She moved her foot, waiting to see what the animal would do, but it simply adjusted with her, seeking her out and curling around her limbs.
That’s when she realized with a start that the beast was not here to harm.
No … it’s protecting me.
Quinn leaned over slowly and the creature turned its head to stare at her. Eyes the color of onyx stones stared back, so clean and deep. It was chilling how they looked straight to her soul.
“Who are you?” she asked the creature. Her pale fingers touched the scales of its body and the snake shivered, but not out of fear.
The serpent opened its mouth and let out another hiss, but this time she felt it. That slight prodding against her mind. She didn’t know how to open it up, only that she needed to if she was going to understand it. Sinking to her knees, the snake gave her space to sit before curling around her once more. She stroked its head and murmured soft reassurances.
Quinn couldn’t explain it, but she felt connected to this animal. Something about the snake resonated within her, made her feel possessive of it, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why.
“When we get out of here, you and I, we’re going to do great things, aren’t we?” she asked, leaning into the strong body that held her up. The beast’s head came to rest on her belly and some part of her knew there was nothing normal about this. Most animals feared Quinn, but here, in the nothingness of the in-between, she was grateful to have something that didn’t shy away.
She didn’t think to look down as the snake’s head slipped past her naked skin.
All she knew was that she wasn’t alone. Then she heard him.
“Where are we?” As the voice spoke, Quinn noted that it was distinctly masculine and raspy. It was old—so very old.
“I’m not sure,” Quinn answered. “I lost consciousness in the spring and woke up here. I think…” She took a heavy breath. “I think we’re in the in-between.”
“You are lost,” the voice told her. She curled her fingers around his scales as his body began to move slowly, slinking under her skin.
“I am,” she nodded, “but I’m not sure how to get out.”
Her fingers moved on their own accord, smoothing over the scales until there were none left to touch. Quinn blinked and realized the snake was gone. No—not gone…
“I will show you,” the creature told her. The edges of her vision faded, and the only reason she grew aware of it was because of the black consuming her once more, but in the nothingness, there was no color.
“Who are you?” she asked again, stumbling for something to hold onto as she began to fall.
There was nothing there, nothing to grasp but the empty air.
“I am fear,” the serpent told her. “And you are my master.”
Cold. It was the first thing Quinn felt when her awareness began to rise. Her bones rattled as she shook, the hardness of the ground and the weight of her body dragging her back down from wherever her mind had been. She registered the chattering of teeth long before she realized it was coming from her. Something soft brushed over her skin and her fingers grasped for it, clutching the slight warmth of the fabric for dear life.
Time slowed as she drifted in and out. She felt when her body moved, and her bare skin pressed to another’s. She sensed the warmth radiating from a body, but never felt more than the impersonal touch of fingers poking and prodding.
“Quinn?” a voice prompted, but it was not the one inside her, the one that called itself fear. She couldn’t find the strength to move her lips, and so that voice went unanswered as she slipped back into the comfortable confines of the darkness. It was there that the snake wrapped around her battered soul, holding it close as she drifted through her daze of oblivion.
Quinn was so content in her darkness that when the cold faded and the heat came, it once again woke her. After so long of only cold and desolate, she flinched at the warmth of the burning heat. Her eyes fluttered open, searching for the source.
It was night, but the sky didn’t seem as dark as it did in her restless sleep. Leviathan’s eye shined down upon her and she followed that illumination to the burning fire only feet from where she lay. Tendrils of orange and red twined together in a lover’s dance as embers sparked and took to the wind. She stared at the fire, still groggy and disoriented, when she saw another figure just beyond it.
He stood with his naked back to her, a shadow outlined by moonlight and trees. Creatures painted in colors of black and blue, the purples of dusk and the yellows of dawn, crawled over the taut muscles of his back, between his shoulder blades and down his arm. Quinn blinked as what she could have sworn was a firedrake stared back at her, its evergreen eyes so unbelievably life-like that she gasped.
Lazarus stiffened as she kept blinking in confusion. She felt scales beneath her fingers, not cognizant enough to understand.
“I am here,” the ancient voice of a man whispered through her mind. She blinked, transfixed as Lazarus turned towards her, his eyes going wide. It was then that she realized the beasts she saw weren’t on his skin, they were under it, crawling and sliding beneath his flesh as though they weren’t mere images, but living, breathing creatures.
“Quinn,” he spoke her name and there was a familiarity to it. A relief that she only barely grasped before her vision began to darken again. Her skin was slick with sweat and far too hot, but the snake … its scales were chilled. She relaxed into its cool embrace as once again she drifted thinking about what she saw.
Vow of Silence
“Friendship was just another word for favor, and neither were granted without reason.”
— Lazarus Fierté, dark Maji, heir to Norcasta, Master of men
Lazarus froze, watching as the basilisk curled around Quinn’s prone form. It stared at him with its deep, knowing eyes. The creature had not forgotten its previous master, but it seemed that it had found another. One that Lazarus noted with no small annoyance, that it was more than happy to serve—loyal in a way it never had been with him.
“You answer to her?” he asked the snake, knowing full well that if the beast wanted to communicate with him then it would.
