Fortune Favors the Cruel

by Kel Carpenter

  Quinn sighed and the slight smile slipped from her face. “I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” He nodded, understanding shone in his violet eyes.

  “Lazarus won’t say it, but he has a good reason for leaving today,” Draeven said as Lorraine moved around her to begin packing up both their things.

  “He always does,” Quinn replied.

  “Yes, well”—Draeven looked away from her sharp, crystalline eyes—“you let me know if you need a break and I’ll see what I can do.”

  With that, he disappeared, followed by Dominicus who shouted from the ground, “It’s time.”

  “We’re coming,” Lorraine called back, turning to give Quinn a sympathetic smile. “Do you know how to put the snake back?” she asked her.

  Quinn blanched. “I…” She paused. “I suppose I could just ask him.” Lorraine, may the Gods bless her, she didn’t look at her like she was crazy this time. She just smiled and nodded, encouraging her the only way she knew how.

  “Why don’t you try that,” she said, stepping back.

  Quinn nodded and turned to the snake. “We need to go now. Can you … um … return…” She hesitated to say under my skin, but the basilisk seemed to understand. His head slithered under the hem of her shirt, his tongue briefly flicking at her bare stomach, making her jump before he melted beneath her skin. Quinn shivered as goosebumps broke out across her arms.

  “Are you alright?” it asked in her mind. Quinn nodded without realizing it might not know if she didn’t speak. “I can hear your thoughts, young one. Words are not necessary.”

  “I see…” she thought, testing it out. The low, raspy hiss of pleasure surprised her. It sounded almost like a laugh. “You said you don’t have a name, but I think if you and I are going to be together now, you probably need one. Can I call you Neiss?”

  There was a pause as the snake seemed to consider her request.

  “I would like that,” it told her. She smiled and got to her feet. Lorraine kept giving her perplexing looks as they climbed down the tree hut and started toward the waiting party.

  Four heads turned in their direction as Lazarus, Draeven, Dominicus, and Vaughn stood waiting. “You ready, she-wolf?” the latter asked her. She glanced at Lazarus who stood tight-lipped and proud, holding Bastian’s reins.

  “I’m ready,” she said, and this time she meant it.

  Veracity’s Compulsion

  “Fear does not fear itself.”

  — Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister, Master of Neiss

  Quinn’s spine ached and jolted with each clomp of the horse’s hooves. The trees grew thicker around them before they grew lighter, and still they weren’t out of the mountains. When Lorraine said that it would take them days, she hadn’t been overexaggerating.

  Ahead, Lazarus and Vaughn pulled their horses to a slow halt and Lazarus called back, “we’re stopping here for a rest!”

  The longer that passed by, the sorer Quinn felt, which meant the more her patience was running thin with people, especially Lazarus. He’d been awfully stoic since they set out from Cisea, no words or sly glances, and she’d been put back with Lorraine. That partially had something to do with Draeven and Dominicus being anxious about Neiss. They were scared of the basilisk, whereas Lorraine, if she was—she didn’t show it. It was going a long way towards increasing Quinn’s tolerance of her, that and her silence. She hadn’t muttered a word of propriety or manners, though her lips thinned when Quinn slid down the side of the horse ungracefully.

  Dominicus, Lorraine, and Draeven took the horses off to the side while Lazarus and Vaughn spoke in low tones. It was obvious that Lazarus was unhappy about the arrangement with Vaughn joining their group, but he relied on the Cisean warrior for information in the mountains. Quinn got the impression this wasn’t his first time through these parts, but he didn’t have the same sort of intimate understanding that came with being raised here. Only someone with that sort of knowledge could navigate these twisting woods in the time they needed to.

  “—another full day’s ride before—”

  “Lazarus,” Quinn snapped as she approached, disrupting whatever Vaughn had been in the middle of saying. Staring, Vaughn turned and looked down at her as she focused on Lazarus. “We need to talk,” she said.

