There were times when logic must come before heart or desire, when one must consider the dire consequences of jumping into a fight and find a better solution. Thoughts of consequences did enter Lasura's mind that morning, along with the fact that he had only a small knife to fight with, but when the son of a bitch who'd almost killed the woman you saved showed up and demanded she return to him, consequences, Lasura decided, could go fuck themselves.

The knife jumped into his hand before he knew what he was doing. The rage in his chest drove his arm back, guiding the weapon where it needed to be from years and years of training. There was nothing in his head when he flicked his wrist, nothing except the fact that the motherfucker had to die, never mind what it would cost him, never mind––

Rhykal crossed the five steps between them with the speed of a ghost popping from one place to another, reaching him before the knife left his grip. A hand materialized, shot forward, caught him by the throat like an eagle's talons closing in on a mouse, and rammed him against the wall next to Djari. It knocked the air out of his lungs, got his head spinning in circles for a moment. By the time his head was clear enough to try jabbing the bastard with the knife, the thing was in Rhykal's hand, thrusting toward him without warning, and driven tip to hilt into his gut faster than he could say fuck.

"I can kill you," said Rhykal in a calm, collected manner of a butcher about to carve his favorite customer the best part of an animal, "with or without this knife. The next time you interfere with my plans, it will not be a flesh wound."

Not a bluff, he knew, at least not where the ability to do it was concerned, or the number of reasons the man had to keep him alive. Rhykal pulled out the knife, sent him reeling from the sudden jab of pain that ripped through his stomach. Wouldn't be surprised if half his gut came out with it.

The blade, still dripping blood, travelled up his chest, and paused right over his heart with the accuracy of someone trained by Deo di Amarra. Human anatomy was the first lesson he taught all his apprentices before teaching them how to fight, and the best of his assassins had the precision of a surgeon when it came to where one should stick the pointy end of the blade.

"Now listen to me very carefully," said Rhykal. "You can die here like the useless piece of meat that you are, or you can live to tell the woman following me that if she tries to take my life again, I will do exactly as I've said. I will take the Bharavi apart piece by piece until she leaves me alone. Do you understand?"

It was Saya, after all, Lasura realized. She must have tracked him down, and now, without a hostage, could pursue him freely, and would likely succeed. This was why he came back to get Djari after leaving her to die. Why he still needed her. Why he was still alive: to deliver a message.

It was understandable, logical even, and he might have been able to handle it with his head had the man not approached them the way he did. 'Come,' Rhykal had said, had walked in here with confidence so unshakable, so absolute, based on the presumption that all it would take to get her back was to show up and say the word, that the sword on his back wasn't even necessary to get it done.

Lasura gritted his teeth, tilted his head back, and spat on the son of a bitch, would have followed through with a finger if the hole in his stomach didn't hurt so bad. "Go fuck yourself."

Blood and saliva landed on the right side of Rhykal's cheek, made him pause for a heartbeat. But it was when Rasharwi's most celebrated face turned into something keen and ugly, something fit for an assassin, that Lasura knew this was how he his story would end. Not that he regretted it one bit if someone asked him.

"I thought so," said Rhykal, smiling.

Lasura closed his eyes, told himself it was a good death. For the very least it wasn't being locked in a barn to starve and die eaten by pigs like Azram had tried when he was ten. This was dying to to save a woman. Heroes did that, didn't they?

The blade stopped before it went past his skin. Lasura opened his eyes to see Djari's hand on Rhykal's shoulder, her face a calm, hard sheet of steel.

"I'll go with you," she said steadily, resolutely, with the conviction of someone who had thought something through and had made a logical or mathematical decision. "I'll go with you without a fight. No one has to die. No one will kill you without my permission. I won't allow it. Put that knife down."

"Djar––"

She wheeled on him before he could begin to protest, crushed those words with the hammer in her eyes, in her expression, in the way she held herself, and stuffed them back down his throat. "Do as he says, Prince Lasura," said Djari. "Stay alive and tell Saya what he said. And if either of you try to harm my sworn sword again, I swear in the name of Ravi, I will be the one to hunt you down, never mind how many times you've saved me."

He didn't know which hurt more, the wound in his stomach, or the knives of words she'd stabbed him with. It was always going to be like this, Lasura realized, whether it was his mother, father, or Djari. There had never been a chance, a possibility, or a glimmer of hope from the beginning for things to end another way. Everyone stood for something they loved and lived for, and it was never him.

And he should have seen it coming. He knew Djari, knew her well enough to have expected the outcome, to know that it didn't matter what he had done, what he had said, or what he would do from this point forward. It also didn't matter how many times this man would abandon and leave her to die. Djari would always go back to her sworn sword. For love, for honor, for the oath that bound them together, for life.