“Yes,” came the serpent’s reply. Lazarus nodded. Just as he’d suspected, the basilisk hadn’t simply died or disappeared. It had been consumed … but not in the same way as Lazarus had consumed the animal before. Somehow, the basilisk had merged with her, taking the smallest sliver of his magic with it. The single strand that held its soul together, keeping it from disintegrating without its original body.
Lazarus took a step forward and the snake hissed, cocking its head and baring deadly fangs. “She’s sick, creature. I cannot help her if I can’t touch her,” he said, staring down the massive snake as it slowly began to recoil and shrink.
“I am watching,” it said in his mind, the warning imminent. Lazarus nodded as the thing began to slink back into her, leaving her fevered skin bare to the elements. She’d gone from shivering to catatonic that first day, where she stayed for another one, but then the fever hit…
Three days and they hadn’t been able to make it back down the mountain. She’d fallen ill in that time, and while he was certain her body had retained its magic, he wasn’t certain her body would survive whatever illness plagued her now if he pulled her from the fire for too long.
So, they waited, but Lazarus knew they were running out of time. What food and water he did bring was growing scarce after so many days. He’d filled his flask at the spring but only made it a quarter of the way down before having to stop.
He smoothed a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply. A moment or two was all he allowed himself before attempting to make her drink water. He’d had varying success the past three days, but this was the first time she’d woken with any sort of clarity. He had to hope that meant the fever was coming to an end, for both their sakes.
Her lips parted as he lifted her front half and settled her against his thigh
s. A sigh escaped her as he unscrewed the flask and placed it to her lips. Slowly, he tilted it, allowing the smallest trickle of water to flow between her lips. Quinn moaned, swallowing before she began to guzzle more.
Lazarus sighed. He would never believe that relief was what lessened the tension in his shoulders as Quinn’s fingers came up and closed around the flask as she downed the rest of their remaining water.
He wouldn’t admit to the worry that gripped him. He wiped her sweat slicked skin and dressed her in the only clean clothes she had. Like it or not, they had to make it back down this mountain today. She needed proper nutrition and real rest to overcome the last of the effects of the spring, and he needed to talk with Thorne about what had transpired.
Pulling the clean burlap shirt over her bare stomach, his knuckles tightened as he pulled away. Quinn was unquestionably a woman, one that he’d been taking more and more of an interest in whether he wanted to or not—and it wasn’t because of her body, though he had noticed her slight curves and pale skin more than he wanted to admit during the past three days. She was sick, and the Quinn that intrigued him was not an unconscious woman without bite.
Turning away, he dressed himself, strapping on both their weapons before hauling her into his arms, cloak still tight around her shoulders. A few kicks of dirt smothered the remaining fire and then they set out.
Lazarus carried her, one arm wrapped tight around her back and the other under her knees as he started down the mountain. The winds whipped against his skin and flipped up the cloak he had bundled her in, and he sent out a silent command for them to settle. Before long, her weight began to take its toll, and he had to call upon another of his creatures. He let the stone like strength of a troll flood his veins, hardening his skin and keeping him going. Funneling his magic to control the beasts beneath his skin was very little compared to the physical strains wearing on him in that moment.
But he had no choice.
Desperation and drive employed him, compelling him forward. With every step that drained a tiny bit more, the sheer force of will pushed him to continue onward down the mountain and not falter, not even for a moment.
Cisea came into sight after far too long. Shouts rang out across the village as Lazarus stumbled through, masking his exhaustion with slowing footsteps. An ash-blonde head appeared in the crowd forming around him as cries about the she-wolf met his ears.
Draeven stepped forward, his face paling when he took in Quinn’s unconscious form.
“What happened?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing on Lazarus with suspicion.
“She’s alive,” Lazarus replied with a growl, answering the unspoken question in his eyes, but not the one in his left-hand’s mind. He still wasn’t sure how to answer that just yet, not when he barely understood it himself.
“Only just,” Draeven replied tersely. He stepped forward, just starting to lift his arms to try to take her from Lazarus when Lorraine came hurrying through the crowd, Dominicus not far behind.
“Gods above,” the older woman proclaimed. She pushed the cloak out of Quinn’s face and pressed a small hand to her forehead, then her cheek. “She’s with fever. We need to get her inside—”
“Dominicus,” Lazarus said, turning to his weapons master. He lifted his arms to hand her over. “Take her up to their room and keep guard. Lorraine, she’s sick but she’s on the mend. She needs to get more fluids and a healing brew. Think you can handle that?” he asked as Dominicus took Quinn and started walking.
“I’m a healer, for Gods’ sake, Lazarus—of course I can care for her,” she snapped, turning on her heel. He didn’t like the way his people were looking at him, like Quinn’s condition was somehow his fault, but he didn’t have time to coddle them either.
“Oh, and Lorraine…” He waited for her to pause. “Keep your questions to a minimum if she wakes up. She’s been disoriented and might not respond well.”
