An hour passed and still he pumped, still he drew out her blood. The bucket had to be emptied twice. The blood in the second bucket seemed clearer, but her eyes were struggling to focus so she could not be sure.
At some point she began to sing, halting and low, under her breath. He did not speak any more, simply listened and worked as best as he could.
Another hour went by, and she wondered if his hand was tired. She wondered if a lich's hands could get tired. She did not really know, and she was left watching his fingers as they squeezed the little rubber thing that drew out her blood.
By the third hour, her blood flowed a rich crimson, and the lich finally stopped. Glancing up at her face, he was startled to see she had been staring at him. For over an hour she had been watching him, her cracked lips moving in a slow rhythm of a song that was barely audible.
He glanced down over her body; she knew she must be almost emaciated. The sheer amount of energy it had taken to rid her body of the poison and produce fresh blood had drained her. Yet she did not feel hungry, she only felt as though her brain were floating two feet above her head. She could not take her eyes off him.
He stood and headed out the door. She blinked hard as her body tried to pull her down towards sleep. He had been keeping her awake, and without him, she faded towards unconsciousness. It really was an unpleasant way to die. It was not quick or easy, and it was not elegant or brutal. It was just long and slow. It was by far her least favourite way to die.
Glancing down, she traced her fingers gently over her ribs, each one sharply visible against the fabric of her dress. Her hip bones looked odd, protruding from sunken flesh.
Her fingers looked like a skeleton's, and she saw that her nails were still black.
She could count out only four beats per minute, her lungs feeling like they had become weighted, not lifting enough to keep her alive.
She was dying, she knew it. At least the lich had made an effort to save her, even if her dying meant he was going to learn her secret.
A smell hit her like a slap to the face. She looked around, seeing first the lich, and then the eyes of a young man.
The sight was confusing. The young man was pale, though she thought that was from fear. His warm, honey brown eyes were huge as he took in the scene.
The lich did not speak, he only dragged the struggling man into the room. With one hand on the back of the man's head, the lich forced him into a bow over her.
He was what smelt so incredibly good. He was all sunshine and life, rich and deliciously alive. Her mouth had begun to water, and she licked her lips, wanting him so badly.
A cool hand slid tenderly under the back of her head, lifting her gently while he forced the man down.
She had begun to growl, animalistic and hungry. The food was so close, but she was so weak she could not even lift herself to him.
He had begun to cry, his warm tears dripping onto her face. With a brutal shove, the lich forced the man's mouth down onto hers.
She was not gentle with him. She ripped her way into him, and snatched that precious blue light from his being, not caring if she damaged it, not caring that she left fragments. She only cared that she got what she needed, and she devoured him mercilessly.
The lich threw the limp corpse away, his eyes locked on her, as the energy of the man's life flooded into her. Her eyes slid shut.
Her next breath was sharp and sweet, her heart started to speed up until it was thudding steadily in her chest. Her body sang, and she knew what Epharis would see. Her body would fill in, muscle and tissue replenishing, leaving her healthier. She was still pale when her eyes opened again, still weak and tired, and too thin.
She was still so very hungry, and he was standing right there.
Reaching for Epharis, she dragged him down towards her, her lips tilting up as he moved. He did not realise what her intentions were, and he allowed her to draw him closer.
By the time he realised, it was too late. Her arms had locked around his neck, her face turned to his. He went rigid as her lips met his.
Immediately she felt the rebuttal, a wall of protection he placed around his essence. She tried first to poke at, and then clawed at it in anger. She wanted it, and she beat against the wall that blocked her from what would satiate her hunger.
Attempting to distract him from his concentration, her fingers trailed over his neck to his collarbone, feeling over his chest. It did not work.
His fingers curled in her hair and he pried her face away from his. Her arm tightened around his neck, attempting to pull him back, yet he was stronger. Using one hand, he managed to pry her arm off him. He threw himself away from her, his back hitting the wall.
She remained lying on the bed but it wasn't long before her stomach roiled. She rolled onto her side and grabbed the recently empty bucket, vomiting into it. Her head seemed to recoil as though someone had stretched her brain out and then let go.
She had never in her life had someone capable of denying her.
The tendrils of herself that had reached into Epharis snapped off and recoiled into her own mind, causing it to spin and her stomach to heave.
What came out of her stomach was black and thick with the dark grey of the iron mixed in.
***
The vomiting continued for several minutes. Epharis remained a healthy distance from her as he attempted to put his thoughts back in order on what had happened.
He knew what she was capable of, and yet he had allowed himself to get close enough that she had been able to grab him. Had he not possessed such abilities as he did, he would be dead. She would have followed him, but he would have perished.
