Free o ed4c3e33dafa4d72 by Sylvie Pepos

own life is the ultimate betrayal, you understand," the woman in the gallery was instructing. "It is the ultimate shame for a warrior. The ultimate guilt."
    He ran the sharp edge of the dagger blade over his left wrist and watched the black
    blood pumping furiously from the wound. It dripped down his forearm, pooled on the
    floor and continued to spread in rivulets around his feet.
    "Why, beloved? Why?" She cried, her sobbing loud in his ears.
    He transferred the blade to his other hand and slashed at his right wrist, smiling
    grimly as the flesh gaped open, blood welled, the spurted.
    "Kamerone, why?"
    "You left me," he told her sadly. "I could not bear the loneliness."
    Shame, such overpowering shame, at his own weakness, his inability to control his life,
    washed over him as his life's blood began to drain away.
    Guilt, soul-wrenching guilt, had gripped him, embraced him, brought him into the
    waiting arms of death. He was pressed against that carrion body like an abandoned
    lover. Death's perfume of the grave filled his nostrils and blotted out the lemony scent of her hair.
    "Oh, Kamerone!" She sighed so forlornly.
    Defeat, crushing, sustained defeated had tripped him up; had brought to him the
    startling realization that he was a coward dying a coward's death.
    Fire...noose.
    "Stage One complete."
    SPACE...POISON...WATER.
    "Stage Two complete."
    ROCKS...DREWE...DISEASE.
    "Stage Three complete."
    SAND...COLD...BLOCKS.
    "Stage Four complete."
    He hardly knew he was sobbing as Bridget removed the wedge from his lips. Tina was
    stroking his arm, saying something he could not hear. Dorrie was unclipping his
    restraints, letting her hands linger on his thigh; actually smiling at him. Dr. Dean patted
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    his shoulder and told him he would be able to sleep again; reminding him that it wouldn't
    be long now.
    The orderlies rolled him back to his cell. The injection. The soft touch of Bridget's
    hand on his brow. Her intoxicating scent easing him into sleep, blessed sleep.

Chapter 6
    DR. BERYLA Dean and Dr. Hael Sejm sat across from one another as they ate. The
    two women had known one another for many years and were the best of friends. Having
    graduated University together, they shared a common bond not only in their love of
    science and medicine, but in their steadfast devotion to the Resistance. Both were leaders
    of the primarily female force that fully intended to free all women from the Rysalian
    Empire's subjugating yoke. They often came to Rysalia Prime to spend an afternoon in
    this safe house sat up by the Resistance, where the walls did not have eyes and ears;
    where they could speak freely without having to fear their words and actions would be
    reported.
    "There was nothing I could do, Beryla," Hael stated. "I argued until I was blue in the face, but Onar would not relent."
    Dr. Dean made an undignified snort and took up her goblet of Ionarian wine. She took
    a healthy swallow then set the crystal goblet down. "I am not blaming you, Hael."
    "Unfortunately, I have not been allowed access to the final treatment medications," Dr.
    Sejm told her. "I can't guarantee what Sorn will do."
    Once more Dr. Dean snorted. "That bitch would double the dose if she could get away
    with it!"
    "We can only hope and pray she does not," Hael responded.
    The mention of Delyn Sorn took away Beryla's appetite and she picked up her napkin,
    wiped her lips, then threw the linen on the table. "Of all the physicians he could have
    chosen, why in God's name did he pick that bitch?"
    Hael had no love for the Diabolusian doctor, either, and said as much. "Because he
    knows she'll do exactly as he says. You, on the other hand, infuriated him yesterday and
    since you did it in front of other Tribunal members, this is his way of punishing you."
    "That bitch was in the gallery every day watching us," the Director hissed.