Chapter 1

I woke one December morning to find my father standing over my mother’s corpse.  He gripped a large bloody knife in one hand.  The blade was easily as long as my thin six-year-old arm.   I had gasped at the sight.

My father turned, his brown eyes cold and tired.  As he stepped toward me, I noticed that my mother’s head had been severed from her thin body.  My eyes burned as I tore them from her.  Tears dripped down my cheeks.

I was next.  It was clear in his eyes.  I fled, scrambling into the frigid, powdery snow that blanketed the backyard.  The cold blasted its way through my tunic and froze my bare feet.  I tripped on my way out the back door and tumbled into the blinding white snow, soaking my clothes.  The cold wind burned my tear-stained cheeks and tore at my long hair.  He wasn’t far behind me.  I could hear his heavy footsteps pounding into the snow behind me, crunching into the dead leaves.

I scrambled to my feet and ran as hard as I could…but I was only six.  Where could I go?  What could I do to save myself from a murderous man?

He slammed his fist into the right side of my head and light flashed before my eyes.  I tumbled to the ground, screaming in pain.  I looked up at him through shimmering tears and wet, mangled hair.

He did not laugh.  He did not apologize.  He gripped the bloody knife tightly, poised to stab me.  I scrambled backwards, frantically searching to see if my screams had brought anyone to my aid.  My search revealed nothing but an empty, snowy, gray wasteland of houses and shops.

My father reached down and snatched up my leg, dragging me back to him.   I kicked and screamed and clawed at the snow.  But, I was only six.  What could I do against a murderous man?

“Shut up!” he yelled, slamming the butt of the knife into my back.

I screamed, feeling the horrible bruising pain flare up.

When he let go, I scrambled to my feet again, only to be kicked down again and punched in the face.  Pain lanced through my side and my face.  Hot blood flowed freely, mixed with my tears, into the snow.  I couldn’t stop screaming and crying.  The pain was too much for a little six-year-old peasant girl.

He continued to punch and kick me, telling me to shut up.  But, I knew that his heart was no longer in it.  He was waking from his insane dream.  He knew that what he was doing wasn’t right.  Yet, black and red spots and splotches danced before my eyes with each of his hits.  They were gentler than the first blow he’d dealt, but they still hurt like rocks.  He didn’t use the knife yet.  

I tried to crawl away several times, but he only dragged me back to him.  He was toying with me.  He wanted my death to be slow and painful.  I could only ask “Why?”   I prayed silently for someone to come rescue me.  I prayed for some sort of savior.  If I couldn’t get a savior, could this death simply come faster?

The beating went on for what felt like hours.  I’d given up on screaming.  I’d given up hope that I’d be saved.  The cold seeped into my bones and froze my blood.  My tears were frozen tracks on my cheeks.  He still hadn’t used the knife.

I watched with tired, hollowed eyes as he finally lifted the enormous knife, malice and pain gleaming in his dark eyes.  I closed my eyes and accepted my fate.

The blade never fell.

I waited.

But, the blade never fell.

I opened my eyes and found a blade protruding from my father’s chest as he fell forward, landing on me, and crushing me.  He smelled of beer, smoke, and sweat.

My savior hauled the killer off of me and tossed him aside.  My savior was dressed in a black tunic, black trousers, and leather boots.  A black bear skin cloak hung over his shoulders and a black scarf was wrapped around his face and head.  He pulled the scarf down, revealing bright green eyes, a young face, and a head of spiky black hair.  His eyebrows knit with concern as he beheld my face.  He pulled his hand free of his black leather glove and grabbed a small handful of snow, gently rubbing it across my face to wash the blood.  The snow was numbing, but still stung as it mixed with my wounds.

Putting his glove back on, he took off his cloak.

Part of me was afraid of him.  Why save me when I'm nearly dead?  What did he plan to do with me?  Part of me didn't care anymore.  I was an orphan.  I had nothing left but the last gift my mother had given me: a gold chain with a gold pendant craved with a heart and a raven flying across it to represent our family name: Ravenheart.  It'd cost her a fortune to buy me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks once more as I touched my throat to see if it was still there.  My heart fell when I realized that it wasn't.

My savior wrapped me in his cloak.  "It's okay.  I won't hurt you.  My name's Malik Blackwell."

Malik Blackwell.  The Assassin.  Almirea's Assassin.

I swallowed my fear.  He'd said he wouldn't hurt me.  He'd saved me.  I could trust him.

I touched my throat once more.  "My - my - n-n-necklace." I shivered.  "My m-mother's necklace."

"You're mother's necklace?" he said, his green eyes kind.

I sniffled, nodding. "It's gone."

"Was it gold?" he asked, a small smile curling his lips.  

I nodded, smiling a little too.

His smile was beautiful.

Malik turned away, feeling around in the snow.  He turned back to me a moment later, the wide gold chain wrapped around his fingers, the Ravenheart pendant dangling in front of his knuckles.

My heart felt lighter at the sight of it.

Malik's smile widened as he clasped the necklace around my throat.

"Thank you." I whispered and I hugged the assassin.

He smelled of sweat and earth. 

When he hugged me back, he lifted me up into his arms.

Reviews

[Ace St. Jean]

Great, loved the descriptions, and the pacing of the scene!

[Tessa Melendez]

Thanks. I'm glad you liked it.