  “Not now,” he said without looking at her.

  “Oh yes, now.” Reaching up, Quinn grabbed his arm. “I don’t like being ignored, Lazarus. We will talk and we will talk now. I’ve waited the two days. Your time is up.”

  Silence fell over their group. Quinn didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know that the others had all stopped what they were doing. She could practically feel each and every one of their eyes boring into her. She didn’t care. This was important. Lazarus needed to know that she wasn’t going to lie down and allow him to put it off. She had let it go while they’d ridden hard to get out the mountains, stopping only for brief bouts of rest, food, and sleep, only to start back up again. Not once did she complain despite the fatigue that plagued her. Not once did she ask for a break, even when the cramping in her side became so intense she worried she would pass out. She simply leaned forward into Lorraine and prayed to the Gods that the weakness in her bones would leave her.

  Today was the day. Today, she would demand her answers and he would give them to her.

  Lazarus leveled her with a cool detached look, a moment of silence spanning between them before he nodded, turning back to Vaughn. “Give us a moment,” he said.

  Vaughn frowned between the two of them, but did as he was asked and stepped away, heading over to help Draeven with the fire. Lazarus turned the full force of his gaze—disapproving as it was—on her. Quinn released his arm, turned, and strode into the line of trees. She knew that he would follow and a moment later she heard the telltale sound of his boots crunching dry leaves under his feet.

  When Quinn felt as though they had gone far enough, she turned on her heel and faced the man that both tempted her and frustrated her. There were dark, dark feelings in her chest when it came to this man. There were also lighter things, though not truly light. Everything about Lazarus was a mystery. A man broken up into so many pieces that she had only just begun to start putting those fragments together. “I want answers,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Ask your question, then,” Lazarus said, stopping a few feet before her.

  Quinn looked him over and then dropped her arms. She began to circle him, moving leisurely, if not for the predatory way she watched his reaction—or lack thereof.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded when she didn’t immediately present him with her inquiry. Quinn wondered if it was getting to him. She hoped so. He was getting to her in ways she didn’t want to admit.

  “Debating,” Quinn replied drily.

  “And pray tell, what are you debating?”

  “Is that your question?” Quinn asked.

  “Is that yours?” Lazarus shot back.

  She stopped when she was in front of him once more, this time close enough to smell the sweat and dirt on his skin. “You saved me,” she stated.

  Lazarus’ jaw hardened. “That’s not a question.”

  “You came in the spring and you pulled me out,” Quinn continued. “From what I hear—”

  “From what you hear?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing on the woman in front of him.

  She rolled her eyes and waved her hand. “You weren’t supposed to,” she pointedly ignored his previous question and loved the way the muscle in his jaw ticked with frustration. “The spring can’t hold two people at once and let them live, except I did—you did.”

  “Is there a point you’re getting to?” Lazarus asked. “A question?”

  “I want to ask you what in the dark realm happened on top of that mountain—in the spring,” Quinn said.

  “If that’s your question, then I’d be obliged to—”

  “But I have a more important question to ask,” Quinn snap
ped, interrupting him.

  Lazarus froze as her hand lifted and her fingers traced down the middle of his chest. She had been delirious, hot with fever, but Quinn had a feeling that what she had seen—Lazarus without his tunic—it had been real. More real than that dream—or rather not-dream—she’d had about him. Lazarus clenched his teeth. It made her want to feel the skin of his jaw, touch the muscle and strength there and marvel at it.

  “Ask. Your. Question.” He hissed the words out as though they were painful.

  “I ask it,” she started, “and this time you don’t give me some blasted non-answer, got it?” Her crystalline eyes met his dark gaze. He nodded once. “What are you?” she asked.

  Lazarus stared back at her, and Quinn could feel the whole world fall away—the forest, the ground, the soft sounds of their group in the distance setting up a temporary camp. Her breathing slowed. Her heart rate sped up. Finally, she would have this from him. She would know.

