Lazarus stood from the table with such a sharpness that it drew several eyes. He had barreled towards her from the long wooden structure, moving fast yet stumbling, only to come to a stop and stare like a drunken fool. At her. After all the lies and tricks, she wasn’t in the mood. Not even a little bit.
“Do you need something, Master Fierté? Or should I call you Prince”—she said scathingly—“since you’re to be a king?” The titles fell from her mouth one after another without regard. He hadn’t given her any thought when he lied, she saw it fit to return the favor.
“Quinn, this isn’t the place—”
“You’re right, it’s not. I’m enjoying a dance right now, making friends, playing nice, behaving—just as you wanted me to.” She turned to resume dancing with Vaughn, ignoring Lazarus entirely. She should have known that wouldn’t do. Lazarus was not a man that took to being ignored well.
Calloused fingers grabbed her wrist, pulling her to a stop. Vaughn stood a few feet to the side, frowning between the two of them but not daring to interfere.
The breath hissed between Quinn’s teeth. The spirits she’d consumed writhing as they wreaked havoc through her completely intolerant system. Strands of fear rose up as she called them to her and shot them down her arm to where Lazarus held firm.
He loved pushing and pulling her as he pleased. Maybe it was time for him to see why fear twisters earned their name.
The inky tendrils crept from her bare skin to his, coasting up his hand, wrist, and forearm before wrapping tightly. Where he should have shuddered and bucked, dropping to his knees before her as an empty vessel … he stood.
Slowly, Quinn turned to look at the man who somehow withstood her.
Murky, depthless eyes stared back. She kept pumping fear into him, watching as his own bodily response only marginally changed. Far less responsive than any man, woman, or child had ever been. He shifted on his feet, his eyes brandishing unshed darkness.
“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Lazarus growled. Quinn’s eyebrows came up as she slowly turned her front fully to face him once more. There was something in his expression. Something she’d only seen the makings of once before.
A savageness that enraptured her. A heat that scorched her soul.
Quinn didn’t want it. She didn’t want to see or to feel any of it—any of him. But if he was so bent on setting her aflame, maybe she should just strike the match and watch it all burn.
Her hand came up lighting fast, and she could have sworn that thunder boomed when she swung. A crack split the air and the music died out.
Lazarus’ face didn’t twitch, not as the flush of a red handprint bloomed on his tanned flesh. “Scortum,” she snapped in N’skaran. “Oh, my apologies, my Prince, I forgot that you don’t speak that language. Allow me to translate. You’re being a prick.”
“And you’re playing with fire,” he growled as he stepped around her and began hauling her through the crowd. “A fire you don’t know how to control.” Some of the men let out a laugh and the women squealed in delight just before the music began again. The melody no longer lulled her into a false sense of calm, but instead trailed behind as they turned into the brutal wind that whipped through the trees. He pulled her along the high wooden walkways, either not noticing or not caring how the wood planks swayed beneath him. They came upon a tree hut far removed from the party where the noises were a world away. He flung open the heavy wooden door and hauled her through.
A taupe colored wooden table with two sturdy chairs sat to one side of the room. On it, a candle was already burning, giving off faint traces of light. A narrow hallway to their left led to a small bedroom.
Lazarus paused in the doorway and quit dragging her.
Not that Quinn stopped fighting.
“Let go of me, you pompous ass—”
“Why were you upset tonight?” he asked in a tone so silky and smooth that she paused. The reason she was fighting temporarily forgotten. She’d expected anger, and perhaps, some yelling. But this … she narrowed her eyes, not trusting it.
“Why were you?” she replied.
They stared at each other, neither willing to talk; neither willing to yield.
“You made a fool out of me.” He grimaced as soon as the words came out. Looking to the ceiling and running a hand down his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fawning over that boy … wearing those clothes—”
“I didn’t do anything more than speak to him, and Lorraine is wearing the same thing,” Quinn interrupted, lifting a silver eyebrow. “And if you want to talk about embarrassing, let’s talk about why you never told me you’re next in line to become king. Hmm? Shall we?”
“It’s not that simple, Quinn.” He dropped her wrist and turned away.
“Oh, it’s not?” she snapped, unrelenting. “You didn’t lie to me about your intentions?” She circled him even as he turned away from her.
“I never lied to you. You signed a contract to be part of my house for five years, whether it’s the house of a noblemen or king matters not,” he said, turning for the hallway.
“So, you can just walk away when it suits you, but I do it because you’re making a fool of yourself and, suddenly, I’m playing with fire?” she growled, following after him. “Black Baac.”
“You’re driving me insane,” he groaned, striding into the bedroom. She didn’t hesitate to follow him in.
“You’re already there,” she shot back, stopping at the foot of his bed.
He rounded on her and the expression on his face made her halt. His eyes were unfocused. Hazy. She squinted, slowly inching forward.
“You have no idea,” he murmured, the words barely audible in the silent air between them, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. Quinn blinked.
“What are you talking about?” His constant changing was giving her a headache—or was that the spirits talking? It was hard to tell when the colors swished together and shone so bright it hurt. The fear in her veins wrestled against the small modicum of control she held, wanting to come out and play again. To test him. To taste him.
