“I’m exhausted,” Quinn panted, sluggishly dragging her legs upward. The burn in her thighs was real and made the hurt from riding a horse feel downright tolerable. “Can we break for a little—”
“No,” came his reply. Quinn bit out a curse in N’skaran, not noticing the small rock that caught the toe of her boot and she went down. Her hands came up, protecting her face as it met gravel and stones. The scent of copper made her scrunch her nose as she groaned and rolled over. Despite the faint traces of pain in her hands, she was content to lie there for just a moment. Even with the pulse of discomfort and the slick feel of blood on her skin, it couldn’t lessen the relief her legs felt as they were finally given the break they had been screaming for.
“Gods above—what the—” Lazarus’ massive form filled her blurry vision as he kneeled down. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Mmm,” Quinn groaned. “Of course,” she coughed. Her lungs felt like they were bursting from all the exertion, but in actuality, it was simply the strenuous exercise and cold air. “I definitely did that intentionally, scratching up my hands just so I could have a break.” She held up her hands and blood dripped down them. Lazarus looked past them, down at the girl lying in the trail.
“I never know with you,” he muttered as he started to clean and bandage her wounds. If she were being honest, Quinn would have fallen sooner if she knew it would result in a break, but she kept that to herself as his calloused fingers skated over hers.
When her palms were cleaned and wrapped in dry cloth, Lazarus helped her up and they started again at a much slower pace. “So why are we practically running up this mountain like raksasas are chasing us?” she asked. Lazarus sighed.
“We need to test how strong you are,” he said slowly. “And the Cisean’s have a way to do that.”
Quinn nodded. “So, it’s true,” she murmured, drawing his attention.
“What’s true?” he asked, and she could tell it pained him. Whatever demons were chasing them this day, they weren’t the raksasa of the dark realm.
“The Cisean’s have a cavern that can reveal a Maji’s strength … if you have the right tools. Yes?” she said, squeezing the sting in her palms by clenching her fists at her sides.
“You know of it?” he asked.
“I know of a great many things, Lazarus. Don’t act so surprised.” A slight smile curved around the corners of her lips and his expression darkened.
“Then you know how it works,” he said. “Good. That’ll make this easier.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.” She nodded up to where the trail disappeared over a ravine hundreds of feet above. “I said I know of the cavern. It’s been rumored for years that they had a way to test magic, that it could tell if a person would survive the ascension…” Her voice trailed off and she didn’t miss the way he stiffened. “That’s what we’re doing here, isn’t it?” she asked. “You want to make sure that you’re investing your time and resources wisely and that when the time comes, I can live through it.”
She didn’t say it, nor did she give it away, but the callousness of it stung a little. She had suspicions of what his intentions for her were, but still, there was more to them—more to whatever it was between them than this dispassionate indifference. Even if neither of them wanted to admit it.
“That’s not exactly it,” Lazarus said, his lips pinching together. “I need to get a feel for what I’m dealing with in training you, and the only way to do that is to have you tested. Unfortunately, we couldn’t do it before we left Dumas—”
“—because you’re the heir to the Norcastan throne and people don’t like that,” Quinn added before he could continue.
“Like I said before, there is more to it,” he said eventually, and Quinn harrumphed because she knew he wasn’t going to say more. “But yes, we had to leave in a hurry, and this is the only place that I can do it without too many eyes.” Quinn frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Why does it matter?” she asked.
“You’re powerful, and power scares those who don’t have it,” Lazarus answered. She stumbled when the tip of her boot caught a rock and blinked twice as he continued past her. His long thick legs ate up the distance.
“You think people would try to kill me if they knew what I was,” she said, not questioning, but in hopes to prompt some kind of answer from him. Lazarus stopped.
“For what you are? Without a doubt. That’s why you tried to hide it.” He paused, looking over his shoulder. Smoldering black eyes zeroed in on her. “But for how strong you are … some things are worse than death. You were a slave once. I’m trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Her heart jumped in her chest because he got it. For all his poking and prodding and herding and manhandling—he got it. “If the wrong people learn how strong I am before I can ascend, they might try to take me,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Not that they’d be successful. I have a reputation for removing limbs when people steal from me.” She might have shuddered if she were a lesser being, but the darkness in his voice had the opposite effect on her. Instead of feeling trapped, she felt safe. Protected. That shocked her to the core. Quinn was always the protector, the guard dog, the weapon. Never once had she been protected.
Slowly she walked forward, coming to stand beside him.
“Will it hurt?” she asked. Her face gave away nothing. No shadow of doubt. No hint of feeling. It was the mask he wanted. The mask she needed.
“Yes,” he answered honestly. “It’s supposed to mimic the ascension and drain you completely so that it can measure what you’ll be after it.” Her eyebrows drew together as she stared at him. She understood the ascension in broad terms. She’d seen people go through it when she lived in N’skara, but Maji were rare in Norcasta. Partially because they were less frequent. N’skara bred for magic where as Norcasta didn’t. It was also partially that most Maji, light or dark, chose to remain hidden from the prejudice they would experience otherwise in the southern countries. That was one of the reasons Quinn found Lazarus so interesting. Not only was he a dark Maji, but he was a nobleman and in line for the throne.
