arm when she would have departed. Faylyn looked down at his hand pointedly before she gave him a cold, unflinching stare. She dared do no more, however. At another time, in another place, he would have not seen death coming so swiftly would she have retaliated for his audacity, but she was of no mind to allow the oaf to jeopardize her mission. ?I did not give you leave,? he said coolly, his tone and manner an odd combination of surprise, indignation and amusement. ?I did not ask it,? she responded tightly, regretful that she could not even wipe the smirk from his face by depositing him in an ignominious heap on the floor. A deep chuckle escaped him. The heart stopping smile returned, though leavened with a touch of self-mockery that went a long way to appeasing her indignation. He did not release her. ?You wound me, princess!? he protested. ?I?d thought myself proficient in the art of seduction.? Faylyn smiled icily. ?Self-deception can be a wonderful thing. I?m sorry to have to wound you further, but I see no evidence of proficiency in the art, quite the contrary, in fact. Your compliments are heavy handed and obvious, your directness only slightly more charming than insulting. Now, if you?ll release me?.? Surprise loosened his grip. Faylyn took full advantage of it and moved away. It was a shame, really. He was obviously a member of the royal guard, close to the Emperor. A brief association might have been useful, except for the fact that the man was impossible. He fell into step beside her. She slid a cold glance in his direction, but otherwise gave no indication that she was aware of the fact that he was dogging her steps as she made her way around the edge of the crowded dance floor. ?Would you care to dance?? ?No.? ?You find me repulsive?? It was hardly a question?more of a demand, but laced with disbelief. ?I find you annoying. Run along now, there?s a good fellow.? She left him with his jaw at half cock, glancing around as she moved through the crowd for a point of vantage where she might study the other members of the group the oaf hailed from. One of them was most likely the Emperor, though she could not rule out the possibility that he was not present at all. It was a well know fact that the Emperor rarely attended the balls he threw. Though the events were designed to promote goodwill, he seemed to prefer smaller, more intimate gatherings with his close friends. Nevertheless, their intelligence had indicated that he would be present, if only for a short time, at the ball tonight. The dance floor of the ballroom was slightly lower than the area around it. As tempted as she was to go back up the stairs she?d so recently descended, the balcony above lacked convenience, despite it?s superiority as a vantage point. If she spotted her target, she wanted to be able to move into position

quickly, and unobtrusively. Instead of climbing the stairs once more, therefore, she merely climbed the two shallow steps to the seating area on the banquet surrounding the dance floor and glanced out over the heaving throng once more. The men of the royal guard, she saw, had spread out across the room. She bit her lip in vexation. She might have discerned more from a side by side comparison, but she?d lost that chance. As advantageous as it would be to strike while the ball was in full swing, it began to seem certain that she would be forced to bide her time until it ended and catch her quarry in the royal apartments. Even so, there was still a certain advantage to striking this night. The refreshments were flowing freely. No doubt there would be few left standing by the end of the evening. Those who were would be at a definite disadvantage due to intoxication. A large hand slid around her waist, settling on her hip. Faylyn drove her elbow into the mid-section she knew was directly behind her. A gratifying grunt of pain rewarded her efforts. ?You are being most uncooperative.? There was amusement in the voice. The faint smile of satisfaction left her lips. They tightened with annoyance at his apparently imperturbable self-confidence. ?You noticed that?? ?I find myself intrigued.? ?Indeed?? Faylyn said tightly. ?I?ll admit I?m not accustomed to women who play hard to get.? Faylyn?s lips flattened. ?How wonderful for you! But--try impossible.? He chuckled. ?I?m used to getting what I want.? ?It grieves me to be the first to disappoint you.? ?You don?t sound regretful.? ?Because I?m not?? He was silenced for several moments. Faylyn was hopeful that he might take the hint and depart for more likely prey, but her hopes were soon dashed. ?I could have my pick of any woman here tonight?.? Faylyn found she could not ignore so provocative a remark. She turned to fix him with a cold glance, one brow arched questioningly. ?? it?s ? disturbing to find the one who intrigues me most is so elusive.? She smiled. ?Console yourself. Pick three or four.? He frowned, lifted a hand to her cheek. ?I desire only you. Dance with me??

There was sincerity in his gaze, almost a pleading note in his voice, and Faylyn found to her dismay that she was not immune to either, particularly when she sensed that, for all his bragging, it truly was something he was confused by and unaccustomed to. Perhaps, as much as he annoyed her, she should take him up on his offer? It might well be useful to allow him to believe she was succumbing to his charms, to allow him to believe he was seducing her. It would make it easier for her to gain access to the Emperor?s apartments if she were escorted there by one of his men. It went against the grain, though, to allow him to believe she could succumb to his heavy handed attempts at seduction. ?If I agree to a dance, will you cease to annoy me?? A slow, immensely appealing smile curled his lips. ?I sincerely trust that will be the case.? Faylyn lifted both brows questioningly. ?I?m counting on it giving me the chance to recover my elusive charm. One dance could lead to two and?.? ?Eventually to your bed?? A mixture of chagrin and surprise crossed his features. ?Is it so obvious?? ?A club might be more so.? He laughed, but took her hand and urged her toward the dance floor as the musicians struck up a slow melody. Pulling her snugly against his length, he lifted one of her hands and placed it on his shoulder and grasped her other hand, then settled his free hand along her hip. Struck with unaccustomed doubt, Faylyn could not prevent a blush. ?I do not know how to dance.? He looked down at her in surprise, but stepped back a little. ?Watch my feet. It?s really very simple. You are far too graceful not to catch on quickly.? She found to her relief that he had not understated the situation. The steps were quite easy to pick up and within a few minutes she relaxed, gliding easily along with him. As if he sensed her comfort level had risen, he pulled her snugly against him once more. The brush of her breasts against his chest with each movement of the dance sent a wave of heat through her and an uncomfortable tension began to build low in her belly. She looked up at him disapprovingly. He grinned unrepentantly. ?Is that why you refused my request for a dance?? ?If it pleases you to think so,? Faylyn murmured, finding she was growing more uncomfortable by the moment?strangely breathless and warm, though the exercise was quite moderate. He looked disconcerted. ?The truth would please me more.? ?I find you?.? ?Attractive?? he queried hopefully. She smiled in spite of herself, but shook her head.