But was he any different?

Had he not done it? Would he not do so again, for her?

"Then hunt me down, Djari," he said through gritted teeth, through the pain in his stomach, in his chest, in his heart. "Hunt me down, because I will always try to save you. I will always want him dead for hurting you. And I will always choose to die before I let that happen again, with or without your consent. You are not the only one with something to protect. Go ahead and kill me for it, put me out of my misery, but I've had enough of people making my choices for me, and you will not be one of them!"

Djari pressed her lips together, the same way his mother always did when he decided to make her life difficult, which also told him he wasn't getting anything through.

He opened his mouth to speak, and something whooshed by him in a blur, landing on the wall next to his ear, cutting him off before he could.

***

Rhykal grabbed the Bharavi just before the arrow carved a line on his cheek, bounced off the rock, and landed by his feet. He knew the mark on that arrow shaft, had remembered it from the first time it missed his heart.

"Next time it will not be a flesh wound," said the woman holding a bow already nocked with another arrow, aiming at him. Saya was her name, if the Sparrow's memory served him right, and this was the third time she'd shot at him. The only reason he was still alive was his survival instinct kicking in just before her arrow had hit the mark, thanks to di Amarra's training. And they would have hit the mark, every time, had he been more of an ignorant target. The ability to sneak up behind him that close without being noticed also deserved an applause, truly.

"For all those nights we've spent together, Saya, I would have thought you'd show some restraint."

She stretched the string further back, took a step forward to make a point. He was beginning to like the woman, if only they weren't on the opposite sides of things. "You're not him. Let her go, and step away from the prince."

He smiled, wrapped an arm around the Bharavi from behind, and held her in place between him and the bow. "Assuming you would let me walk out of here alive if I did? I don't think so." The two women were similar in their conviction, but Saya's priority was always her needs, and with her bond with the Sparrow being more physical than emotional, he knew it wasn't going to save him. Something else, however, might. "How about you lower that bow and move out of my way? Because the longer we stand here and argue, the sooner the prince would bleed to death. He is important, is he not?"

"I live on Al-Sana," she said, pointedly. "We are not involved in battles and politics."

Fair enough. "I still have the Bharavi."

"And you can't kill your hostage."

"I can cut her. You wouldn't want that."

"Wouldn't I?" Saya raised her brows and slipped free a smile of anticipation. "She's competition. I might even thank you for it. But I may shoot you after––or during––if you give me that opening. Go ahead, take your pick. Or would you like me to?"

It was a problem. He knew jealousy when he saw one, knew what it could do, and how far it could drive a person off their path of righteousness. With Saya, who had never been interested in walking that path to begin with, she did have more reasons to see her competition maimed and killed than to save her. That the father wanted the Bharavi alive had weight, but obeying fathers had never outweighed a child's desire for a lover. With all things considered, he might not be holding as important a hostage to deal with this woman, after all.

Still, there was another key piece on the board here.

***

It might bring him back, Saya thought as she kept the bow trained on Rhykal. Amar had fought this monster in his head before, and had succeeded the first few times she'd witnessed the fight. She figured he needed a trigger of some kind, or a will strong enough to put Rhykal back in his cage. Maiming the Bharavi might do the trick. Amar did love her––a truth she didn't like that made her bitter, but one that might offer great benefits at the moment. She might be able to talk her father out of killing him, if she could bring Amar back somehow.

There would be consequences, of course. Her father would be upset if the girl got hurt. Conflicts between Al-Sana and the Visarya Kha'gan might follow, and life might be more difficult for them if she were to let that happen. The entire desert would also hunt down Amar by orders of Citara for harming a Bharavi. He would be executed in public to make an example of, and executed badly if caught. But there was also a possibility of hiding him somewhere. The Bharavi would be forced to let him go, and he would owe her a favor. In many ways, Rhykal might have solved all her problems.

If she could bring Amar back.

She also knew, that if this couldn't bring him back, nothing else could.

Silence stretched between them like the bowstring on her finger, waiting for Rhykal to decide when and how to break it. Saya drew a breath, straightened her spine in preparation to release the shaft should Amar fail to return. She didn't want to do it, but her father was right about one thing: they couldn't let this monster loose in the world, and Rhykal izr Zoren would have to go, one way or another.

"Go on then," she said. "Cut her. What are you waiting for?"

