The Destroyer Goddess by Laura Resnick

they shared with such heedless pleasure... Yes, Kiloran knew then that he would do every terrible thing within his power to have this woman.
    And the price was even higher than I anticipated.
    Baran had never stopped making him pay.
    Now, fifteen years later, Kiloran found it strange to remember—and hard to believe—that those feelings had ever lived within him, let alone ruled him to the exclusion of reason, sense, and cold wisdom. He knew Alcinar had been lovely, but now he had trouble recalling her features. He knew that her exotic tattoos had seemed burningly erotic to him... but now he couldn't remember why.
    He... yes, he even regretted having destroyed her. He was certain that hadn't been his intention, though he must have known—surely, even in his fevered state, he must have realized?—that she would never accept any man other than Baran. 
    No, he acknowledged honestly. No . He hadn't even considered that before capturing her, and wouldn't have cared if he had. It was only after she was gone that he began to suspect, appalled at his own weakness, that he hadn't wanted Alcinar so much as he had wanted the untamed joy that Baran knew with her.
    How strangely foolish of me.
    That whole brief episode of Kiloran's life was one he had ensured remained secret. Of course, Baran had unwittingly helped, in a sense, by killing almost everyone who knew; even as Kiloran mourned their loss, he felt a private relief that his secrets died with them. Najdan, who had been busy making war on Gulstan's assassins at the time, never knew about those days at Kandahar; and a few months later, he brought Haydar, a very forgettable woman, back to his home near Kandahar. Searlon entered Kiloran's service the following year, and prying curiosity was not among his faults. There were few left alive who had even the vaguest knowledge of those strange months at Kandahar when Kiloran had behaved so irrationally, and Kiloran had made sure they knew better than to speak of that time to anyone. Ever.
    Such passions, Kiloran knew—had probably known even then—were for younger men. And for weaker, lesser men. He had been too greedy, he saw that now; saw it soon after losing Alcinar. A man could not be what Kiloran was and also be what Baran was in those days. He could be a great waterlord of immense power and influence or a dreamily contented lover. He could never be both at once.
    And the choice was so clear. Had Kiloran ever doubted it (which he hadn't), he need only consider how warped and wildly grieving Baran had been ever since then, insane with rage and sorrow for all these years. No, Baran had never recovered from the loss of his wife—a loss which would never crush a stronger, wiser man.
    A loss which did not crush me.
    But what an expensive lesson that period of folly had become. Kiloran was well aware that living without ever having tasted Alcinar would be much easier than living with fifteen years of Baran's enmity had been.
    And now there was this unexpected marriage to Mirabar. Kiloran sighed, acknowledging that he may once again have erred in his dealings with Baran.
    " Siran ." Dyshon's voice again captured his attention.
    "Hmmm?"
    "Will you entrust the kill to me?" 
    Kiloran was startled, realizing he hadn't been listening to Dyshon. "The kill?"
    "Wyldon." 
    "Oh, Wyldon," he murmured, gradually pulling his thoughts back to the subject at hand. 
    Dyshon's face was intent, his ambition overriding his fear of Wyldon's sorcery. "May I be the one to kill him?"
    "Ah."
    Forcing his attention away from fruitless memories and back to current business, Kiloran considered the request for a moment. He had proposed a meeting place to Wyldon which was bone dry at this time of year. For a meet between wary waterlords such as Wyldon and (as Wyldon thought) Baran, it was almost as good as Sanctuary. Their power was useless so far from a water source, a situation which would help secure a temporary truce between them.
    Stripped of his sorcery,