“Your magic,” he breathed, inhaling deeply. There was a spark of something in his gaze that she didn’t want to put a name to. She wanted to go back to the cold, safe space, to where the world didn’t sway as much as it did. “You used it on me. You tried to hurt me, and I fear…”
Quinn tilted her head up, her expression puzzled and heart pounding.
“What do you fear?” she asked so softly that she wasn’t sure if he had heard her.
But then he answered, his words low, quiet, and so full of dark promise that they set her nerves on edge. “That I’ll lose control.”
Her lips parted, because it was the most straightforward he’d ever been. There were still so many things unsaid, and so many secrets that she didn’t know which dark corner to prod. Come the morning they might both regret this night. Regret the things that were said and the way they’d acted. But here and now, in the moment…
“You stupid, stupid man.” She leaned into him and when he didn’t back away, a thought came into her mind. Just a little wicked. She stretched up on her toes. Her breath fanned the shell of his ear, and she felt the shudder that ran through him. They’d ridden together day after day for weeks, pressed against each other, but this was different.
Tonight, there was violence and dark magic riding them both.
She whispered, “You already have.”
Her lips skimmed his cheek as she moved further south, skating down his jaw … only briefly—not even a second—pressing to his hard mouth before she pulled away. She inhaled the scent of spirits and smoke and flame. Underneath it all was something that called to her. That drew her in, pulling her close.
He said that like calls to like.
She was only beginning to understand as she turned for the door.
“Wait,” he commanded, more clarity in his voice than he’d had only moments before.
“You’re drunk, Lazaru
s. Go to bed,” she said, not turning to face him.
“It’s been a week, Quinn. You owe me an answer,” he said, surprising her. She’d expected poor attempts at seduction, but instead he asked her for answers—knowing her head was not all there this night and that in the quiet darkness of his room she might not dismiss.
Clever bastard, she thought to herself.
“And my question?” she asked.
“You already asked it,” was his reply. She thought for a second, and then nodded. Clever bastard, indeed. She would need to be more careful with the silver-tongued demon that held her leash.
“So, I did.” She paused. “What’s your question, Lazarus?”
She thought of all the things he might ask. The answers he might try to pry from her and wondered if the contract would demand it. If her only choices would be to lay it bare before him or die in silence. Her nails curled into her palms as she bit her cheek.
But Lazarus was anything if not unpredictable.
“Why don’t you drink spirits?” Such a simple question.
Such a vulnerable answer.
Quinn glanced over her shoulder to where he stood at the edge of the bed, right where she’d left him. “I already have enough demons of my own. I know better than to open the door for more.”
And then she walked away into the brutal chill of the night, knowing deep down it wouldn’t comfort her as it once had. There were some things not even the harshest of winters and winds could bury.
Dreams and Nightmares
“Fears can never be washed away. They will always find you, no matter how strong you are. If you escape them during the day, then they will find you in the night.”
— Quinn Darkova, former slave, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister
Leaves crunched under her boots as Quinn strode away from Lazarus’ tree hut and toward her own. The drums from the feast beat in the distance as she curled and uncurled her fingers letting the fear wisps dance across her skin. The events of the night played over and over in her mind as she reached out to grasp the rope ladder and began climbing.
The frigid mountain air rattled her ascent, but there was something more lingering. Another magic, not hers, not his, but something other. Something subtle. It settled in the air around her like a stranger from afar, curious and watching, but not actively touching. She shook her head, trying to clear it from her mind and the ladder swayed. Biting the inside of her cheek she kept moving, her stiff fingers rigid when she finally grasped the wooden floor. She hauled herself over the ledge and laid there for a moment, enjoying the reprieve from the wind and the night and … other things. Things she didn’t want to think of, at least for tonight.
Quinn pulled herself up into a sitting position and sighed deeply, her longing gaze shifting from the bed to the floor where she currently sat. She contemplated shedding her fur clothing but decided against it as she rose to her feet and stumbled into bed.
Her eyes fell shut as the wind howled and the branches wavered, scratching against the side of the hut. She rolled to her side in frustration, letting out a huff as she tried to settle enough for sleep to take her.
King, her mind whispered, Lazarus Fierté, future king of Norcasta. She’d been shocked when she heard it, but the more she thought, the more she wasn’t sure what to think. Working for a nobleman and working for a king were certainly different, but not that much. However, kissing a nobleman and kissing a king … those were very different things.
And even more to the matter was what Lazarus wanted her for to begin with. He still hadn’t said much, but she was beginning to wonder, beginning to see. He wanted her trained but cooperating. He wanted her to harness her power, but not to use it on him.
There was only one reason he’d want that, and deep down she knew it.
Just as she knew she wasn’t all that opposed to it. Not really.
Quinn’s thoughts trailed off as her mind finally grew fuzzy. In the distance, she heard voices—Lorraine’s and Dominicus’ as they entered the hut. Exhaustion kept her rooted to her bed, back turned and eyes closed. She was just on the precipice of sleep when she felt a cool hand touch her forehead. She froze but sensed no ill intent. The hand moved and her breathing evened out again.