?Charming?? The word surprised a chuckle. ?Annoyingly persistent,? she corrected him. ?It is one of my greatest virtues,? he responded complacently. She rolled her eyes. ?A pity.? ?How so?? ?That you can only claim being pig-headed as your greatest virtue.? He shrugged. ?An ugly man must be persistent.? She looked up at him in surprise. She could see nothing of his face but his eyes-- a glorious shade of green dark enough to be called emerald, surrounded by thick, dark lashes--and his jaw and chin, but she had the impression that he was a remarkably handsome man. ?You do not strike me as an ? uh ? ugly man.? A faint smile curled his lips. ?That?s because you find me as intriguing as I do you.? Faylyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ?It?s because I find it hard to believe any man could be as cocky as you are and not also handsome.? He gave her a smoldering look, his lips curling faintly. ?Perhaps it?s my prowess that makes me cocky?? To her annoyance, Faylyn found herself blushing again. ?Alas, I shall never know,? she said sarcastically. ?I?d be happy to prove it to you.? ?You?re too kind!? ?Not at all!? ?I?m overwhelmed by your offer, but I fear I must decline.? ?It?s no trouble at all, I assure you.? She gave him a look. He grinned, but said nothing else for several moments. Faylyn had just begun to relax again when he spoke once more. ?I?d promised myself that I would practice subtlety, but I?ll admit I am curious.? Faylyn looked at him suspiciously. ?About the legend.? She was in no doubt of what legend he spoke. She had, in fact, suspected as much from his dogged, amorous pursuit. She had no idea where the legend had begun, that blues were the best of lovers, but she certainly had no intention of bedding him merely because he was curious. In point of fact, since she,

herself, had not even experienced her awakening, she seriously doubted he would be impressed with her abilities in the bedroom. ?As devastating as it must be for you, I?m of no mind to appease your curiosity.? He didn?t look put off in the least. ?You had no intention of dancing with me either.? The remark, thankfully, hailed the end of the song. She smiled up at him. ?Thank you. I enjoyed the dance. Now, if you?ll excuse me?.? ?But, you must practice now you?ve learned the steps!? ?Unfortunately, I expect the next dance will be something more lively ? and I?m of no mind to learn yet another dance.? ?In that case, I?ll insist that the musicians play only the waltz.? To her surprise and not a little consternation, the musicians began yet another waltz. Without a word, her partner pulled her close once more and began to move, sweeping away any chance for further protest. ?It would please me much if you would give me your name,? he said pensively after a few moments. ?I live to please you, of course,? Faylyn said dryly. ?But I can?t imagine why it would be of any importance.? His lips tightened fractionally. ?A token of peace? A crumb to appease my wounded vanity?? Despite the playful delivery of his remarks, Faylyn saw with more than a little surprise that she had, undoubtedly, pierced his thick hide. And having gained her aim, she felt more than a little uncomfortable at her pettiness. In truth, he was a charming rogue?clumsy, having obviously imbibed a little too freely, but charming regardless and sincerely interested in her. ?You are a stranger here. I would like to think you will not vanish forever at the close of the evening. I would like to know you.? Faylyn glanced at him. The flippancy had vanished from his voice, leaving her in no doubt that he was completely serious in pursuing more than a light flirtation. She was more disturbed, however, by his first remark. ?As you do not know me, you can not know that I am a stranger.? ?I would have noticed you.? ?Because I?m a blue? Are there none others here, then?? He shook his head. ?There are others in the city, but none so lovely as you.? Faylyn bit her lip, trying to repress a smile. ?You can not see my face. How do you know I am lovely? Or even passable? I might be a wrinkled old crone.? ?Your ? eyes are beautiful.? ?Why do I have the impression that you were about to say something else??

