Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 10

  “That’s not what I said,” Lazarus replied with a hint of ire. “Although, I’m not so stupid to think that they just happened upon you. You have a way of finding trouble, and on this trip that is the last thing we need. That’s why I asked you to stay in your room.”

  Quinn snorted and the void started to slowly disintegrate.

  “If that’s what you call asking, I’d hate to see what you consider an order.”

  Lazarus didn’t find her as funny. “I’m not trying to strip you of your freedom, but I need you to follow my commands and understand that there is a reason for everything I ask.”

  “I’m not a blind follower,” she said, spinning around to look at him as the stars slowly popped back into existence. “You told me you wanted me because I’m a fear twister. You said you’d help me learn how to control it. All you’ve done thus far is drag me across Norcasta and stick me with Lorraine—and if I have to hear lessons on my ‘manners’ one more time—”

  “I’ll speak with Lorraine,” he said calmly. There was a twitch in his cheek that was either annoyance or amusement. She couldn’t quite tell.

  “I want my own horse,” she continued, and Lazarus only sighed.

  “You can barely ride as it is,” he said, lifting a brow.

  “I don’t care,” she shrugged. “I’m tired of hearing her voice. Lord Sunshine makes me want to stab him. Repeatedly. And I’m fairly certain Dominicus is afraid of me, which would make for an uncomfortable ride for both of us. Either give me a horse or put me on yours, but I’m not riding with the rest of them any further.” He watched her, a pregnant pause lingering before answering.

  “If I do this, what do I get?”

  Her eyebrows drew together. That wasn’t the reply she’d been expecting. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to listen to me. When I ask you to stay somewhere, you stay. When I tell you to help Lorraine with something, you help.” Quinn wrinkled her nose. “You stop fighting me about this arrangement, and I can make it a lot more pleasurable.”

  “That’s a lot to ask for a horse and some peace and quiet,” Quinn pointed out. “You need to sweeten the deal.”

  “What else do you want?” he asked, staying remarkably patient though she could tell that thread was fraying.

  “Information.” His jaw ticked, and this time she knew it was because she was pushing her luck, but in that brief pause he hadn’t said no and so she pushed. “I have no idea what I’m doing here, Lazarus. You pulled me from my home and brought me on this trip, not because me or anyone else wanted it, but you. Why?”

  Lazarus ran a hand down his face, his eyelids falling closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling deeply. Quinn waited as he weighed what to tell her.

  “It’s complicated,” he began, and she let out a frustrated huff, starting to turn away as his fingers tightened around the arm she forgot he held. “Don’t walk off. Let me finish.” The chastisement had her biting her tongue, but she stood there, turned back, and listened. “There are a lot of pieces still in motion right now, and you’re only one of them. A great number of very small slipups could put us all in jeopardy, which is why I’m careful not to tell anyone the full extent of what we’re doing here. Not Lorraine. Not Draeven. Not Dominicus. No one, Quinn.”

  “They at least know something—”

  “They know bits and pieces, but it’s far less than you believe. The difference is that Lorraine, Draeven, and Dominicus trust me. They know there is a reason for what we are doing, even if they don’t see it yet. You don’t have that same trust for me … yet,” he paused, then added, “nor I for you.”

  Well, she thought, he isn’t wrong.

  “Then what do we do? You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you.” His fingers slipped from her arm and cold filled the empty space instantly. She hadn’t even realized warmth had settled in before it was gone.

  “We give it time,” he answered. “We learn how to work together, how to … trust one another.”

  “That’s not enough—”

  “We’ve been over this.” His voice was midnight and shadow, and something … else. Where Quinn became the apathetic cold to the world, Lazarus burned with a savageness that could not be contained. At the core of it, he was right that they were no different, but in the way the darkness showed—they were far from the same. “I have an idea that might help this situation we’ve found ourselves in.”

  “Oh?” she asked, biting her cheek to stop herself from being so drawn into his terrible, consuming gaze.

