“The Albenian Bureau is the executive body that runs all aspects of Albeny's administration.”
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Many questions bedazzle Leurayssa as she stares at her sister with a knife to the throat of a certain to be dead man. It seemed just like yesterday when she had jokingly suggested that Anarella joined the assassin business.
The cogworks of how she even got to be within this particular moment, facing the petrifying situation befuddles her. Wasn't Lay just breaking her out of a mad man's captivity and at a moment when she did not want to think about how he knew the palace so well? A moment when worry for her and his safety had caused her to entirely forget Anarella?
"I met the Fortunist," Anarella is whispering into Zen's ear (the certain to be dead man said his name was Zen). Blood is pouring endlessly into a purple leather vest that refuses to absorb it. Anarella is gloating, confident of her victory. But victory over what?
"She told me I'd bleed you out dry. She told me I'll watch your blood flow to wash away my wrath."
Zen does not look bothered. There is no fear in his widened eyes. No single expression of pain. In fact, he begins to cackle. Leurayssa pales as she realizes where Anarella had gotten it all wrong. Everything would backfire!
"Rel! Behead him!" Leurayssa yells. Anarella looks up, puzzled. It is clear that she does not desire for Zen to go quickly but her face still contorts as if she is now noticing Leurayssa in the room for the first time.
"Behead him!" Lay shouts, probably catching on to the logic playing around in Leurayssa's mind. The brief seconds Anarella spends on being torn is enough time for Zen to plunge his hands backwards, directly into her bosom.
"NO!" Leurayssa cries.
But it is not Anarella's heart Zen has just ripped out. Zen raises the locket, laughing with the sense of a realer, crueler victory. Anarella flinches in confusion. She may be the only one still confused. Everyone else knows that the Fortunist is a big player on words.
Anarella roars, raising her bloody knife in fury to strike again but her chance is already gone. An invisible force flings her down the throne steps causing her to crash into Xihan.
Leurayssa's neck grows cold. Everything seems to have gone still, even the breathing air. Lay's palm wraps around her own. He looks at her with reassurance. Zen's laugh is loud, ringing throughout the room as he merges the two halves of Zia's Spring.
"That's enough," a cold whispery voice says. A new figure is standing by Zen totally shielded by a black hooded cloak. Her posture is feminine and her lips are stained blood red. Xihan shifts back in surprise and awe.
"It's the… it's the…," he stammers breathlessly.
"The Fortunist," Anarella completes.
Leurayssa cannot help her jaw dropping at the present state of her reality as her eyes leave Zen entirely and focuses on the Fortunist.
Who is indeed a woman.
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Leurayssa can totally feel the domineering aura of the Fortunist. The Fortunist in the flesh! Her hand is still wrapped in Lay's as if he is there to absorb her shock. Anarella's companion, the one Lay had called Rayton also looks discomposed to his credit. The general is on his knees. Anarella is fuming as Zen rises to full height behind the Fortunist. The wound on his throat begins to seal as he massages it.
"You promised I would kill him!" Anarella yells angrily, feeling rightfully betrayed.
The Fortunist laughs. "I didn't say so, I said you'll bleed him dry. As it is, that's all the blood he has. There's a difference between killing and bleeding out. But check within you for your rage. Is it still there? No, you've never had what it takes to kill a person."
YOU ARE READING
THE FORTUNIST
Fantasi"You don't find the Fortunist, the Fortunist finds you." Nobody knows how the nine cryfixes- magical accessories- came to be. But the country of Albeny has made their magic its foundation while submitting to the whims of a Fortunist, an alleged sor...