He looked surprised, but amusement lurked in his eyes. ?I?ve no idea.? She gave him a look of skepticism. His lips twisted in a wry smile. ?You are quite determined not to be easily wooed.? ?Quite.? ?I have my heart set on winning you to my bed this night.? ?Alas, you are doomed to disappointment.? ?A wager then.? She gave him a look. ?I seem witless to you?? ?Nay! Your wit is what I find so challenging ? so stimulating!? ?And I thought it was my ? lovely eyes,? Faylyn said dryly. ?In any case, I?m not likely to succumb when a wager is in the offing! You did not, perchance, mean to offer insult?? ?Implying you might have a price? You misjudge me!? ?Have I?? she demanded frigidly. ?Do you?? he asked, intrigued. Her eyes narrowed. ?I thought not,? he said pensively. ?But it was worth a try.? She gaped at him speechlessly. One moment he was the sincere suitor, the next the clumsy seducer and she wasn?t certain whether she was more annoyed, or more intrigued by the sharp inconsistencies in the man. It was patently obvious that he was accustomed to achieving his goal without the need for a great deal of charm or finesse at any time. It was obvious also that while his speech was not slurred, nor his dexterity greatly hampered, he had imbibed to the point of relaxation where brutal honesty was more likely to trip from his tongue than clever repartee. Unfortunately, his current state was dangerous. He was observant enough to realize she was a stranger and all too likely to recall more than she would like about her come tomorrow when the deed was done. It was time to call a halt to the flirtation. Fortunately, the dance wound to a close only moments later. ?Alas, all good things?. If you?ll excuse me, now. I must find the lady?s retiring room and freshen up.? He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ?I know the way. I?ll show you.? Faylyn frowned, but as anxious as she had become to shake the man, she had no desire to draw unwelcome attention to herself by clobbering him. With as much grace as she could muster, she allowed

him to escort her up the stairs to the lady?s retiring room on the mezzanine she?d so lately left. She paused at the doorway. ?It was a pleasure meeting you. Thank you for the dance,? she said dismissively. ?The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,? he said, bowing gallantly. Faylyn smiled faintly and went into the lady?s room. It was crowded, but she was in no hurry. Taking up a position near one wall, she propped a shoulder against it and watched the parade of women in and out of the door to the necessary room. There was a window in the main part of the lounge, but far too many witnesses for any possibility of using it as an exit. A half a dozen women were seated in the chairs before the mirrored vanity. When Faylyn decided she?d out-waited her persistent admirer, she stood away from the wall and moved toward the door to the necessary room. The rotation of women in front of the vanity, and in and out of the necessary room seemed to indicate little chance that anyone would notice she went into, but did not come out of, the necessary. She joined the parade into the necessary and took up a stance near the single window in the room, waiting patiently for a pause in the traffic. When all of the stalls were occupied and the outer room empty, she pushed the window up, hefted herself onto the sill and from there onto the ledge outside, stepping quickly out of view of anyone who might enter the room or exit one of the stalls. The palace, she saw, crowded the very lip of the mountain it was built upon at this point. Several stories below her the stone of the palace walls gave way to rocky outcroppings, then sheered away to nothingness before touching the valley floor far below. A sharp gust of wind shook her from her contemplation of the breathtaking view, and she turned and made her way quickly along the ledge to the first window. Without surprise, she discovered it unlatched. There was little need for the staff to concern themselves with the windows that looked out over the valley below. The outcropping of rock at the base of the palace made the cliff face virtually unscalable for would be attackers. Bending her knees slightly, Faylyn grasped the window and pulled the lower sash upwards. Without a sound, she slipped inside and dropped to the floor. Heavy velvet drapes created a narrow alcove. She paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness and found the part between the curtains, pulling it back only enough to allow her a glimpse of the room beyond. She found, to her disappointment, that she had gained the hallway just outside the lady?s room. She saw no sign of her persistent admirer, however?no sign of anyone for the moment. She stepped through, glanced down to make certain her clothing was still presentable and strode purposefully down the corridor. Her hand was grasped as she passed one pillar. Her captor gave her a hard yank that snatched her off her feet. She came up against his chest?hard, melded against him from breast to thigh. Her blade was in her hand and resting lightly against his throat even before she caught her breath. ?Lose your way?? he asked pleasantly, apparently not the least disconcerted by the knife in her hand. Faylyn felt the tension leave her. Annoyance took its place. ?As a matter of fact?.?

She had no idea what lie would have poured forth from her lips, but she was not given the chance to utter it in any case. Behind her, she heard the approach of a heavy tread, which broke abruptly into a run. ?Assassin!? someone behind them yelled. ?To arms! Protect your Emperor!? Faylyn?s eyes widened, but it had nothing to do with the stampede of heavy footsteps behind them. She met the gaze of the man holding her, the same who?d followed her faithfully throughout the evening despite her best attempts to dissuade him. The man clutching her wrist in a steely grip was looking at her in a wholly different way, his eyes narrowed and speculative. She was grasped from behind and slammed back against the wall of the corridor. ?Easy!? the man who?d held her ordered?her mark?the Emperor, Talor Sylvanos. Despite his command, she was pinned to the wall by a hard arm across her throat, felt hands pulling at her as the Emperor?s guard disarmed her. Sparks swam before her eyes like annoying insects, but she was only barely aware of the pain that exploded in her head. The arm pressed against her throat made breathing impossible. Within seconds she was struggling to drag air into lungs that labored for naught. ?Who sent you?? the man who had his forearm pressed against her throat growled. She would not have answered if she?d been able to speak, if she had not been struggling to drag air into her burning lungs. She could scarcely hear him for the ringing in her ears in any case. ?Before I?m done you?ll be singing,? the guard growled, his hot, moist breath blasting the skin of her face in a stinging wave. ?Take her to the dungeon!? ?Hold!? Talor Sylvanos commanded. It was the last voice she heard before unconsciousness swam up to greet her with soothing arms. ***

?Your grace! She?s a Kilrathi assassin! She bears the mark!? ?I saw.? ?But ... but, Sire! You are not safe alone with her!? ?She?s been disarmed.? ?Which counts for nothing! She?s a Kilrathi assassin ? trained in the death arts. She will find a way!? ?Bind her then! And leave!? Faylyn opened her eyes as her wrists were seized and a leather cord wrapped none too gently around them. Her arms were jerked upward and the free end of the cord tied securely to the bedpost. Still more than half dazed, she looked up into the face of the man she had come to kill.

