Crimson and Gold

The training session with Olios lasted until the late morning. It wasn’t even noon when Saria left the underground via the exit in the worker section of the Palace.

She made it a habit to always choose a different one and never go through the same entrance.

One could call it paranoia, however, knowing the life in the Palace, Saria would rather act too cautious than not cautious enough.

Octavius or Loukios finding out about her training and her abilities would cause trouble not only to her but also to everyone involved. Especially Lysandra.

Thankfully, the underground tunnels spanned across the entire Palace grounds, with at least a dozen entry points. Saria suspected that there were probably five to ten more that were yet to be discovered.

Weaving between the labor houses, Saria’s thoughts kept circling back to the story Olios had told her.

Ever since the discovery of her magic, the only time she ever heard about blood mages and their abilities was in the context of taking life. It was an extremely efficient way of removing enemies out of the way, after all.

Olios’ story—if true—was the first encounter with her abilities being used for something other than killing.

If this power truly was within her, then Saria wanted to harness it. Not just for herself, but for Lysandra and other people she cherished.

The first twenty-seven years of her life were filled with death and destruction. The blood on her hands was something she would never wash off. The guilt was her burden to carry in this life.

That didn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t at least try to turn over a new leaf. Lysandra gave her that chance, and Saria was eager to take it.

Using her blood magic to help others had an enticing ring to it. Perhaps, it would purge some of the darkness from her soul. This way, maybe once the time came and she crossed the threshold of the afterlife, she would be a bit more worthy of standing beside Lysandra.

Immersed in her thoughts, Saria navigated through the narrow paths between the laundry sheds, relying solely on muscle memory.

It was only when the door ahead suddenly opened that she finally snapped back to reality. Just in time to stand face to face with the last person she wanted to see.

Doran stepped out of the room, fastening his belt with a self-indulgent smile.

The moment his eyes fell on Saria, her face contorted in disgust.

Every second of his sleazy gaze lingering on her body felt like a violation. She wore a simple brown tunic cinched with a leather belt at the waist, just like him and every other slave. The linen flowed loosely on her body, presenting it neutrally, without even a hint of sex appeal.

And yet, with the way his vulgar eyes scrutinized every millimeter of her body, Saria never felt more naked. She never wanted to wear her assassin armor so much. A full set of plate armor would be even better.

Preferably with a mace in her hand, so she could bash his disgusting face with it.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, beautiful,” Doran said, taking a few steps towards her. “I missed you.”

A wave of nausea twisted Saria’s stomach.

Disgusting.

The frown on her face deepened, but she remained silent. She didn’t want to indulge him in any way.

Seeing that she didn’t answer, Doran got even closer, staring at her with a confident smirk. “Why aren’t you saying anything, beautiful? Are you shy, maybe?”

“Go die in a ditch,” Saria growled, barely holding back.

“That’s more like it.” Doran laughed with satisfaction. “Tell me, did you enjoy my gift from the other day? I knew that a woman like you wouldn’t be satisfied with a mere ten whips, so I added a little extra, just for you. Aren’t I thoughtful? Hm?”

He reached out to tuck a strand of Saria’s hair behind her ear.

She didn’t even flinch, her attention focused almost entirely on the vein pulsing rhythmically beneath the skin on his throat.

Saria could sense his blood. Its voice was unlike any other she had heard. Stronger, more vibrant, but also more elusive. She could sense it and listen to it, but it kept slipping from her grasp.

What kind of creature was he to make her struggle like this? What kind of secret was he hiding?

The more Doran’s blood kept staying out of her reach, the more Saria wanted to know. She had to find out who he was and then learn how to put him under her control.

Once she did, she would use the full potential of her magic to make his death slow and painful.

“You make me sick,” Saria forced through her teeth, using all of her strength to push him aside.

She took only a few steps before her wrist was caught in an iron grip.

Saria’s head snapped back, her gaze burning with suppressed rage. She anticipated more filth coming out of his mouth, maybe even an attack.

To her surprise, Doran neither did anything nor said anything.

He simply stood there, looking at her with the same vulgar, nauseating eyes.

“Let. Go.” Saria’s throat tightened from the bottled up fury, as she let out a low, threatening growl.

The corner of Doran’s lips twitched, but he said nothing. His grip loosened, allowing her to pull her hand away.

Wasting no more time, Saria turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him behind.

Her heart was racing, the vein on her temple bulged and pulsed following the hasty rhythm of her boiling blood.

In just a few steps, she reached the room Doran had left. The door was still open. Her head turned instinctively to take a peek inside.

In the next second, her legs stopped moving, rooting her to the ground.

The disgusted grimace on her face was replaced by shock.

Inside the room, a young servant girl was sitting on the ground, weakly trying to push herself up.

Her bloodied tunic was ripped nearly to shreds, revealing skin covered in cuts and bruises. Some shapeless caused by a blunt object, others clearly shaped like teeth and nails.

When the girl raised her head, Saria saw two bloodshot handprints wrapped around her neck.

As their eyes met, the girl looked away in shame. Heavy tears fell from her hazed blue eyes as she wiped the blood trickling from the cut on her lip with the back of her hand.

Saria looked back at Doran’s disappearing silhouette.

She had never felt such a strong desire to kill. She wanted to chase him down, bash his head against the pavement, rip him apart with her bare hands.

That beast didn’t deserve to live.

Saria clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her skin, causing a thin string of blood to trickle between her fingers. The muscle on her jaw tensed.

She forced herself to look away and walk inside the room.

Grabbing a pallium drying on the rope nearby, she strode towards the girl and draped the cloth around her shoulders, covering her torn tunic and the bruised body.

The girl flinched, surprised by the gesture. She looked at the woman before her with wide eyes, subconsciously trying to move away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Saria said, raising her arms to prove she meant no harm.

The girl stared at her in silence until realizing who she was dealing with, and once she recognized Saria’s face, her shoulders relaxed.

Taking it as a good sign, Saria took her hand and carefully helped her up.

“Can you walk?” Saria asked softly.

The servant nodded.

“Where do you live? I’ll walk back with you.”

To her surprise, the girl shook her head. “No, I can’t go back,” she said with a hoarse voice. Her throat swelled from the injury, making it hard for her to speak. “I still have work to do…”

“Not anymore. Where do you live? I’ll walk you there.”

“But—”

Saria frowned. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

The answer came in the form of a nod.

“Then you must have heard the rumors about the Princess and me, yes?”

Another confirmation after a moment of hesitation.

Folding her arms on her chest, Saria straightened her back and looked sternly at the girl. “Then you must know that among servants, whatever I say goes. Right now, I’m telling you that your shift is over. Do you understand?”

After a moment of weighing her options, she finally gave the last confirmation Saria needed.

Having the girl convinced, her demeanor softened again. “You live in the same pavilion as I do, don’t you? Which room?”

“Third on the right.”

“We are neighbors then.” A gentle smile appeared on Saria’s face. “Come on. I’ll walk you there. Hold onto me if it’s difficult to walk.”