***

There were five steps he had to make, Lasura estimated as he watched Saya and Rhykal stare at each other. Five steps he was going to have to race across with a hole in his stomach and the energy he didn't have. Rhykal was standing with his back to him, an arm wrapped around Djari's shoulders from behind, holding her like a shield to protect his torso. Saya kept her eyes on him, arm steady enough to pluck a bird out of the sky never mind how unnecessary it was for the nearness and size of her target. Djari had gone quiet, hadn't made a move or a sound since she'd been held hostage again. He wished he could see her face at that moment, and maybe give her a signal before he did what he was about to do.

It was the only way out of this, and he had only one chance to see it done––a slim chance even without his injuries, slimmer, maybe, than jumping into that raging river.

'A man does not try. He does, or he dies doing.' His father's words, returning to him at the right moment. 'What will it be?'

Lasura pushed himself off the rock, preparing for a sprint, hoping neither Saya nor Rhykal would notice. The moment one of them made another move, he would have to cross those five steps and cross it before either of them could stop him.

Pressing his hand on the wound to slow the bleeding, heart flinging against his ribcage out of fear, of exhaustion, and of rage all rolled into one, Lasura realized, that he was praying, perhaps for the first time in his life, only the one he was praying to was no god or any divine being who might come down from the sky to interfere.

Give me your strength, Father. Help me save her.

The sound of Rhykal clearing the blade on his back ripped across the cave. Lasura charged forward, leaping across those five steps.

***

Saya swore as the prince crashed into her from the right side, throwing her off her feet. He pinned her on the ground, knocking the bow out of her grip. She jabbed a knee at the wound on his stomach, flipped on her belly as he doubled over from the pain, and crawled her way out from under him. A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her back before she could clear the distance. She turned quickly, bent over to reach for the knife in her boot, hurled herself up, and rammed the hilt of her blade into the prince's temple, knocking him over on his side. Took the opportunity to climb on top of him, rammed a fist into his jaw, and kept the Rashai bastard down between her thighs.

"Move a muscle, and I will stick this into your brain," she growled, one hand pressing him down on the chest, the other holding the dagger under his chin. Of all the time to go rabid, he had to pick this moment. Did he really think he could disarm her?

Something hard tapped against her belly. She looked down and saw him holding a knife under her stomach.

"Then we'll both die right here," said the prince, holding an expression of someone ready to die for a cause. "Or you can let them go, and you'll all walk out of here alive. I have nothing to lose, you do."

***

It was a great show, Rhykal had to admit, and the key piece he had been counting on had proven to be brilliant.

'Love is free, efficient, predictable,' di Amarra had said. 'You can expect the cleverest of humans to do the most illogical and suicidal things if you know how to use it. When you need someone to die fighting for your benefits, find a person who loves something, use it, and they'll do that for free.'

Wise words that turned out to be highly beneficial. Leaving the prince alive had been the right decision, after all. Having stumbled upon them the moment he was pouring his heart out, however, was sheer luck.

Well, he supposed he could stretch that luck a little further.

"An excellent plan, Prince Lasura, but there is just one more thing I need to settle before we leave."

He pulled the Bharavi's arm forward, stretching it out by the wrist. "I told you I will cut her, piece by piece, if you follow me," he said, raising the sword in an angle above her elbow. "Apparently, you were not convinced."

***

There was a hush from Djari, a gasp so short, so quiet, one would have missed it had the focus been elsewhere. It died down immediately, replaced by some kind of resolution and acceptance. She didn't try to resist, nor did she cry for help, for mercy, for anything that might stop what she knew was coming. She had, Lasura realized belatedly, been expecting this, had chosen to return to him in any case, had, perhaps, even prepared for it.

It felt like falling, Lasura thought, clenching his fists as a taloned hand close around his heart, as the pressure escalated, twisting his windpipe shut, and sent something in his head screeching instead. Somewhere in the middle of that noise, in the dark void with no bottom he was falling through, and all the useless cries that never found their way out of his throat, he heard Saya scream the name, the wrong name.

"Amar!"

It hit Rhykal like a sudden strike of thunder, like someone had taken a hammer and flung it at him, landing on something fragile. The blade in his hand paused in midair, his whole body went rigid, like a statue made of rocks, of steel. He turned, rigidly, slowly, and tilted his head to look at Saya.

"This was your plan?" asked Rhykal in whisper, a hiss so quiet he might have missed it had he not been listening. "You were gambling on the chance that he might come back for this? To save her?"

Saya paled at those words, and the smile on Rhykal's face turned into something ugly, something sharp enough to bleed.

"Well, then, allow me to give you the demonstration you need. And while you may not give a damn what happens to the Bharavi, the prince, as you see, apparently does."

