CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Separation
Blade had intended to have a civil conversation with her. That was before she tried to flee. That single act pushed him to the edge, his breath coming sharp and fast, his nose flaring. He was out the door the instant he dropped Lenora, his body moving on instinct, driven by something raw and unrelenting.
Catching up to her was effortless. His fingers closed around her throat before she could put any real distance between them. For a brief, dangerous second, he contemplated snapping that fragile neck, his grip tightening as his rage flared. But then—Lenora. He thought of how this woman had been kind to the little girl, whether out of pretense or not. Lenora had felt a love he himself had struggled to give. That sliver of hesitation was all that saved her life.
With her throat still locked in his grip, he dragged her back toward the house, hauling her across the barren stretch of land. She thrashed, kicked, clawed, but it only made him squeeze harder.
“I… had nothing… to do with this…” she choked out, her feet scraping against the sand in a frantic bid for freedom.
He let go. Not out of mercy, but calculation. The moment she hit the ground, gasping for air, he drove his foot down onto her right hand, ensuring she wouldn’t get any ideas about running again.
She heaved, coughing so violently she nearly retched, her lungs desperate for oxygen.
“Explain yourself,” Blade demanded, his voice low, lethal. He was furious, but he wouldn’t let rage blind him to the truth.
“I swear…” she rasped, struggling to get the words out. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know they were after Lenora.”
Her body gave up the fight before her mind did. She sagged against the sand, exhaustion weighing her down.
Blade watched her, eyes cold, unreadable. “They sent a rookie after me,” he sneered. “And I wondered why. Now I see. Your greatest skill isn’t assassination—it’s deception.”
She didn’t argue. She knew it was useless. No words could convince him. She had made a mistake—she should never have let him see her. She should have run when she had the chance.
His voice turned quiet, almost thoughtful. “I saw you leaving marks along the way. I saw the pigeons you sent. I ignored them, thinking you were after me. Lenora was close to you, and I—I didn’t want my own prejudice to rob her of what little warmth she had. So I let it slide.” His voice trailed off, a bitter taste left in his mouth.
It disgusted him, this need to explain himself to her. It was as if he was justifying why he hadn’t killed her, and that thought alone rekindled his urge to end her right then and there.
Milani clenched her jaw, a single tear slipping down her cheek despite herself. I didn’t know they were after Lenora… But it didn’t matter. Not now.
Blade lifted his foot from her hand and took a step back. His next words were soft but laced with ice. “Get lost. Don’t ever let me see you again.”
The wind picked up, sweeping his hair into his eyes. He barely noticed as he swung his leg, kicking her away. His aim was careless, but the force sent her flying into a stack of firewood. Her back collided with the rough logs, a choked gasp escaping her lips before blood bubbled up her throat and spilled from her mouth.
He didn’t spare her another glance. He simply turned, walked back into the house, scooped Lenora into his arms, and disappeared into the night, leaving behind nothing but silence and the traitor he had chosen—just this once—to spare.
Milani’s vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. Still, she forced her eyes to remain open, watching his retreating figure. Her lips moved, her voice barely a whisper.
“No wonder you’re feared. Even Laya’s bodyguard didn’t stand a chance against you.”
She inhaled deeply, trying to fight against the weight pressing down on her chest, but the effort only made her cough violently.
“If it weren’t for who was on the line… do you think I would have dared to cross you?”
Her strength ebbed away. The pain, the exhaustion—it was too much. She let go.
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The sound of unfamiliar footsteps pierced through the quiet.
Milani stirred, her senses on high alert. She had been with Blade long enough to recognize his steps, and these—these weren’t his.
She was just about to lie back down when she realized—the footsteps were getting closer.
She sat up, just in time to see a figure in black reaching for Lenora. Her body reacted before her mind did. She grabbed the nearest object—a small clay cup—and hurled it at the intruder. The stranger deflected it effortlessly, the cup smashing against the wall, its handle snapping off.
Milani was already moving, lunging for the little girl. She kicked at the stranger, but they caught her foot with ease, leaving her unbalanced, suspended mid-air.
