Wednesday, September 24, 2014

#WednesdayBriefs #FlashFiction Hand of Fate chapter 5 #fantasy #mfromance

Honey, I'm back! *grin*
I had a ton of work last week and couldn't find a momento to write, but this week I've managed to use my time more efficiently. I'm continuing with this fantasy romance which slowly but surely is turning into more, though into what, I can't say for sure. One thing is certain though, I'm having a lot of fun writing it. If you're new to the story, you can read previous chapters by clicking on the links below.:

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Finally,  The prompt I used today was Have you lost your mind?


Hand of Fate 5

Have you lost your mind? That is what Jonlakar wanted to scream when his Lord asked him to touch the Kamaira. No one ever asked that. It was out of the question. Out of the equation. Out of this world. He stared at Ilvaneath, his Ilaildar Lord.


Silver eyes glinted knowingly. Lips curled into a tiny smile. Damnation. Jonlakar swallowed drily.


“My Lord.”


“Touch her, Uraima.”


He nodded. When Ilvanaeth used that tone of voice it was impossible to contradict him. Only another Ilaildar would be immune to the voice of darkness and light. He walked in slow measured steps to the woman named Mayra. She was human. A dainty thing, really, compared with them. It was incredible how their survival could depend on her. She kept her head bowed, her long hair hiding her features and keeping her enormous eyes and the portal to her emotions a secret. He knew them well, though. Like all Karaima she hated them. She didn’t understand that without the choosing the Ilaildar would die out and without them the humans would perish.

He clenched his jaw and reached for her head. Ilva’s gaze burned holes in his back. Bastard. He knew. He knew the effect she had on him. On them. He saw it in the other man’s eyes. Surprise. He’d only seen that once, over 13 years ago when he’d come to work for him. He’d been a boy then, barely seventeen years of age. How many things he’d learned with his master in that short amount of time.

“Ocalá, Jonlakar.”

Silk. Her hair was like the expensive material brought in from the eastern country. It slid through his fingers and fell back in place like a waterfall. Beautiful. He moved his hand further down her back, wincing as he felt the hardness of her bones. They would have to feed her if she was to be of any use.


“Il- My Lord.” He stopped himself just in time from using the familiar name. His gaze swept to the pointy eared man. He was smiling, his sharp canines visible in yellow light of the coach.  

“Iralá a os jos, Jonlakar. Azlo.”

Jonlakar took in a deep breath. He crouched in front of Mayra. She hadn’t moved. Her body did not shake with the usual tremors of one who was crying or scared. She was still as a statue.

“Look at me, Mayra,” he whispered. “Please.”

The last word caught her attention. He could see it in the way her shoulder slumped slightly. It was almost as if being polite defeated her. Perhaps, she expected worse from them. He knew the stories. The beatings. The pain. Some of them were true. Others were not.


Slowly, she lifted her head. Her enormous brown eyes found his and a tremor coursed through his body, causing his pulse to quicken. The reaction was similar to the one he’d felt when he met Ilvanaeth for the first time. Except, then he hadn’t known what it meant and now he did. Mayra’s lips parted. Her eyes widened full of confusion.

“Don’t be scared, Mayra.”

She didn’t speak, but the way her brow furrowed he knew she was asking him for a reason not to have fear. How could she not be scared when they were taking her to the unknown and away from her loved ones?


“Let me see your hands, Mayra.”

She closed her mouth and glanced at her hands. He could imagine the questions. Why were they so interested in her hands? The Kamaira did not know. They speculated, of course, but the true reason was unknown to them. All they were certain of was that the uglier the hand the less chance of being chosen they had. They were wrong.

“Can I see your hands, Mayra, please?”

Jonlakar let out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding when she started to lift them from the floor. Abruptly, she stopped. His jaw dropped as she curled them into a fist and brought them to her chest as if she were holding a treasure. Behind him he could sense Ilvanaeth’s shock.

To be continued...

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