Sunlight glinted off the polished steel of the sword, made a spark of white light that slithered along its edge from hilt to tip as Rhykal moved it back into position. "Remember this moment, Prince Lasura." He gave Djari's arm another tug, gripping it tight. "This is what will happen if you fail to stop her from coming after me. No imposter is going to come back to save her, no one is there to return and take over my life. The Silver Sparrow of Azalea," said Rhykal, turning the blade, "is dead."

***

Rhykal sucked in a breath at the scream that erupted in his head before the blade came down. A cry so violent, so strong, screeching so loud it would have knocked him off balance had he not dealt with it many times before. Even then, he felt his arm going rigid for a second, his wrist pulled back by something that fought for freedom, for control. His vision flashed, thrown back for a moment behind a dark, dark wall seeking to trap him in.

'No imposter is going to come back... no one is there to return and take over my life,' he traced those lies again in his mind, carving them somewhere permanent, somewhere no one could reach or alter. The scream escalated, rising toward a crescendo, seeking a way to break free.

Get out of my head! Rhykal clenched his fist on the sword, crushed that screeching voice between his teeth and dragged it back to the deep dark pit it belonged. Broke free.

***

'You were born to lead, Djari,' her mother had said. 'To guide us all out of darkness. There will be sacrifices you have to make, things the world needs you must provide, times you must stand tall when life seeks to tear you apart. You will have to do the right thing, to trust your instinct, and find the courage needed to see it through. That is what it means to lead.'

It would have to be done, Djari decided. Someone would have to take control of the situation. Someone had to make the necessary sacrifice to minimize the damage. She'd run out of places to hide, had prepared for this the moment she'd been taken hostage, the moment she came into this world as someone destined to end the war.

This was the right thing, she told herself as she prepared for the pain, as she steadied both the tremblings in her arm and chest. This was the path she was supposed to walk, the life she was supposed to lead, the sacrifices she would have to make.

She prayed, that her courage would not fail her, and reached for the sword.

***

Djari's blood made a sound when it landed on his cheek. The stillness that followed amplified everything in it––the deafening, inaudible cry in Lasura's head, the breath Saya sucked back into her throat, the shock on Rhykal's face as he stared at the severed fingers on the ground, and the hammer of conviction on Djari's face that could silence even the gods.

She stepped forward, pulled her uninjured arm back from Rhykal, and addressed them all.

"There are four witnesses here," she said, her voice echoed off the walls around them like a clang of steel against stone. "The blood shed here to day is mine, and by my own doing. That is what you will testify if Citara investigates." She turned to Saya, raised the hand from where she'd cut off her last two fingers with Rhykal's blade, and speared one of the two she had left at Rhykal, painting a path of red as if to draw a line between them and the man she had done this to protect.

"Amar or Rhykal, he is my sworn sword and blood. What he does is my responsibility, whether he lives or dies is my choice to make. For pointing that arrow at him, you are, by the laws of Citara, directly threatening me."

Pausing to breathe, to clench her jaw against the pain that must have begun to spread, Djari swallowed it down before she spoke again. "You have forced me to maime myself here, today, to protect my sworn sword. My injuries are your doing, so is Akai izr Imami's if he has sent you on his behalf. Harm my sworn sword again, and I will drag both you and your father down that mountain to answer for your crime. I am a Bharavi, a sister to a Kha'a. I have the men, I have the power, and I have the right. Move out of the way, or I will remove another finger, another toe, and you will pay for it. Don't test me."

***

A/N: I have no excuse for late update other than that this has been a very difficult chapter to execute and I have been on it for months trying to get it right. Thank you for your patience and continued support and I hope it was worth the wait. T_T

On another note, you may have noticed I've changed the name and the cover of the first book here. This is because it's on Amazon Kindle Unlimited, and I am technically not allowed to share it for free. I may have to take both books down or chapters of them off Wattpad very soon as the book is gaining readers . If you would like to keep reading, the best thing is to sign up/subscribe to mailing list at www.siennafrost.com where  (once the full site is up) there will be a vault with password given only to subscribers to download many stories for free. I'm not sure yet how I will manage this but it will be announced in the newsletter once everything is sorted out. 

Also the paperback of Awakening is on sale for 100 copies in celebration for 100 reviews on goodreads. There are 60 left if anyone wants to grab one, now is the time. Links can be found at siennafrost.com as well.

Last but not least, if you have been enjoying this story and haven't done so yet, please help rate it on goodreads. It means a ton if you can't support me by buying a copy, it will help others decide to spend money on it. I'm getting occasional poor reviews when it gets into the wrong hands, and your 5 star will raise the average. You don't have to leave a review if you don't have time (but I'd be eternally grateful if you do), but please take a minute to feed an author by hitting the 5 star if you can.  Link to Goodreads can also be found at siennfrost.com. Thank you so much.