“She’s asleep,” Lorraine whispered softly.
A second set of footsteps paused farther away. “Are you okay here?” Dominicus asked.
“With Quinn?” Lorraine asked. “Yes, of course. She might be brash, but she’d never hurt me unless she felt threatened. For all her talk she’s still just a child.”
“She’s a woman, Lorraine,” Dominicus corrected her, “and though she may be several years younger than you, I would not relegate her to a child. She is many things, but innocent is not one of them.”
Quinn’s lips pressed together. She kept her eyes closed as she listened intently, waiting for Lorraine’s reply.
“People are complicated, Dom,” she said, her voice soft and understanding. “Quinn is no less so. She may be a young woman, but in many ways, she has the emotional maturity of a child—one that has been forced to endure and survive horrible things.”
“You’re not her mother,” Dominicus said.
“No, I’m not,” Lorraine agreed. “But I’ve been tasked with watching over her, nonetheless. We all have. I’m not striving to take the place of her mother—the gods know I’m not suitable, but—”
“Your son loves you, ‘Raine.” Heavy footsteps moved closer to where Lorraine’s voice sounded. The other woman gasped, and Quinn’s body tightened. She clenched her fists, ready to jump up from her pallet, but the soft sigh that followed let her know Lorraine was in no pain.
“I know he does.”
“Then stop trying to mother Quinn. Stop trying to teach her manners. Just let her be.”
Lorraine’s soft chuckle soothed something deep inside Quinn. The tiny kernel of something dark putting her at peace. “That I can’t do,” Lorraine said. “I think she could benefit from some manners.”
Dominicus scoffed quietly. “If you think you’ll teach her—as resistant as she is—to be a lady, you are more insane than Lazarus is for bringing her along.”
“The gods have a plan for everyone, Dominicus—you, me, Lazarus, and even her. I may never teach her to act like a lady, but I can show her that I care by trying.” Quinn felt those kind brown eyes settle on her back, just before a hand did—brushing her hair away from her face the way her mother never had. “I teach her because I see a future for her at Lazarus’ side—one where she could make use of these lessons. I didn’t understand why he brought her with us in the beginning, but … I’m starting to.” Those gentle fingers barely touched her as they dusted the stray strands of hair. “There’s a change coming. A new age approaching—and I for one am happy to be on this side of it.”
“A change is coming?” Dominicus asked.
“You don’t sense it?” Lorraine said softly. “King Claudius is on his deathbed and when—not if—but when he dies, Lazarus will be king. I can feel it in my bones. The tide of relative complacency that we have been riding will shift, and he’ll need us. They both will.”
Dominicus huffed out a breath, the sound deeper than anything Lorraine could emit. “If she doesn’t kill us before then.”
“She won’t.” Lorraine sounded so sure, it made Quinn uneasy that she didn’t feel that same assurance in herself.
“If you say so, ‘Raine.” Dominicus sighed. Heavy footsteps moved away from her, from Lorraine, as Dominicus returned to the trap door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Bring the girl. Vaughn asked us if she could train with them and Lazarus gave his consent.”
“So long as you or Draeven are there watching her, I gather?” Lorraine replied, a note of terseness in her voice.
“Of course,” Dominicus said curtly. “Wouldn’t want her to get the idea of staying in Cisea and marrying one of the mountain men. Gods help us, how Lazarus might respond because this all might be for nothing if she did.”
“Goodnight, Dom.”
Quinn listened to the soft sounds of Dominicus’ retreat down the ladder and Lorraine getting ready for bed. She wanted to sit up and say something. She had so many questions, but at the same time, she had no clue how to put them into words. The longer she laid there contemplating her thoughts and confusion, the blearier her mind became. Quinn didn’t even realize when oblivion opened its sweet arms and welcomed her into the fold of dreams and nightmares until it was too late.
She stood on the surface of an ocean, but it was hard and stable. Under her feet—wrathful churning waves were caged in the deep blue sea. Quinn blinked down at the cyclones beneath her before lifting her head to the sky and nearly cursing. Once again, she’d landed in some faraway place she’d never seen before.
Dark gray clouds moved overhead, and before her a floating staircase was the only thing that existed in the wide expanse. Left with little other choice, Quinn strode towards it and hooked one hand around the half stone wall using it as a railing. The stone steps curved around, circling up into the dark gray above where the temperature should have dropped, but felt neither warm nor cold. Still, wind lifted her hair and blew it back from her face as lightning flashed in the clouds—close, but not enough to touch her.
Black vines crawled through the cracks in the stone, slowly creeping after her as she walked by. She paused and they stopped as well, waiting for her next move. Quinn glanced over her shoulder and decided that they weren’t a threat—just curious as they trailed after her. She resumed climbing, circling the baseless tower of steps until she came to an open archway in the center of a field of clouds.
A figure in the distance caught her eye. A man of shadow backlit by such incandescent light that it never occurred to her that she should be cautious. She didn’t consider the impossibility of walking over clouds as she stumbled forward. The possibility of falling to the hard surface of water below never crossed her mind as she sprinted, closing the distance.
Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 16