Her response was a cold laugh he’d only heard a handful of times over the previous ten years. “It’s Quinn. When does she ever respond well?” Lazarus didn’t bother with a reply as she turned and hurried after Dominicus. The Cisean people made way for them, their jewel-toned eyes turning from the sleeping woman to him—frigid hostility only barely concealed.
Thorne appeared around a crop of trees. He walked by Quinn, narrowing his eyes on her as Dominicus carried her away, before turning to Lazarus and motioning for him to join him in his hut.
“I’m coming with you this time,” Draeven declared and Lazarus only grunted. Having his second-in-command might go over better given Draeven’s affinity for people. It would at least keep Thorne off his back for the time being. The man wasn’t nearly as forward when others were around.
Lazarus turned through the crowd and Draeven followed close behind. Thorne was already up in the tree hut by the time Lazarus made it there, exhaustion making him drag, not that he showed it as he started up the rope ladder. His large hands closed around the edges of the wooden floor and he pulled himself up.
“You were gone longer than expected,” Thorne said before Draeven had even joined them. “My friend…” he added slowly, as if that title might be in question.
“There were complications,” Lazarus replied as he folded his hands behind his back. A picture of perfect authority and control were it not for the wrinkled tunic and dark circles beneath his eyes.
“I can tell,” Thorne said slowly, his eyes drifting from Lazarus to Draeven and then back. “Her hair and aura have changed color.”
Lazarus nodded because he’d suspected as much. Her magic had consumed the basilisk and his own when the stone returned her power. Only time would tell how much, but the lilac strands of her hair made him think the snake wasn’t going anywhere. It had chosen her to be a true master, and whether she realized it or not—she had chosen it too.
“Does that not often happen?” Lazarus asked, wanting to test the waters and see how much Thorne might say before demanding some answers of his own.
He hesitated before saying, “In the past, it has only happened twice. Both times when someone entered the waters…” Thorne shook his head as if troubled by those memories. Lazarus could understand why after seeing Quinn nearly die in the way she had. “In both cases, the Maji who entered were drained completely of their magic and the person who held the stone received both. Our bodies are not meant to hold so much, and nature intervenes. They both succumbed to sickness and perished within days.” He wouldn’t say it, but ice froze around his veins and followed them straight to the center of his chest.
“Quinn is improving,” Lazarus said, not sure whether he was trying to convince the other man or himself.
Thorne nodded. “If this is days after, as I suspect it is, I think your vassal might be the first to survive such an encounter. The question I have is: how did you?”
Lazarus looked away, nodding slowly to himself as he toyed with how to answer that question. Thorne was not an ignorant man, nor was he blind.
“If I tell you what happened and how I saved her, you must take a vow of silence—to keep that information between us … my friend,” Lazarus said, knowing that this small sliver of truth would go a long way in keeping Thorne appeased.
The red-headed bastard let out a chuckle. “Alright, Lazarus. What is said between us will stay between us, or may Ramiel strike me dead.” Lazarus hid his smirk as Thorne invoked the vow of silence by the God of balance and justice. While the immortals that created this realm and its Maji might not walk amongst them, they still had a presence here—still had power. To invoke Ramiel and then ignore a vow was asking to be struck by lightning where you stood.
No matter what Lazarus told him now, Thorne wouldn’t breathe a word—not at the risk of angering a God.
“Quinn did everything you told me. She stripped and took the stone into the water under Leviathan’s eye. The waters turned black and began to churn, then the pain came, and she lost consciousness after a few minutes—”
“Minutes?”
Thorne interjected.
“Yes.”
The other man’s face turned flushed as he looked first to the ceiling and swore and then looked to the ground, before saying. “It shouldn’t have lasted that long. The ceremony is typically measured in seconds, not minutes.” Lazarus shook his head, not terribly surprised given how her power seemed to astound them at every turn.
“Well, it did, and she fought through it up until her body was too weak to hold herself up anymore. I feared she was going to drown and so I took the chance and went after her.” Behind him, Draeven had been awfully silent for the whole of the conversation, but he sensed his second brewing. The rage Draeven usually worked so hard to keep in check was simmering beneath his skin. They were going to be having their own talk shortly after this.
“How did you get into the water and survive?” Thorne asked, leaning forward.
Lazarus stepped forward and lifted the hem of his tunic to show his chest. Draeven didn’t make a sound, though Thorne’s eyes went truly wide at what he saw before him.
“You’re a—”
“Yes.”
The other man blinked twice and settled back, not nervous, nor afraid, but unsettled. “I had a basilisk in my possession until three days ago,” Lazarus started. “I used it to stave off the power of the stone, but it was stronger than I anticipated and the basilisk was consumed by its magic.” Lazarus paused, knowing whatever was said here and now Thorne could never speak of again. It was best to get it all out and see if he had any information to share about what would become of her. “That same basilisk came out of Quinn’s skin last night when it thought I might try to harm her.”
“She’s now the holder of its soul?” Thorne asked, looking older, more haggard and worn than he had when Lazarus had entered his tree hut mere minutes before.
“And its loyalty,” Lazarus bit out. “They are bonded … deeper than I am with my possessions. I think that when she was dying the basilisk somehow merged with her.” Thorne seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding.
Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 21