Unveiling the Sorceress

Could she trust him? He was no friend of Sibias, true. Then she remembered the man she had seen by his side, twice now. “There was another man, and he appeared in the tent earlier, when you followed me, he was close by observing when Xerxes quizzed you. Who is he?"

His head lifted, his forehead furrowing. “What did he look like?"

"An elderly man, with a raggedy beard. He appeared and disappeared quite suddenly, but I had seen him near you before, in the marketplace in Suzin."

"Santor.” He broke into a strange, bemused smile. “You can see him,” he stated, and gave a soft ironic chuckle. “Forgive me, Elishiba. He is a spirit guide and the fact you can see him surprises me."

Warily, she watched his expression changing, her arms folding protectively over her chest. His amusement over this did not reach her. “A spirit guide?"

He reached out and stroked her arm. “A mentor, if you like. It is good that you can see him. If anything happens to me he will be there to guide you."

His eyes grew shuttered, and something leapt inside her. If anything happens to me? In that moment, she realized how deeply she had become attached to this man. This stranger—a stranger who might easily have evil motives behind his seductive ways.

The chaos surrounding her was closing in, ever quicker. She pulled away from him. He was watchful and quiet in response. She put her hand to her forehead, pushing back her hair.

"Empress?” It was one of the guards, his expression heavy with concern.

She nodded at him, before returning her attention to Amshazar. She felt dizzy, suddenly exhausted and cold. “How can I be sure it was not him, and that he acted for you?"

Frustration flitted over his face. “Elishiba, I am here for you, and so is Santor. I cannot say more. You are wounded by what has happened, but you can be sure of me."

Oh, how hard it was to deny him, to deny herself. She longed to slide into his arms in that moment, to take the comfort he offered. But her vow to protect her people meant a heavy burden had been placed upon her, and with Amra's death, guilt and fear had been added to the mix. She felt overwhelmed. She needed the solace of familiarity.

"Amshazar. I am sorry, I cannot promise you anything now.” Her voice caught in her throat, emotion threatening to unhinge her as she drew away from him, forcing herself to deny his offer and all that it might lead to. “I need ... to be with my people."

After a moment he nodded. “I understand. Try to rest."

She walked back to her men, and as she did, she had to wonder—if this had not happened, would she still be in Amshazar's arms?

* * * *

As Amshazar stepped inside his tent and dropped the flap, frustration boiled within him. He did not blame her, under the circumstances, but he resented the situation they found themselves in with all his being. They'd gained so much, and now it had been shattered. Part of him wondered if that was a motive, too. That Sibias had seen their potential closeness developing and plotted to ruin it.

He snatched up his cloak, blew out the candle in his tent, and left. Pacing fast out of the camp and up to the rocks above the encampment, he found a dark place to sit beyond the place where Aleemite warriors scoured the surrounding landscape for evidence of the murderer's escape route. It was a futile hunt, for he was sure that Sibias had used the power of the forbidden ledger. It was hard to track.

Amshazar needed guidance and he focused within, attempting to pass into the higher plane of magi form to undertake passage to the gods’ council. For some reason, he could not. Again he tried, chanting the mantra, visualizing the portal. Frustration was getting the better of him. He had begun to care too deeply for Elishiba, and he questioned what it was doing to him.

"Rest easy, Amshazar,” a familiar voice said.

Opening his eyes he lifted his head and saw Santor standing close by in the darkness

"I sense your impatience,” Santor said.

"Annoyance, perhaps,” Amshazar responded. “I need to seek the advice of the gods, may I be granted an audience?"

Santor stepped aside.

Amshazar's frustration mellowed instantly when he saw who was waiting for him—the goddess Sevita herself. Cloaked heavily, her face was shrouded to conceal her inhuman glow. She moved toward him on a wisp of night breeze.

He was shocked. It was unprecedented; he had never known one of the council to present this way. Getting quickly to his feet, Amshazar bowed his head, dropping to one knee, moving his hand over forehead, throat and chest, in the traditional greeting to show his devotion.

She nodded at him, gesturing for him to stand, her aura glowing. “I heard your call, Amshazar. However, I wished to speak with you alone, rather than with the council. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Yes, of course.” A private audience was better still.

"You are upset at what has happened here, and rightly so.” She gave a sad smile. “You have made great progress with Elishiba, under difficult circumstances."

"I had."