  “You wish to know what I am? What kind of Maji you’ve tied yourself to for the next five years?” he repeated. Quinn didn’t answer. He already knew she did. “Very well.”

  Quinn’s hand dropped away from his chest as he moved closer until her slight breasts brushed up against him. She kept her gaze steady on his. He leaned close, his mouth a mere inch away from her ear as his lips parted and his warm breath brushed over her flesh, sending shivers down her spine.

  Quinn could feel Neiss slithering under her skin, but the creature sensed no danger and quietly fell back into slumber, its presence receding to the back of her mind.

  “I am what they make legends from, little fear twister,” he whispered. “I am that which consumes the living. I am a soul eater.”

  All of the breath rushed from her chest and Quinn blinked hard as her mouth fell open and Lazarus slowly moved back to once again meet her gaze. Her throat was dry. Her eyes wide. Prickling numbness stretched along her limbs.

  “A s-soul eater?” she repeated. Even when she had lived in N’skara, one of the premiere places to learn of all types of Maji, soul eaters had only been talked about in hushed whispers. They were myths—legends, as Lazarus had said. Not real. At least, she hadn’t thought they were. Until this moment.

  “I am,” Lazarus replied darkly. “Are you afraid of me?”

  Quinn tamped down her shock and lifted her head. “Is that your question for me?” she asked. He nodded once, keeping his expression stoic and impassable.

  Moving closer, impossibly closer so that their chests were pressed together again, Quinn leaned up on her tiptoes, and rested one hand on his shoulder as she whispered, “I am fear.” The muscle in his jaw worked as her breath fanned over him, making her grin wickedly. “I do not fear.”

  With that, Quinn pulled away from him and brushed by his shoulder, the ends of her now lavender hair lifting at a slight wind as she walked away. Anger seethed within her veins. Soul eater or not, Lazarus should have answered that sooner. It explained so much. Too much. His silence might not push her away, but she could be angry with him in the meantime for it. Quinn paused on the edge of their secret clearing as Lazarus spoke once more.

  “I would assume you know that releasing that information will nullify your contract with me and the protections it affords,” he said tersely.

  Quinn turned and lifted an eyebrow at him. “And I would assume that you would know me better than that by now,” she replied. “I’m a fear twister, not a canary.”

  Lazarus relaxed his shoulders.

  “However,” she said. His shoulders tensed once again. It amused the dark depraved parts of her soul to see him on edge, even if only for a moment. “In the future, it might behoove you to share important details like that, or the full scope of both your intentions and actions where I’m concerned. I can’t very well circumvent your stupidity if you don’t inform me.”

  Lazarus was still gaping when Quinn twisted back around and strode away.

  Phantom Inklings

  “Emotions are fickle beasts, untamable by even the greatest of masters.”

  — Lazarus Fierté, dark Maji, heir to Norcasta, soul eater

  She’d barely spoken a word to him in days and the voices were driving him crazy.

  Their last conversation played over in his mind. Draeven hadn’t ever spoken to him that way. If the man had, Lazarus would have had him dragged through the mud by his own horse. It was much the same for any other man or woman. And yet, he couldn’t do anything more than watch as Quinn left. A woman like her would either make him the greatest king in the history of the Sirian continent or be the death of him.

  He hardly missed the basilisk’s presence, especially when Quinn’s mere scent had the souls he held within him so impassioned that they pushed and pulled every minute she wasn’t near him—and when she was, it was other urges—the darker ones—that pushed him. The last words she’d spoken to him still played over and over in his mind each night they camped, and she went about her business without paying him any mind. He respected her for it, though it made his growing need for her worsen.

  He felt a hunger in his veins that made him restless, almost like his inner predator was craving a wild hunt—except the prey he so wanted, he couldn’t consume. Much as he might like the idea of having Quinn under his thumb, he didn’t want her in that way ever—not as a mindless creature without will. That’s exactly what she would become if he ever took her soul, and he doubted he would survive the encounter, even if that was his intention. No, his actual desire was so much worse, and watching her train with the boy killed a part of him.