Slowly, he crossed the room to her. Keeping his distance, he stroked her hair.
Finally able to settle her stomach, she slid off the bed and crossed the room to a small basin to rinse her mouth and splash her face.
Gasping softly, she stood with her arms braced against the basin, breathing slowly.
She was ravenous, but she had to keep herself under control. What she had done with the lich had been desperate, but she was thinking now.
"Why is it, any time I am in this position, you bring me here?" she asked finally, her eyes focused on her nails. They were still black, her fingertips discoloured.
She had not rid her body of all the iron, but it was thanks to the lich that she had survived at all.
She knew she was valuable to him, but why was he intent on saving her life, and for what? What was his motivation?
Clicking her nail against the bowl, she straightened and turned to look at him over her shoulder.
"You needed help," he said simply, still standing beside the bed.
She remained silent, watching him for a time. It was hard for her to decide what he was. He was a lich, but he was also gentle at times.
He was a monster at other times, cruel and sadistic. He was controlling and domineering, yet he gave her freedom she would not normally have expected. What did he want from her, really?
She was not going to press him any further, her mind whirling as she tried to process what was going on.
"Did the elf die?" she asked, having only vague thoughts of the elf being involved in some manner. She did not know why, or how he had been involved, but there was a sense that something had happened.
"No, he will live. Running an elf through is not often fatal," he spoke slowly as he came around the bed to her side.
Cupping her jaw, he lifted her head to examine her face better. "You still look ill." Pressing his thumb lightly under her eye, he stretched the skin to see how it rebounded. It seemed as though she was dehydrated.
"I'm lucky to be alive," she said slowly, the words hanging between them for a long time.
"Yes, well, let us get you someone to eat," he said, dismissing her words as though they were nothing. He was not about to let her thank him.
Clasping his arm around her thin shoulders, he pulled her towards the door and out into the hall.
Finding a meal that night was more of a challenge than she had found before, given the cold, and the news of an 'incident' at the castle. People decided it was better to hide in their homes.
As a result, the odd pair had been forced to head down into the docks; even many of the homeless had found a place to hide.
The man they found had been curious enough to follow the hooded pair into an alley. He was stunned into silence by the appearance of the inhuman woman. He did not put up a fight, but embraced her as an old friend, giving himself up to her as though that had been his intent all along.
She did not understand why, nor did she care. It was so odd, for his willing surrender had made him taste almost sweet.
Lowering his limp form to the ground, she bundled him up in his cloak and the two left, leaving his corpse there to be discovered later.
She felt better after that, the tips of her fingers were no longer discoloured, yet her nails remained blackened and felt oddly brittle.
Her skin had regained most of its colour, but she was still paler than ever. The dark circles around her eyes had eased, but had not vanished.
Her body filled out and her veins appeared to be their usual blue, but the site of the injection was blackened with a dark bruise that refused to leave. It was possible she would have to remove the arm, and had been saying as much to the lich when something moved ahead of them.
The sight of Izziah and Drizdan was quite a surprise.
"Princess!" Drizdan boomed as the two approached, Izziah followed along behind him as though he expected to be in trouble.
"Lord Drizdan, Lord Izziah. What brings you out on this fine night?" Etani asked, her attention switching between the two men, before finally settling on Izziah.
He looked horrified at the sight of her, and then refused to meet her gaze.
"Just exploring the city, these places are so very fascinating. It is an honour as always, Prince Epharis." Drizdan had a silver tongue, and bowed deeply to the prince, yet his eyes returned to Etani.
"Pleasure," Epharis responded, though his tone suggested it was anything but.
"What brings you both out this evening?"
Before she could respond, Epharis cut in, his eyes locked with loathing on Izziah.
"We are out here for the princess to recover from her injuries. She was quite ill, you see. She nearly died." The level of anger and hatred that hung in the air after that statement was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.
Izziah seemed to have found a pebble on the road that was extremely interesting.
"Is that so? Well, I am glad to see you in such good health, princess," Drizdan said, his lips pulling back into a malicious grin. "My brother here was just telling me about a conversation he had on this same matter, with the elf."
Her confusion vanished like a soap bubble as it clicked. Izziah…? He had betrayed her. She was not the one that moved this time, but rather Epharis, thrusting Drizdan out of the way and grasping Izziah by the throat. The lich lifted the smaller drow up, his feet dangling and kicking.
Etani tried to follow after and drag Epharis back, but she found a warm arm had slipped around her waist. Drizdan held her firmly against his chest, keeping her from intervening.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill your worthless drow self, right this instant," Epharis snarled, his eyes glowing a hypnotic green, emitting an unpleasant grey smoke.
