Abolisher [Drothiker #2]

22.

Faolin awoke to a bright light throbbing behind her lids.

Her hand was instantaneously at the dagger at her side—

Or where it was supposed to be. Her mind rushed, her senses came in a wave. She was stripped of all the weapons in her attire—

"Stop moving," a soft voice snapped over her head.

Faolin's mind slowed. Only then she felt the warmth of a hand grazing her forehead. Only then, to her utter displeasure, did she feel the dull throbbing at the back of her skull, where Undesin had knocked her with a log.

That prick—

Slowly, Faolin lifted her lids. And stillness collided with her.

Ferouzeh sat over her head, tending to the injury with a serene face. Faolin knew the healer had freed herself of thoughts for however long she'd been here, to focus on the injury, knew the tranquility on her face reflected that of her mind.

Knew, very well, that if she moved, she would be wavering Ferouzeh's focus, and inviting pain in abundance. Still she couldn't help the annoyed breath as she looked away.

For once, Faolin's mind felt her own, felt clear. Devoid of the Darkness afflicting her mind round the clock. With Ferouzeh's mejest, full of light and hope, the Darkness came nowhere near, didn't whisper derision in her ears. Her mind felt ...

Peaceful.

What she didn't expect was the rush of guilt, images of things she'd done this past year, and the self-hatred. All the innocents and poor she'd murdered only for the sake of pleasure. Or even the tears that threatened to well in her eyes. Faolin shut out her thoughts.

The Darkness, however obscene, gave her protection from this onslaught. It assembled a wall of anger to battle everything else. For anger was such a strong emotion—capable of drowning out good senses and rational thinking, left only a wish to hurt. It was a delusion against the suffering. And without the Darkness ...

Ferouzeh roved her hands about her skull, her scent sliding up Faolin's nostrils. She gritted her teeth against it—against the touch, and memories.

A century ago this woman had entered her life as a simple girl full of life and faith. A century ago, she'd stuffed Faolin's heart with that life and faith and bravery, and a love no one could ever comprehend.

It'd been so beautiful—that bright life. That hope. Faolin had lost it all the moment she'd uncovered that Ferouzeh was no hopeful girl filled with glee. But a spy from Sorceress Tribe hunting for Hexet Evreyan's assassin.

Only the spy hadn't known that the assassin happened to be a woman—that the assassin she'd been hunting for was no other than Faolin herself.

Ferouzeh had hunted the wrong person. She'd mistaken Raoden Wisflave for Faolin. She'd killed her brother, and fled without a glance back. Faolin had lost one person that had ever meant family to her. Her poor mother had always been too busy mourning her rogue husband her whole life—the man who'd beaten Faolin every time he returned home drunk, and her mother never took a step against it.

Raoden had been everything she'd had—everything she'd ever had. And Ferouzeh ripped her of that. Faolin had tried to hunt her down, she'd wanted answers so desperately that she'd thought she would lose her mind. She'd drowned herself in drinks, taken more drastic measures, to make herself forget, but nothing helped.

Eventually, the anguish gave way to a noxious wrath she'd never handled before. Though she'd already been Hexet's assassin then she hadn't been oathed. After Ferouzeh's betrayal, she'd given everything to Duce Hexet Evreyan. She'd started killing without remorse because assassination, death, and chaos distracted her. Because it'd felt good to see others in pain. She'd turned completely against her own tribe. And then, she gave her oath, her life, in service to the Crown of Stars. To the Evreyan bloodline.