If there was ugliness about him, as he?d claimed, it dwelt in his black soul. His countenance was as beautiful as sin; dark, angular, harshly masculine, but perfectly balanced, flawlessly formed and symmetrical. A stubble of dark hair on his lean jaw and chin attested to the massive testosterone that surged through his system, making him one of the more dangerous animals in the universe had he been nothing more than a lowly shepherd. The power of his position--royal sovereign of more than a dozen worlds--made him the most dangerous of the pack. Inwardly, she groaned, berating herself for ten kinds of fool. She should have known he was far too cocky to be no more than a guard, royal or otherwise. The man exuded self-confidence from every pore?as well he might, for few ever denied him of his smallest whim. A tug at her ankles distracted her, and she glanced down in time to see the guard who?d seized her tighten the loop of leather he?d placed around her ankles. As she watched, he looped it several times before tying the loose end to the bedpost of the foot board. Trussed like a bird for baking and bare to the skin, she noted with a good deal of consternation. They were taking no chances, apparently, that she?d had concealed weapons, or might use her clothing as one. She wondered if she?d been subjected to a body cavity search, as well, while she?d been unconscious. She felt around her mouth with her tongue. ?It was removed.? At his comment, Faylyn glanced at the Emperor once more. He was holding a false tooth, the one implanted in every assassin?s mouth in case of torture, so that they could seek a quick release if they found themselves unable to endure. It took an effort to keep her expression impassive. She?d hoped she would be able to use the deadly gas it produced to take him with her. ?Who sent you?? ?I am a Kilrathi assassin.? ?I know.? ?Then you will also know that assassins are not informed of who has ordered a hit.? He studied her face for a long moment before transferring his attention to the guard who had remained. After a moment, he moved to the foot of the bed and engaged the man in a low voiced conversation. The guard left, closing the door firmly behind him. Talor Sylvanos turned to study her, his gaze gliding up her body in a slow sweep that missed nothing, pausing for long moments at the apex of her thighs before moving upward once more to linger over her breasts and finally moving over her facial features. The darkening of his eyes was the only indication that he found her physically pleasing. He kept his expression carefully neutral. ?You?ve no body hair.? The comment surprised Faylyn out of her cocoon of imperturbability. ?What?? He moved toward the head of the bed, trailing a long index finger along her calf to her knee, along her

thigh to her femininity, paused briefly there as his gaze had, and then continued over her belly and the curve of one breast. Faylyn found she was having difficulty maintaining even breaths long before he removed the inquisitive finger. He stood over her, staring down into her eyes for a long moment, then reached down and cupped her femininity, either accidentally, or intentionally, sliding that same, inquisitive index finger between the folds of flesh that protected the sensitive inner tissue of her femininity. ?No body hair.? It took a supreme effort to refrain from gasping as unfamiliar sensations flooded her at his touch. Finding she could not master her body?s reaction, she focused on his comment, realizing, strange as the comment seemed to her, she?d heard him correctly. She could not fathom what significance it might have, if any. However, she could think of none it could have on her mission, which meant she was allowed to respond. ?It is a racial trait.? He nodded, withdrew his hand slowly, and moved away, standing at the window, staring out into the night. ?A pity,? he murmured without looking at her. She digested the comment, drawing the nuances from the word, the emotion behind it, trying to decipher the indecipherable. Finally, she decided that the comment had nothing to do with her physical traits, that he was undoubtedly referring to his earlier pursuit and the fact that the night had culminated far differently than he?d anticipated. Quite possibly the comment also reflected his sentiments regarding her execution. She had no doubts that she was facing just that. Failure inevitably led to death. With an effort, she put the thoughts aside. She would have no chance of escape if she allowed herself to descend into mindless terror, and, if worse came to worse, she intended to die quickly, cleanly and with dignity in tact. She needed her wits about her to accomplish what could well be her final goal. A tap at the door captured her attention. Talor turned from his contemplation, glanced briefly at her, and then faced the door. ?Come!? The guard entered, carrying a large, covered tray. After looking around, he moved to the table that stood near the head of the bed and placed the tray upon it. It rattled, as if it was laden with objects of a metallic nature. Not crockery then. Not food, though the tray was obviously a serving tray. At pains to hide her interest, Faylyn stared pointedly at the ceiling as Talor dismissed the guard. She felt his gaze upon her for several moments before she heard his tread and knew he approached the bed once more. The scrape of metal indicated that he had lifted the lid. A dull thud told her he?d leaned over to set the lid on the carpeted floor. Certain his attention was elsewhere, she glanced quickly at the tray and away again. Her heart beat a dull tattoo of dread against her chest wall as she mentally deciphered the images her eyes had collected. Devices of torture. She recognized most of them. She had been introduced to them by the Kilrathi, had experienced them?it being the Kilrathi assumption that experience was the best teacher and knowing what to expect was

