Free The Unforgiven by Joy Nash Page A

the fabrication of mirrors, the workmanship of bracelets and ornaments, the use of cosmetics, the beautifying of the eyebrows. He taught the use of stones of every valuable and select kind, and of all sorts of dyes, so that the world became altered.
    Azazel has taught every type of iniquity upon earth. He has disclosed to the world all the secrets of the heavens. The whole earth has been corrupted through his works.
    To Azazel, ascribe all sin.
    —
from the Book of Enoch

Chapter Six
    She lingered by the well, watching.
    He was the tallest, strongest, most handsome man of the tribe. Their chieftain. His power was vast. He had risen to rule over all his brothers. And she was his daughter—how proud she was! She filled her jar with sweet, cool water, dipped from a well that never went dry, even during the long summers when the rains stayed away and the rivers turned to dust. All the while she gazed at him from beneath down-swept lashes.
    He worked a new blade. Sparks flew as he scraped the shining bronze along the face of the whetstone. Pausing in his labor, he lifted the sword and sighted its length. Something tightened in her chest when he pressed his bare thumb to the weapon’s cutting edge.
    He was her father. He was also a stranger.
    He had never spoken a word to her. She had never sought his attention; she had never dared. As far back as she could remember, her mother, Zariel, had not been counted among his favored concubines. Her mother no longer went to him alone, only as attendant to younger, more beautiful women.
    How bitterly she wished for her father’s acknowledgment! If only she could claim just a fragment of the time he lavished on her half brothers. Her father took pains to teach each of his sons the arts of weapon craft and war. Ezreth, the elder, was the favorite. To his first-born son he taught the secrets of magic, the secrets of Heaven. To his first-born daughter he taught nothing.
    Tears stung her eyes. One dropped from her cheek into the clear water in her jug. With shaking hands, she raised the vessel to her headand stood. It was not fair. He was her father as well as Ezreth’s. If she had been a man, she would have been Ezreth’s equal! She shared their father’s angelic nature. And his magic. Yes, that, too. She had always known it. The wings of Heaven beat inside her chest, but she did not know how to set them free.
    She lifted her chin, steadying the heavy jug atop her head with one raised hand. Today, she vowed, her father would look into her eyes. Today he would see her.
    Steadily she approached him, halting but a few steps away. She said nothing; the strange courage that gripped her did not extend quite so far as that. To speak first to her tribe’s chieftain would be an unforgivable insult.
    He was bent to the task of sharpening his sword. His power, a beautiful red swirl, surrounded his dark head and shoulders. He was aware of her presence, surely. But he did not look up. The urge to flee came upon her. She stayed.
    She stayed but trembled. Her father exchanged his whetstone for an oiled rag. This he dragged over the new blade again and again. The bronze shone. It deflected a ray of sunlight into her eyes. She blinked against a tear. The blade might as well have plunged into her heart, so sharp was her yearning at that moment.
    Look at me.
    Her father put the sword aside and raised his eyes. She stared into those dark irises for what seemed like forever, far longer than the point in time when she should have dropped her gaze.
    Silent, he studied her. And then he spoke.
    “
You are one of mine.
”
    Joy blossomed. He knew her!
    She trembled. “Yes, Father.
”
    “
What is your name, little one?
”
    “
Lilith,” she said.
    His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Why have you come to me?
”
    She lowered the water jug from her head and placed it on the ground between them. “The sun is hot. You have labored long. I have brought you fresh water. Will you drink?
”
    He nodded. She