Unveiling the Sorceress

Her knees buckled and she moaned loudly when her climax suddenly shuddered through her. Her eyes were bright and feverish and her left thigh drew up around his flanks. “Amshazar, please,” she moaned, a plea in her voice, hands clutching at him when she felt his hardness nudging into her. “Join us."

He groaned aloud, thrust deep into her, reaching for her exquisite embrace on his shaft. Oh, how her body molded inside, he savored how each move he took reverberated through her. She gasped as he probed deep, her breath panting harshly against his face. He held her with his hands around her buttocks, angling her body against the wall within his grip, reassuring her that she was safe in her abandon. “Elishiba ... you are on fire."

"Yes, my love,” she responded, her eyelids lowering, “to have you there inside me, it's so intense.” Her legs locked around his hips, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

At the base of his spine, a fierce thud threatened to undo him. His extreme arousal was being heightened by her words and the small gasps she gave through the breath of space between their open mouths. He began to take deep strides, reckoning with control, wanting to release himself to this binding passion, yet wanted to take control of it and make it endure. With each movement he made she uttered a breathless cry, her body fast rising to pitch again. Her passion undid him and he rode her faster, her body shunting against the surface of the wall, her breasts up-tilted under her tunic, the nipples jutting through the fabric.

He felt the clutch, the warm embrace of her sheath as it tightened on him, and he could hold on no longer, his seed spilling even as he pulled free.

"Amshazar,” she whispered, and a lone tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Amshazar."

He kissed the tear away, cocooning her against him, holding her safe. He kissed her over and over, hungry to make the moment last, to feel every ounce of her softness, to reassure himself she was real and safe in his arms for as long as he could, strengthening her with his caresses, strengthening them both through their bond.

Even when he felt their nemesis taking action, like a swarm of death ghouls descending upon them, he fought for every tender moment.

Chapter Eleven

The wrench when it came was painful, as if in parting with him she was doing it forever. Amshazar held her until they heard voices rising up from the balcony down below.

"Hurry,” he said, his glance flitting from the roof space outside the shutters, back to the doorway inside the room. “The guards are coming for us now. Mehmet means to force the ceremony to get what she wants."

Panic hit her fast. “Now?"

He captured her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. “Hold steady to your goals. Do not doubt yourself, no matter what happens. Your cause is just; don't let yourself be manipulated by cold-hearted victims of greed. Remember what is possible. The gods are with you, as am I.” He smiled, although it was fleeting.

Elishiba tried to grasp what he was saying, noting in particular his reference to the gods, but at the same time she could hear the voices downstairs growing louder. Her thoughts went to Yoshi. Then she saw movement at the rope ladder that still hung over the edge of the roof.

Amshazar noticed it too. He put one hand against her shoulder, took a fleeting kiss, and then nodded her toward the doorway that led into the palace. “You go that way, I will delay them. There's no reason why we should make this simple for them."

"Amshazar?"

"There is no time. Remember what I said; remember the power in the sorcery that we shared. You have the ability, and that will be a great surprise for Mehmet. You have the advantage. Trust in yourself, and know that I love you.” He turned away and was gone, hastily closing the curtains and shutters behind him.

Elishiba stumbled toward the inner doorway. She opened it cautiously, her heart beating fast as she glanced up and down the corridor outside. A candle stood in a sconce outside the doorway. Had Amshazar left it there, had he suspected this would happen?

The corridor was dark and much narrower than those below, with frequent doorways along it, presumably storage rooms like the one she had just come from. Left or right? She pushed the feeling of inevitability that crept up on her, the doubt that she could make any difference at all. In its place, she remembered Amshazar's words. He had told her not to doubt, and he'd said that the gods were with her. If Mehmet wanted to push the issue of marriage without further discussion, then Elishiba would make it as difficult as possible for her.

She darted left, away from the light, following the corridor, pausing whenever she heard footsteps echoing behind her. She felt her way along the walls in the gloom, but she used the time to prepare herself. She thought of her people, Tariq and her father. Basim and Fahima, who represented so many others in her heart.

I will not buckle, she told herself. I will not let them down.

A creeping suspicion came over her—she felt as if she were not alone. She paused. The skin on the back of her neck tingled with awareness, the palms of the hands growing damp. In the darkness ahead a fire leapt to life, as high as a man. From it Sibias emerged. He raised his arms, and the flames crumbled to ashes around his feet. He laughed aloud and looked at her with glowing eyes—eyes filled with evil. His appearance had changed—or had it been revealed? The white tendrils of his long hair and beard moved in a medusa-like cacophony of snake heads, tiny white asps that watched her like so many more eyes on her.

"The Empress of Aleem is lost.” He chortled at his own declaration, and then clapped his hands. “Your presence is needed in the temple. Allow me to help you find your way.” There was a sneer in his expression, a cruel laugh in his voice.

She had never seen him so blatantly a master of the dark arts, and

knew now that it was he who had Amra's blood on his hands. He'd covered his tracks well that night and fooled them all, but the pretence had seemingly gone as he undertook Mehmet's handiwork within the safety of her palace.

Instinctively, Elishiba turned away. As she did a gaping pit opened in the floor at her feet. Strange contorted creatures—half human, half animal—jostled below her. They reached up with claw-like hands and frenzied jaws to snap at her. She snatched at the wall, wavered on the edge of the pit, glancing beyond where down the corridor torches flared and Karseedian guards poured around the corner.

She felt Sibias's hand on her shoulder, his breath against her neck he leaned close against her. “The emperor awaits his bride."

"Is that what Mehmet told you to say?” she retorted.

He hissed at her in response, his fingers biting harshly into her shoulder. The Karseedian guards beyond the pit backed up, shifting against each other, their eyes wide as they took in the sight before them.

"You think you can persuade Mehmet to listen. You are a token,” Sibias whispered to her, “a mere key to a vault, Elishiba. That is all."