necessary to an assassin. Experience had not bred contempt. She knew the limits of her endurance, thanks to her training, but she could not contemplate torture without fear. She could only control the outward appearance of it. Curiously, however, among the devices of torture were strangely incongruous objects?a wax candle, some sort of clamps, a glass vessel containing a clear liquid, a muff made of Lrynin fur, a tiny wheel rimmed with sharp pins and a ring that was studded with metal beads, but far too large to fit anything other than the finger of a giant. Talor sat on the bed next to her, leaning forward to study her face for minute--changes in her expression, she assumed. ?Who sent you?? She hesitated. ?I would not tell you if I knew.? His eyes narrowed. ?I believe you do know.? She said nothing. ?I?m well aware that assassins are not informed?they can not give away information they do not have?but I believe you have some idea. I?m merely asking who you believe ordered the hit.? ?You want me to guess? Of what use would that be to you?? ?It?s always best, I?ve found, to know thine enemy.? ?In other words, upon my guess, you would order their destruction, knowing full well that it would be nothing more than a guess?? He cocked his head to one side curiously, studying her for several moments before he spoke. ?You seem to have a strange perception of me. Why would you presume that I would do such a thing on no more than a guess, educated or otherwise?? Her lip curled. ?The destruction of my own world?? He looked stunned for several moments. He sat back, his surprise giving way after a few moments to a frown of inner contemplation. ?So?this is a personal vendetta?? he said as he rose and began to pace. ?Trained assassins do not carry out personal vendettas,? she said coolly. His brows rose. ?But that is precisely what this is,? he contradicted. ?I was chosen.? ?How fortunate for you that your mission coincided so nicely with your personal prejudice.? Her lips tightened, but she saw no reason to continue to deny it. ?Yes.? He paced to the window and stood there for several moments. ?I don?t suppose it carries any weight

with you at all that the tale lacks any logic?? Surprised, Faylyn twisted her head to look at him. ?I?m not sure I understand.? He glanced at her before returning his attention to the view beyond the window. ?My power and wealth are derived from the people of the worlds I rule. To destroy is to loose. To destroy a whole world, is to loose immeasurably.? Faylyn frowned up at the ceiling. ?It was as nothing.? ?To you?? ?To you!? ?You know me so well, then?? ?I do not know you at all!? ?Then how can you judge what is of value to me, and what is not?? he asked tightly. ?Obviously, my people were of no consequence to you.? She could feel his gaze upon her, angry, thoughtful. ?I behaved toward you as an enemy?? he said softly. Strangely, the words sent a wave of regret through her. She swallowed against an unfathomable tightness in her throat, but said nothing. He began to pace again. ?So, knowing you had a personal vendetta, because they had planted it there, they still sent you to carry out the mission. Does that not strike you as?uncharacteristic of the Kilrathi?? Faylyn felt a jolt go through her at his words and, for the first time, she questioned her assignment. It was truly uncharacteristic of the Kilrathi. In all the years of training, it had been drummed into her, as it had all the assassins, that complete objectivity was absolutely essential to an assassin?s mission. Emotion in any form would only distract, inhibit, promote unsound judgment. Why, then, had she been sent? They were certainly not unaware of her knowledge, or her sentiments. It had been one of her Kilrathi teachers who had told her, upon her arrival at the citadel, that she was the sole survivor of the ruling family of Kailan and that it was her duty to one day seek retribution for the deaths of her family and the people of Kailan. ?I ? don?t know,? she said finally. Apparently coming to a decision, Talor returned to his position on the bed beside her. ?We will ? explore your memory.? Faylyn swallowed with some difficulty as he fished a fire devise from the pocket of his breeches and leaned forward to light the candle on the tray. She sought her inner peace, tried to blank her mind to the images battering at her memory, but the questions that bred fear slithered through her mind like dark serpents. Would he use those devises of torture she was all too familiar with?

Would he use the devises which had inconceivable uses? Why light the candle? The room was dim?only two lamps within the cavernous space?but surely yielding enough light that a single candle could add little by way of illumination? Did he intend to use the candle itself? Surely he must know the candle could cause little pain. She realized that he was studying her thoughtfully and wondered if she had given any of her anxieties away in her expression. His gaze wandered from her face, down along her throat and lingered on the pinkish blue nipples that peaked her breasts. Without glancing at her face again, he turned to the tray, studied it a long moment, and picked up the small clamps. They were connected by a tiny chain. Faylyn stared pointedly at the ceiling as he returned his attention to her, although, in her peripheral vision, she could see that he was studying the clamps he held. After a moment, she felt his gaze once more. ?Are you certain you wouldn?t prefer to simply tell me what you know?? Faylyn could tell nothing by the tone of his voice. It was carefully neutral. She did not respond. He sighed deeply. ?This is bound to be ? difficult ? for both of us.? For her, probably, she thought cynically, but she couldn?t imagine it would be difficult for him ? not if he chose to do it himself. After a moment, he laid the clamps on her stomach. Turning, he picked up the candle. Holding it about a foot above her chest, he tilted it slightly. Despite her determination not to allow him to see her turmoil, Faylyn tensed, watching as the melted wax dripped from the candle onto her breasts. To her surprise and confusion the wax was barely warm when it touched her skin. She flicked a glance at him before she focused on the ceiling once more, but she could not refrain from flinching as she felt his hand touch her bare skin, felt his fingers gliding over the sensitive flesh of her breasts, massaging the cooling wax into the skin. Her nipples tightened and stood erect. She heard a dull thud as he set the candle on the tray once more. She looked down as he picked up the clamps and leaned toward her, sucking in a breath as he very carefully pinched one erect nipple with the first clamp, and then the other. A jolt traveled through the clamp, into her nipples and down through her belly, puddling with moist warmth in her sex. Faylyn swallowed with some difficulty, trying to decide if it was merely the clamps, or if the tiny jolts of pleasure were caused by an electrical current. When he leaned over her and reached down to adjust a tiny button on the side of one clamp, she was no longer in any doubt. The adjustment caused a slight, but very noticeable, intensification of the current. It throbbed through the clamps in a rhythmic wave, each tiny jolt sending a new wave of sensation through her. Goose bumps rose on her flesh. He studied the raised flesh and was apparently satisfied. He reached for the candle again. Faylyn looked directly at him. ?What are you doing??