The intruder chuckled. “What’s this? Have you fallen for the girl?”
Milani’s blood ran cold. “You’re from Laya.” It wasn’t a question.
The stranger threw her leg aside, sending her sprawling onto the floor.
They moved toward Lenora again, but Milani latched onto their leg with everything she had. “Laya told me to report on the Robe Assassin. She said nothing about taking the girl.”
The response was swift—a slap that sent her reeling. “Who do you think you are to question Laya?”
Milani barely registered the sting. She tightened her grip. “You can’t take her. I’ll give you more information—”
“You know what happens to those who oppose Laya, don’t you?” the stranger interrupted.
A chilling weight settled in her stomach.
Her sister was still in the city. If Laya turned her sights on her… There would be no one to protect her. Her maid. Her friend. They could all be killed, just because of this.
Slowly, her fingers uncurled from the intruder’s leg.
She watched as they lifted Lenora, her heart breaking as she whispered, “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s hope Blade finds you before it’s too late.”
Milani woke with a start. Her pillow was soaked. The heaviness in her head made her groan, her hand pressing against her temple as if that could ease the pounding.
“You’re awake,” a voice murmured, filled with relief.
She turned her head slightly, her vision clearing just enough to see Conir standing by her bedside, anxiety written all over his face.
He stepped closer, a tray in his hands. A yellow bowl filled with water. A damp towel hanging over the edge.
He placed the tray on the side table, then sat at the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. His eyes, though brimming with questions, remained patient.
The back of his hand brushed her forehead, checking for fever. He let out a small sigh of relief when he felt the slight decrease in temperature.
“They’re gone, aren’t they?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Conir’s jaw tensed. “They left you behind with two broken ribs and a dislocated arm. No remorse. I don’t know if I should be relieved that he spared you or furious at how—”
“It wasn’t his fault.” Milani cut in, her breath shallow. “Laya came after the girl. He wouldn’t have reacted that way otherwise.”
Conir’s expression darkened. “You’re still defending him?”
She had no energy to argue.
He exhaled sharply but held back whatever else he wanted to say. Instead, he reached into the small box on the nightstand, pulling out a syringe.
“This will help you rest.” His voice was calm, almost gentle. He injected the tranquilizer into her vein, then disposed of the needle.
Milani parted her lips, intending to speak, but the drug was already pulling her under.
Conir sat beside her, his fingers lightly massaging her hand.
“Just focus on recovering,” he murmured, watching as her consciousness faded. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
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The first light of dawn cracked through the night’s remnants, its golden fingers stretching across the horizon. The wind, which had howled through the darkness, had finally stilled, leaving behind an eerie silence. With Lenora slumped against his back, Blade trudged forward, his destination unknown—only certain that every step took him farther from The Citadel.
His boots, caked in layers of dust, told a story of endless miles, though it had been barely three days. If not for his tall, imposing figure, he might have looked like a man who had wandered aimlessly through the wilderness for forty. The child on his back only added to his disheveled appearance. Fine grains of sand had settled into his eyebrows, and the once jet-black strands of his hair now bore a dull, brownish hue, as though dust had found a permanent dwelling place atop his head.
As he walked, his mind drifted to the past year, a storm of memories flashing behind his eyes. It hadn’t even been a month since his life had flipped on its axis—a well-respected assassin turned fugitive overnight. The realization struck him hard: twenty-four hours was more than enough to destroy everything a man had built. The unpredictability of life had never felt so cruel.
Given a choice, he would pick the life of an assassin over that of a fugitive every time. But this path—the one he now walked—was not of his choosing. It was the burden his father had placed on him, anchoring him to a fate he neither desired nor could escape.
And now, with his godfather gone, he felt the absence like a wound that refused to heal. He had taken the man’s presence for granted, never fully appreciating his silent strength until it was ripped away. The uncertainty of his godfather’s fate gnawed at him, threatening to unravel the fragile composure he had left. But he could not afford to let his emotions cloud his judgment. A life now depended on his every decision. For Lenora’s sake, he had to remain steady. One reckless move could condemn them both to a fate worse than death.