Izziah could do nothing but choke, attempting to kick the lich, but he was unable to get in a solid blow.
"Let this happen," Drizdan whispered in her ear as she attempted to wriggle free of him. Then she fell still again, uncertain.
"I've always wanted a drow remnant; you would make the perfect addition to my collection. Let Alaric have one brother, I'll take the other." Epharis seethed, the air around him crackled and the temperature dropped even further.
Etani spun around, driving her elbow into Drizdan's ribcage. She threw his arm off and ran to put herself between Epharis and the hanging Izziah.
"Epharis, stop! You can't, he belongs to Alaric!" she cried, tugging at his free arm. "Stop and think what will happen if you decide to kill him on something he said."
Epharis' attention turned down to her, their eyes locking. His teeth were bared in a feral snarl, ready to rip the man apart.
"Epharis, please, don't do this now. You can have your revenge later, but not here." She did not dare blink for fear that he would lose interest in her. His eyes turned from her eyes to her bruised arm and then back.
The sounds behind her were terrible, the man was spluttering and choking as he tried to free himself from the grip of the lich.
"Fine," Epharis said finally and let go, leaving Izziah to fall into a heap on the ground, gasping for air.
Wrapping his arm around her, Epharis pulled her away from the Drow men. She glanced back over her shoulder at the two. It was such an odd sight. Izziah stared after her with an expression of abject shame. Drizdan's was one of pride and a deep, insatiable desire.
She shivered as she turned away, allowing herself to be ushered from the scene. Stopping at the gates to the castle, he turned on her and seethed.
"You knew perfectly well what he did, yet you stopped me? Are your feminine desires such that you would allow a traitor to be at your side?" he snarled.
Eyebrows raising, she absorbed that information. Did he think she spared Izziah because she desired him? Was he out of his mind? He was a drow, and had betrayed her. She would not so much as consider him a prospective mate, let alone think of him as anything less than a traitor.
Anger flared in her, and she glared up at him. His expression one of surprise.
"I would no sooner take a drow as a lover as a horse. Do not assume that my actions are ever derived from something so low as sexual desire," she snarled at him, furious that he would even consider her to be so weak.
He hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding.
"Very well, I will leave his punishment up to you," he said finally, turning away from her and heading inside.
She stood there, confused and uncertain. She was so angry and disappointed at the drow that she was left unable to decide what to do. So she followed after the lich and headed back to her rooms.
***
The next day, the lich revealed his lie. On a small slip of parchment was the name 'Izziahnordia'. He had ordered her to execute him.
Cursing him, she tried to come up with a strategy to get out of the order, but nothing she came up with seemed plausible. She did not deem it wise to approach the lich himself, nor to go to Alaric with the news, so she let it nag at her for days.
Even as she tried to ignore it, unwanted thoughts returned to her, and she began to grow paranoid. Had the lich himself ensured the words would return to her, in case she tried to back out? But she told herself she was worrying over nothing and gave herself time to fully recover.
A week had passed since the incident in the street and she had run out of excuses not to do her job.
Finally setting out, she dressed herself and stood before the mirror to search her attire for any hint of something that might shine, or pull in a way that would make it difficult to move. She wore black pants and a black long sleeve top, covering her from neck to wrists and down to her toes. Her arms were covered from elbow to fingertips in soft leather gloves with the fingertips removed. This made it easier for her to pick locks. Inside the gloves were two long knives, her weapon of choice.
Her hair was braided back in a long coil that she tucked into the back of her hood. A mask covered the lower half of her face. A leather corset around her middle allowed her to hide a large number of knives on her person.
She wore boots, only because it was more convenient for her. With weapon storage and soles that were soft to not make a sound, they were perfect for the job she had to do. Against her lower back she had a small pouch of several different concoctions she had developed. It contained several poisons and a smoke bomb. All she had to do was shatter it. Her belt held a small array of throwing knives, a pouch with a garrotte and a length of rope for scaling. A second rope hung from the balcony to her room, giving her easy access to the grounds below without having to pass through the castle.
Picking up a small vial from the counter before her, she sprinkled a splash over her clothes. It was designed to neutralise her scent to most beings. It was supposed to be effective on drow, according to her books, but she had not tested it.
Every buckle and strap on her attire had been dulled down with black paint, her fingertips dipped in a dark dye to ensure the paleness of her skin did not show through.
She looked like an assassin, there was no denying it. Pulling her hood forward to cover her face better, she let out a low sigh and headed out onto the balcony.
Climbing over the railing, she made her way down the rope. Her gloves were a bit slippery at first, but the abrasiveness of the rope roughened them up.
She reached the bottom, and headed across the grounds and out into the city, her mind on the task at hand.