“Do you think I’ll survive it?” she asked, shaking away her thoughts. She was not afraid, even knowing there was a chance she could die. There were worse ways to go. She knew because she planned to use them on those that had wronged her one day, if she made it through.
“I do,” he said without hesitation. “Thorne said this is going to be painful for you, but I truly believe you’ll make it through. You’re too strong not to.”
Quinn stared at him, his features remained impassive, giving away nothing. She looked into his ebony eyes and saw the truth there. That he did believe that, but he was also worried.
Good, she thought to herself, striding past him and continuing up the trail. It meant he understood not just her past, but the value of her life. She could work with that.
“What are you going to do if I’m more powerful than you?” she asked absently after the sounds of his heavy footsteps sounded behind her, once again devouring the distance she’d created between them.
“I’m not sure you want to know the answer,” he told her and Quinn lifted an eyebrow to urge him on. “If you’re more powerful than me, I may not be able to let you go.”
At that, she shuddered, but not in disgust, nor in fear. No, she shuddered because of something else. It wasn’t that she wanted to be caught or trapped, but she knew that even when he held her leash, it was merely a facade. The way they were together was different than Lazarus among his other vassals. Where the others could complain but never received an inch, Quinn had learned how to take a mile. He gave her bits and pieces that he wanted no one to see, but she did. And with every piece he gave, she wanted more.
“What makes you think you’d be able to stop me if I am?” she asked, not haughtily, but curious. His dark chuckle had her eyeing him as he strode by.
“You fo
rget, Quinn. There’s still so much about me you don’t know.”
She considered that and licked her lips as he continued on ahead.
No, perhaps she didn’t know, but something told her she would.
If Lazarus’ dreams were anything to go by, the man had demons—and much like her fear enjoyed the taste of him—she got the feeling that his demons rather liked the taste of her as well.
And that suited her just fine.
A Twisted Aberration
“To live life under the shadow of death is to not have lived at all.”
— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister
Quinn’s legs burned as they ascended the last steps over a mound and around a cluster of trees. She was tempted to ask if they were almost there, especially since twilight had begun to spread its wings over the vast skies above them, when they finally stepped out of the tree line and came to a jagged dark hole in the side of the mountain.
“Is this it?” she asked as Lazarus approached.
He nodded. “I believe so.”
Quinn moved to stand alongside him, just to his right. “How can you be sure? There are a lot of caves in these mountains.”
Lazarus lifted his hand and gestured to the top of the stone circling the entryway. Quinn’s head tilted back, and her eyes alighted on the dark etchings that she’d just noticed. “What’s it say?” she asked, narrowing her gaze as she looked up the side of the rockface for any hints.
“I don’t know. Nobody does,” Lazarus said. “It’s an ancient language that died in the wars for the mountains.” He paused for a moment, taking a breath as he glanced towards the darkening sky. Quinn started for the entrance when Lazarus put his arm out to stop her. “We can’t enter yet.”
She froze. “What? Why?”
“We enter when the moon is high,” he stated, turning away. “For now, we will rest.” Lazarus glanced back at Quinn. “You’re going to need it.”
Quinn frowned, but willingly turned away to follow him as he started building a fire. Several feet from the mouth of the cavern, Lazarus settled on the ground when the flames nipped at the cool mountain air, his back to a large oak as he waited for night to fall. Quinn plopped down across from him, letting the silence comfort her as they waited.
There was something off about the place, these mountains. Nothing substantial—nothing that could be seen—but her skin crawled with awareness, her power shivering under the surface. She couldn’t quite put a name to the emotion in her mind, but felt it, nonetheless.
“So,” Quinn began, tilting her head back on her shoulders as she eyed Lazarus. “You’re going to be king, hmm?”
Lazarus shifted and then stilled against the oak once more, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply. “Perhaps,” he replied.
Quinn narrowed her eyes on him. “Either you are, or you aren’t.”
Lazarus tilted his head back against the rockface without opening his eyes as he replied. “I’m not king yet, and the time for me to take the throne hasn’t come.”
“But it will, yes?”
“Only time will tell.” Lazarus reopened his eyes, looking skyward.
Quinn wanted to say more but sensed that there was more going on beneath the surface of Lazarus’ cool exterior. She bit her lip and stared at him—watching, analyzing, trying to dissect what it was about him that drew her attention. What it was that made a man like him falter. Fumble. What were his motivations? His dreams? Aspirations? Fears? She thought she knew the answer to that last one. The dream-not-dream had, at the very least, given her a hint.
But only that. The inked creatures that both came from him and desired to eat him made no sense. She didn’t know what to think of it. Not yet.
As Quinn sat there, contemplating the secrets of the stone-faced man before her, the fire slowly began to die until only a small glow of red emanated from the ashes of the once roaring flames. The sky’s blood darkened from bright orange to red and eventually to the ebony blanket that stretched as far as the eye could see. Lazarus sat forward as the moon peeked out from behind a few straggling clouds.
“It’s time,” he said, getting to his feet. He stomped on the already dying embers before turning and motioning to the cave. “Let’s go.”