A small shift in weight on his back pulled him from his thoughts. He halted, adjusting Lenora slightly before giving her a gentle shake.
“Lenora,” he murmured, but she only responded with a drowsy groan.
A frown creased his dust-streaked face. The girl had slept through everything—through the chaos, through the danger, through the very moment she had nearly been taken. Did she have no sense of survival?
His expression darkened. In this world, the unprotected were swallowed whole. What if he hadn’t been there to guard her? What if, one day, he wasn’t?
Without warning, he dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground.
A startled yelp escaped her lips as she landed with a heavy thud. Tears welled up instantly, her large, frightened eyes darting upward to meet his.
Blade crouched before her, his face a mask of irritation. “Stop that right now,” he ordered, voice sharp. “How do you always have tears ready at the slightest provocation?”
Lenora’s lower lip trembled as she cast her gaze around, searching desperately for Milani—for anyone who might shield her from the terrifying figure looming over her. But she found no one.
“That’s right,” Blade confirmed, his voice edged with finality. “She’s gone. It’s just you and me now. So you’d better behave.”
Fear gripped her tiny frame. She didn’t want to be left alone with him. He was mean. Cold. And he had never once looked at her with anything resembling kindness. The tears she had tried to hold back spilled over, silent sobs shaking her small shoulders.
Blade exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to keep walking, though each fragile sniffle clawed at his patience. He knew she was scared of him—knew that scolding her would only make it worse.
And yet, with every step, the sound of her weeping gnawed at something deep within him, something he couldn’t name.
With a frustrated sigh, he turned.
She was still sitting where he had left her, curled in on herself, her body trembling from the force of her cries.
Blade closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply before releasing a heavy breath. Then, he walked back toward her.
Her sobs grew louder with each step he took, and by the time he reached her, she looked like a child crying for a mother who would never come.
He hesitated.
What was he supposed to do with her? Force wasn’t a lasting solution. Yelling wouldn’t fix anything either.
So, for the first time, he tried something else.
He sat down beside her.
Lenora barely acknowledged his presence, her red-rimmed eyes spilling fresh tears as she sniffled. Her small hands balled into fists, and mucus trailed from her nose, which she sniffed back with a forceful inhale.
Blade studied her carefully. There was no denying it—she was just a child. Innocent. Fragile. And yet, innocence meant nothing in a world that cared little for weakness.
With an uncharacteristic gentleness, he reached out and wiped her tear-streaked face with his thumbs.
“I look like a villain to you, don’t I?” His voice was quieter now, almost resigned.
For the first time, Lenora looked up at him.
Blade let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I suppose I do.” And for the first time in a long time, he felt the weight of disappointment settle in his chest.
“Listen to me, Lenora.” His tone was softer now, but firm. “I’m not your father. I’m not your mother. I can’t fill the void they left. My job is to keep you alive, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. But that doesn’t mean you should rely on me—or on Milani—for everything. You’re five, aren’t you? Old enough to understand at least some things.”
Lenora’s tear-soaked lashes fluttered.
“There are people in this world far crueler than I am,” Blade continued. “People who wouldn’t hesitate to harm you, no matter how small or helpless you are. Crying won’t save you from them. Being scared won’t help you survive.” He paused, watching her carefully. “Do you think your mother and father would want to see you like this?”
Lenora stared at him, silent. He had no way of knowing if his words had reached her, but he hoped they had.
Pushing himself to his feet, he held out his hand.
Hesitantly, she reached for it.
He pulled her up with ease.
“You’re thirsty,” he observed, noting her cracked lips.
She nodded.
He reached into his jacket, pulling out the last bottle of water he had. Without hesitation, he handed it to her, watching as she drank the final drops.
When she finished, she carelessly tossed the empty bottle aside.
Blade exhaled sharply but said nothing. Instead, he took her small hand in his and turned toward the vast, unknown path ahead.
They walked together, the silence between them no longer as heavy.
And as they moved forward, Blade silently vowed—whether she realized it or not—that he would keep her safe. Even if it cost him everything.