  “He’s skilled,” Draeven remarked beside him. They stood just on the other side of the tree line that Quinn had insisted they practice behind. No doubt wanting to escape his ever-watchful eyes.

  “He is,” Lazarus agreed begrudgingly as the warrior circled her, halberd in hand. They’d put a blindfold over Quinn’s eyes this time, and when Vaughn swung his weapon for her head, Lazarus had to fight the souls as they reacted with vehement outrage.

  Quinn didn’t need his assistance, though.

  “Gods above,” Draeven muttered as she jumped, twisting her body mid-air to bring her foot down on the hand in which Vaughn held the halberd. The Cisean winced, releasing his weapon immediately as she landed, pivoting to give herself the room she needed to bring her opposite foot up. She struck him in the throat with enough force to send the warrior reeling—all without use of her eyes.

  “But not good enough, it seems,” Lazarus remarked with no small amount of satisfaction. A smirk tugged at his lips as he watched her move back to where she stood before without removing the blindfold.

  “I’m not sure any one man would be enough to handle that woman,” Draeven murmured. The smirk dropped from Lazarus’ face before his left-hand could see it. He had very different thoughts on that matter, but he wasn’t about to disclose them to anyone—not even Draeven. “She’s vicious, even in training. I don’t know if she realizes one of these times, she might actually kill him,” Draeven continued.

  “If she wanted him dead, he would be,” Lazarus replied, not all that concerned.

  She was too fond of him anyway, even though half of it was a farce only meant to piss him off—he was sure. He would have put an end to these little sessions if it were anything more.

  The Cisean moved again, this time dragging the end of the halberd six feet behind him, trying to throw her off. Quinn stood, her back straight as the weapon itself as she pulled out the rod she’d taken from Siva. Her hands moved, and he could tell she’d been practicing when she found that notch on the staff immediately and the second half of the weapon slid out. She began to twirl it between two hands and Lazarus squinted.

  Vaughn stilled, lifting the halberd from the ground silently—only to bring it down on top of her head.

  Or try to, rather.

  The spinning staff had picked up enough momentum that the hook on the end of the halberd caught, twisting away from her body and out of his grasp. She brought th
e staff to an abrupt halt, stamping her boot on the end of weapon, only inches short of the deadly twisted metal end.

  “There’s no way she could have stopped that without knowing where he was,” Draven commented.

  “Perhaps she heard him,” Lazarus remarked.

  “Not with him dragging the halberd behind him she didn’t. That’s the first time he’s tried that, and it didn’t throw her in the slightest. She’s using the field of vision,” Draeven said. His second-in-command crossed his arms and leaned forward, squinting. “But I can’t see her magic.”

  Interesting, Lazarus thought. He could see the wispy strands of fear and ashen footsteps she left in her wake, but no field. He had assumed that meant she either wasn’t using it or had already placed it, but Draeven couldn’t see anything.

  That made him wonder. Was it possible she…? No. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought.

  But her control, he couldn’t deny, had improved tenfold.

  Vaughn advanced on her and she moved with steady limbs as she stepped one foot back and thrust the staff forward. The boy caught it between two hands, just a breath before it slammed into his face. They stood at an impasse, but not for long. Quinn twisted to the side, keeping a firm hold on the staff as she moved to kick him in the chest. Vaughn saw it coming this time and released one hand on his end of the staff to catch her boot, holding her there. He forced her off her footing, causing her to lose her balance as he pushed her back.

  Somehow, the warrior either didn’t see or didn’t think about the cruel twist of her lips and the way she smirked as she fell. Her back hit the ground hard, but Quinn didn’t crumble. Vaughn still held her foot, and she used that to rock him forward, attempting to either force him down towards her or to throw him over her head.