Quinn stood and trailed after him as he stepped towards the cave. Together they entered, the cool night air dropping several degrees almost immediately. The sounds of the forest and the wind and the wildlife fell away as something more arose. Magic danced along Quinn’s spine. This place, this cave, was old. Well beyond anywhere Quinn had ever been, and that included the temple in N’skara. Perhaps it was the oldest thing that existed on this plane, this realm. Not that she would ever know.
Quinn sucked in a breath as she felt venerable power infuse her limbs and she followed Lazarus farther into the recesses of the cave.
They came to the end of a short tunnel where another entrance stood, circled by the same strange lettering as they had seen outside. Lazarus shouldered through, but Quinn took her time examining the ancient script. Long blackened vines marked the path on the ground that crawled up the cracks in the rock to hang over the entrance—a curtain of sorts.
In barely a whisper, Quinn asked, “How will I know when it’s over?”
Lazarus paused, his hand outstretched towards a section of vines that he meant to move aside. “When your magic has returned to your body,” he answered.
Quinn considered that for a moment, then nodded as Lazarus finally pushed aside the last barrier to whatever awaited her. Quinn’s lips parted as she stepped inside the sacred ground. The top of the ceiling had been carved upward so thinly that a small jagged hole about the size of a shield opened the cavern to the elements and beyond that, the moon. It hovered like an eye over the small pool of water, watching and waiting from above.
It was not the moonlight that lit the cave up, too dim for them to actually see, but the water itself. An iridescent glow emitted from the pools, shining faintly on lush ivory flowers that dotted the dark vines running along the walls of the cavern, reaching for the wet surface.
“Strip.”
Quinn jerked and faced Lazarus. “What?” she demanded, crossing her arms.
Lazarus wasn’t looking at her, though. He was staring straight ahead at the large translucent pool—or really to the area up above it, to the smaller pool that fed into it by the means of a waterfall. “You can’t wear clothes into the water,” he said by way of explanation. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, it’s not my first choice but Thorne was very specific about what you have to do.”
Quinn frowned, but he was not acting like a man interested in taking advantage. She had witnessed and dealt with far too many men like that. Lazarus was not them. While she knew he felt something towards her, she also had the distinct impression that wasn’t what this was about.
Sighing to herself, Quinn walked toward the lower pool and began to undress. She stripped her weapons first—the rod-staff gifted by Siva, her sword she took from Draeven, and the daggers she’d collected over the years—leaving them, along with her clothes, on the edge. When she stood bare before him, she turned a fraction, glancing at the man over her shoulder as he rummaged through his jacket. Quinn knew she should be feeling some sort of anxiety, a faint inkling of fear for what may come, but the more she watched him the less concerned she became. It wasn’t as if he was forcing her to do this, not really. She wanted to know about her power just as much, if not more than Lazarus did. And he was giving her the chance to find out. Beyond that, there was something about the cave that put her at peace. She knew pain was coming. That the magic in her veins had to leave her before it could return, and yet it was almost as if a part of herself was sliding into place this night.
A part that was always meant to be.
Lazarus retrieved a small leather satchel and tossed it to her. Quinn deftly caught it and untied the top, reaching inside to pull out a heavy palm-sized stone that was clear all the way through.
>
“That,” Lazarus said before she could ask, “is a Servalis stone. It will be triggered when you go into the waters.” He gestured behind her to the top pool. “You’ll need to get to the top, and quickly.”
Quinn sucked in a breath and nodded, turning for the lower pool. She was going to have to swim through the lower portion before she could climb to the top.
Tucking the stone close to her chest with one arm, Quinn entered the waters, letting the cold iciness wash over her skin, tightening her muscles as she moved. Lazarus shadowed the edge of the pool, a dark look crossing his face before he could slip into a mask of neutrality as she turned and dove under the water, careful to hold the stone up above her as she swam through the shallows until her feet found purchase on the underwater steps.
Water poured from her skin as she pulled herself out and climbed up to the top pool. A quick glance over her shoulder said nothing as Lazarus’ expression was locked down tight. Their eyes met for a brief moment as she took a breath and stepped onto the ledge of the upper spring. The iridescent water glowing so bright it almost hurt. Immediately, Quinn stiffened as heat assailed her. It was so sudden she nearly fumbled and dropped the stone, but her fingers closed around it at the last moment and pulled it back to her chest before it could sink into the churning waters.
Across the cavern, Lazarus’ face appeared as though it was carved from the same stone as the mountain while he waited for her to lower herself into water. Switching to holding the stone with two hands, Quinn lowered herself on the ledge and slipped into the clear blue as together—she and Lazarus—waited for the coming trial.
Quinn wasn’t quite sure how long she had been floating in the upper pool; stone resting on her lower abdomen, held by stiff fingers, waiting for it to start … when she realized that it already had. Ever since she’d entered the high spring, her skin had slowly begun to tingle and sting. Everywhere the water touched felt like the edges of knives were pricking at her flesh. It just took her this long to notice. She shifted, moving to the side, jerking and crying out when one of the knives sank into her lower spine.
Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 19