?Looking for answers.? It seemed a strange way to go about it and for the first time, Faylyn began to wonder what he had in mind ? exactly. He tipped the candle, blazing a trail between her breasts and down along her belly, following the hot wax with his fingers, rubbing it into her skin. Pleasurable sensation intensified. ?Did you know pleasure is akin to pain?? he murmured without looking up at her, as if he?d read her mind. Faylyn moistened her lips, surprised to find that her lips and mouth had gone dry until she realized she?d begun to suck in little gasps of breath each time the current jolted through her nipples. A strange lethargy had descended upon her. The muscles of her body felt heavy and limp. Her head swam. She found she was having difficulty focusing on anything other than the jolts of pleasure, which seemed to be building, growing momentarily stronger until pleasure seemed to dominate her mind. ?I don?t think I understand.? He didn?t glance at her. ?Sensation. The nerve endings of the body basically only register the sensation. The brain interprets. A feather light touch in an area that?s deeply sensitive creates a tickle, or an itch. A little more pressure, in those same, ultra sensitive areas, the tickle can become pleasure, the itch pain.? He?d reached her lower belly. It took every ounce of training to prevent herself from jerking reflexively as he traced a pattern with hot wax and finger tips along her pelvic bones, the hollow of her belly, the soft flesh that cupped her sex. He set the wax candle down again, turned to study her a long moment, then leaned over her, looking deeply into her half closed eyes. ?An experienced man knows all those sensitive areas on a woman?s body that bring her pleasure. But, of course, we are not all the same.? He touched the tip of one nipple, running his finger in a circular motion that made Faylyn?s belly tighten. ?For many women, the breasts are one of the most sensitive areas to pleasurable sensation. Others might find this only mildly pleasant. What about you, assassin?? Faylyn said nothing. She wasn?t certain she could speak if she?d wanted to. ?No? Shall I turn it up a notch?? Faylyn swallowed with some difficulty, wondering whether she wanted him to or not. Pleasure beckoned her. Like a clever enemy, it enticed her to yield her will and give herself up to the enveloping intoxication. He adjusted the clamps once more. The jolts came harder and more quickly. Faylyn felt a wash of hot wetness flood into her lower body. She clamped her jaws tightly, trying to ignore the sensation, feeling her mind cloud. It occurred to her that this was much like the euphoria drugs induced; an inner focus, disorientation, dizziness ? and still she found it nearly impossible to focus her mind elsewhere and ignore it. He was right. Pleasure was akin to pain. In the same way pain deprived one of will and logic, so too did pleasure?except the pleasure beckoned one to yield completely to it while pain invoked the desire to flee

it. His eyes darkened as he studied her. Even in her current state, she could see that he was not unmoved, that he was struggling against his own desires. After a moment he shifted on the bed, sliding his hand along her body until he reached her femininity. With his fingers, he parted the flesh at the apex of her thighs, exposing the delicate, sensitive, inner flesh. ?This, of course, is the primary pleasure center,? he murmured, rubbing a fingertip over a tiny nub of flesh he?d exposed in a way that made Faylyn gasp. She jerked, trying, reflexively, to draw her knees up, so caught up in sensation that she?d forgotten her ankles had been bound and secured to the foot of the bed. She tried to squeeze her legs more tightly together to protect herself, but she could not, nor cross her legs to ward off his intrusive touch. He leaned toward her. ?I could tease you for hours upon hours and give you no surcease, and the unceasing pleasure would become a torture you can not imagine. Tell me and I will give you release.? ?I do not want you to give me ? anything,? she said through gritted teeth. ?Your body tells me you lie.? He slipped his finger further, pressing into the opening of her sex. ?You are wet ? for me. Your body craves my touch. Tell me and I will show you pleasure you have never known.? Faylyn twisted her head away. ?I can not.? ?Can not? Or will not?? Faylyn ignored him. A faint smile curled his lips. ?I would have been deeply regretful if you had succumbed so quickly,? he whispered. He turned away and studied the tray once more. Finally, to Faylyn?s mixed relief and disappointment, he removed the clamps and set them on the tray once more. Picking up a bottle of clear liquid, he poured some in the palm of one hand, rubbed his hands together and then turned to her. Reaching up, he began to smooth the liquid over her arms, massaging them, paying particular attention to the pulse point of her wrists, and the tender bend at her elbows. It was some sort of oil, Faylyn realized, and almost immediately discovered that the oils became warm on her skin, heating the flesh, making it more sensitive to his touch. After a moment, he reached for the bottle once more, poured more into his palm and moved lower, massaging the oils over her throat and neck, then moving lower still and massaging her breasts. Her nipples tightened almost painfully at his touch, so sensitized by now she could not prevent herself from trying to jerk away from his touch. His eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, he placed his mouth over one nipple, nudged it with his tongue. Faylyn gasped, then groaned aloud as his mouth closed over the nipple and sucked. She wanted him to stop, desperately wanted him never to stop. She was writhing in the agony of esctasy, moaning as if in pain long before he finally lifted his tortuous mouth from her flesh. He stared at her a long moment, his face a mask of careful control. His hand shook slightly as he lifted it and traced the curve of her lips. He leaned forward until his own mouth was little more than a hair?s breadth from hers, but stilled. After a long moment, he leaned away, drew a shaky breath. He looked away. She thought for several moments that he would rise and leave her. Instead, the mask

of control descended once more and he reached again for the oils and continued the massage he?d begun, moving slowly down her body, rubbing the oil into her torso and belly until he reached her thighs. He stared thoughtfully at her bound legs for several moments. ?This presents a difficulty,? he murmured. Faylyn was far too deeply immersed in the euphoria of ecstasy for the comment to make any sense to her. Even when he rose and moved to the foot of the bed to loosen the cord she could think of nothing but deprivation of his touch ? and still she was disappointed when he did no more than loosen the tight binding enough so that she could pull her legs up in a half curled position. Her ankles were still bound, but she could not seem to fathom why that disturbed her. Apparently satisfied, he knelt on the bed, pushed her thighs apart and massaged them, slowly, beginning at her knees and working his way upwards. As his hands began to kneed the flesh of her upper thighs, Faylyn groaned with a mixture of pleasure and desperate need. He fell still, his face a mask of barely leashed desire as he studied her. He could not seem to tear his gaze from her femininity. After a moment, he stripped his shirt away jerkily, tossed it aside and reached for the opening of his breeches even as he came down on top of her, wedging his hips between her parted thighs, fumbling ? for something. If she had been more lucid, Faylyn might have wondered why she found his weight upon her so welcome. She was far from rational, however. She knew, somehow, that he would end the torture, bring her surcease and she wanted it, desperately. ?I lose,? he murmured raggedly, impaling her with something hard and throbbing. Faylyn gasped as she felt the intrusion, her eyes opening wide in surprise as discomfort warred with pleasure. Braced on his arms, Talor looked down at her, his expression a mixture of emotions; triumph, desire?chagrin. He had, she realized, thrust his male member inside of her. The realization brought a flood of moisture that soothed her discomfort. He closed his eyes, held himself stiffly for a moment and then, as if he could control himself no longer, thrust deeply inside her. Faylyn cried out with a mingling of pain, surprise and deep pleasure. She surged against her bindings as he began to thrust and retreat from her passage rhythmically, trying, instinctively to match his thrusts. His mouth descended over hers, his tongue plunging inside to explore the sensitive inner flesh of her mouth even as his cock surged inside her feminine cavity to lay claim. A sort of mindless madness descended upon her as her body responded to his complete possession. The pleasurable tension of before quickly ascended to a point where it could no longer be contained. It exploded into sharp shards of pleasure that seemed to move through her like a crashing wave, sending tingles of estacy all through her body. She wrenched her mouth from his as it crashed over her, unable to contain the scream that rushed forth. She felt him shudder, felt his cock pulse against the muscles of her sex as he, too, found release. He went limp. Dazedly, Faylyn was aware of it, but far too weak with release herself to consider the possibilities. In truth, there was none. She was in no condition to take advantage of his state, too langorous and euphoric herself to give it more than a passing thought.

Many moments passed. Finally, he rolled off of her and settled on his side beside her, propping his head in one hand. ?I would give all that I have had it been different between us,? he murmured finally. Startled, Faylyn glanced at him questioningly. ?Why would you say such a thing?? she said curiously. ?Because it is true. Because I knew almost from the very moment that I saw you that I could love you ? and even Emperors desire to love and be loved.? Faylyn looked away. ?I am an assassin ? sent to slay you. You could feel nothing but hate. I do not blame you for wishing to destroy me.? He touched her cheek, forcing her to look at him. ?I would feel no hate for a sword or pistol ? for no weapon used against me. Neither would I seek to destroy so finely crafted an instrument of death. It is the person who wields the weapon who is my enemy.? Faylyn swallowed with some difficulty and twisted away. ?Do not speak it! It matters not now! I ? would prefer your hate.? ?Would you? And yet I have given you pleasure as you gave to me. Could you feel nothing more than hatred and take such pleasure?? ?I do not hate you.? He rose from the bed and began to dress himself. ?You indicated otherwise,? he said coolly. Faylyn felt a welling of distress at the loss of the considerate lover, replaced now by the, justifiably, cool monarch. ?Yes. I welcomed the opportunity to avenge the death of my family ? of my people.? ?And you are certain, still, that it is I who deserve your wrath?? Faylyn frowned, but before she could respond a commotion in the corridor outside drew their attention. Without a word, Talor moved to the door and opened it. Faylyn could see nothing more than a glimpse of the guard who had entered the room earlier, nor could she make out more than a word or two here and there ? not enough to understand what the source of the commotion had been. After a moment, Talor closed the door once more and moved back to the bed. He eyed her speculatively for several moments. ?As I had hoped?someone has come to determine your success, or in this case, your failure in your mission. It occurs to me that we are presented with a unique opportunity here.? Faylyn eyed him doubtfully, but said nothing. ?Are you interested in knowing the truth?? ?I should take your word above the word of the people who reared me from a child? What reason would they have to lie?? He shrugged. ?A more willing assassin? Come, what have you to loose except preconceived notions?

My guard has captured a man of your race, no doubt sent by whoever ordered the hit. A little subterfuge could gain you the truth.? She was puzzled and it showed. After a moment, he reached down and tugged the sheet from beneath her. To Faylyn?s embarrassment, she saw the sheets were splotched with the evidence of Talor?s claiming of her awakening. The blood was blue, and could only be her own. He tossed the sheet over her, covering her carefully from head to toe. ?Lie still. Say nothing. You have been slain.? She heard his tread and knew he approached the door once more even before she heard it open. ?Bring the conspirator inside.? ?Mercy, sire! I swear to you I was only upon an errand and meant no harm! I am no conspirator?.? The man?s voice sounded familiar to Faylyn, though she found she couldn?t place it. He broke off his babbling objections abruptly as he reached the bed and cried out. ?By the gods! You have slain?.? ?The assassin sent to slay me,? Talor said coldly. ?Nay! Our countess Faylyn! I swear she was sent to you as ambassador, not assassin!? ?An ambassador sent to creep into my bedchamber with a knife to slit my throat? Come. Do you take me for a fool!? The man had begun to weep, babbling on and on about the death of ?the countess.? He couldn?t seem to think of anything else. ?She is dead! By the gods, he will cut the entrails from my body and burn them before my eyes! She can not have failed?. You have mistaken her intentions.? ?He? Of whom do you speak?? ?What?? ?You said, ?he?. To whom do you refer? The man who ordered my murder?? Faylyn was only regretful that she couldn?t see the man?s face. Beneath the sheets, she could hear his voice quite well, could even discern the inflections, but it was possible he was merely a convincing actor. ?The Duke of Kailan, her father!? the man spat furiously. ?You have slain his only surviving daughter! You shall feel his wrath now!? ?As I felt his wrath before?? Talor said coldly. ?When he destroyed Kailan and the majority of its populace?? ?It is you who are to blame! There was no other way! If we had not been forced to develop a weapon of mass destruction to destroy your stranglehold on the worlds of the fif'Steorra Lumen, it would never have happened!? ?It is my fault that your duke?s clumsy attempts to gain control resulted in the destruction of his own people?? ?Yes! You and your father before you!?

There was silence for some moments. Abruptly, the sheet was snatched from the bed. Faylyn blinked. Slowly, the stranger came into focus. He was staring at her, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, his mouth agape, but she could not fail to recognize the teacher she had once felt was almost a father to her. ?Sinde!? she gasped, shock and dawning fury flooding through her. ?Is this true? You ? and my father used me to exact revenge for a disaster of your own making!? ?Countess! Thank the gods! I thought you were dead!? ?Obviously,? Faylyn replied tightly. ?Otherwise you would not have enlightened me. When was I to be told? After I had slain the Emperor?? ?You do not understand!? Faylyn felt sick. ?Unfortunately, I do. You taught me to hate the wrong man.? ?You can not mean that, countess!? He pointed a finger at Talor Sylvanos. ?Can you not see how evil this man is? Our only intention was to bring peace to our people, to seek retribution for our losses!? ?You ? my father ? destroyed our home world, nearly wiped out our race! It is he who is evil! A sick, demented man and I am shamed beyond bearing that his blood flows through my veins!? Talor studied her a long moment and finally stepped forward. Taking a knife from the tray beside the bed, he sliced through her bonds. She looked at him with a mixture of regret, shame and acceptance. ?I?ve no right to ask anything of you, but I beg of you before you slay me, give me your word that you will hunt my father down and take your revenge upon him.? Talor smiled faintly. ?I believe I have a far more ? pleasant solution for our dilemma, Countess.? Faylyn sat up slowly. ?I don?t think I understand.? He turned to Sinde, his eyes narrowing. ?You will bear a message to your master. Tell him I have agreed to take his daughter to wife to bring peace to our people. But, if I discover he has conspired against me again, death will become a welcome friend.? He looked at his guard. ?Take him to his master. If you see him again, slay him on the spot.? When they had gone, Faylyn looked at Talor curiously. ?What do you mean to do with me?? His brows rose. ?I thought I made my intentions clear.? ?You can not be serious!? He sat down on the bed beside her. Taking her hand, he toyed idlely with her fingers. ?I have dared legend and found truth,? he said pensively. Faylyn looked at him blankly. ?Legend holds that any man who seeks to awaken a woman of Kailan will find himself enslaved heart, soul and mind, even as he takes from her her mark of womanhood.? Faylyn felt her jaw go slack. ?But ? but it is only legend! Born no doubt to protect the maids of Kailan.

There is no truth to it! How could you ? how could you?.? ?Love you?? Faylyn swallowed. ?Love me. My father?.? ?Has nothing to do with you and me.? ?But ? you were only flirting. You did not ? you can not mean it.? He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each finger lightly. ?Can you not tell what I feel for you? Can you feel nothing in return?? ?Love you?? ?Love me.? Faylyn bit her lip. An unaccustomed moisture gathered in her eyes. ?I think,? she said, ?I could love you without any difficulty at all.?

The End