  “Once a week, you get to ask me a question and I’ll answer it.”

  “Truthfully?” She raised her chin, tightening her arms around herself as a very real wind swept down the streets, stirring the dirt and dust.

  “Truthfully, but—” His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t place. “I get to ask you a question as well, and you have to answer it.”

  Quinn pressed her lips together because Gods be damned, he had her.

  “Alright, I’ll bite.” She nodded. “But this is part of our contract now, so you can’t go back on it in a week after I’ve done my part.”

  Mirth danced on his face as the slightest hint of a grin settled. “It’s part of our contract now,” he agreed. “Along with you not stabbing or otherwise harming my other vassals,” he paused, waiting for her to agree. “Right?”

  “Mhmm,” she hummed.

  Something settled in the air with both parties’ agreements, the contract changed. She couldn’t see it because it wasn’t tangible, but she could feel it through the emblazoned signature scrawled across her skin.

  The tables were turning. Her cards were changing.

  But as they turned and walked the rest of the way back to the Moonlight Inn in silence, Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen in the alley that night.

  Like calls to like, he’d said. But what exactly does that mean?

  She wasn’t sure, but a week from now she was going to find out.

  Field of Vision

  “There is strength in the darkness, if you are strong enough to take it.”

  — Quinn Darkova, former slave, hopeful-murderess, somewhat willing vassal of House Fierté

  Quinn stared straight ahead, arms crossed and chin bobbing with the steady clomp of hooves. Strong masculine arms brushed against hers as Lazarus guided the horse, temperamental creature that it was. Days had passed, and still every time she came near it the damned thing snorted in derision. It was only the man that sat behind her, holding the reins, that even convinced it to not put up a fight every time Quinn mounted. Not long ago he’d told her that she could ride or run. Some days she wondered if running was the lesser of the evils, and then she took a look down or up the hills and kept her grumbles to herself.

  What she really wanted was her own steed.

  “You did say that riding with me would be a concession,” Lazarus said as if reading her mind. She continued to ignore his subtle attempts at talking. When she wanted to be chatty, he was silent, but now that she preferred the quiet over having to hear Lorraine and Draeven, he wanted to chat. She couldn’t understand it. The man made no sense.

  “I’m on the horse, aren’t I?”

  She couldn’t see him, but she felt that subtle shake of his head.

  “Through no effort of your own,” he remarked lightly.

  “It’s not my fault this beast hates me,” she harrumphed. “Besides, I would have preferred a horse of my own.”

  Lazarus shook his head. “You can hardly ride,” he sighed.

  “I would have managed.” Maybe.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that horses weren’t fond of her in general. While Bastian, Lazarus’ steed, was the most opposed, the other three also kept their distance from her. She wondered if it was her magic. If she was so far gone that she couldn’t tell that it was leaking out, but if that were the case there was no way Lorraine or Draeven would act as they did.


  Halfway through the last few days, she began to wonder if demanding to ride with Lazarus had been a mistake, but every time she thought about being put back with Lady Manners or Lord Sunshine, she immediately recalled those nights alongside Lorraine and being forced to listen as she ‘educated’ her on the correct way to sit in a saddle with Master Lazarus. Quinn shook her head. She was learning to handle small doses being near that woman, but longer than a few hours and she might happily commit murder.

  A few more hours passed, and the sun set beyond the horizon. Lazarus directed his horse off of the road and through the tree line with Draeven, Dominicus, and Lorraine following silently behind. They stopped at a clearing in the woods and Lazarus swung a leg back, sliding down the saddle and off the horse, leaving Quinn to get down on her own.

  Grumbling to herself and shooting a glare at his retreating back, she swung her leg over and moved to dismount with as much pride as she could muster and held onto it even when the balls of her feet struck slippery ground. Her legs locked, threatening to send her sliding in the mud.

  “Potes,” she muttered under her breath, casting a wary glance at the party.

  Draeven and Dominicus gave her strange looks and Lorraine only shook her head, probably determining by her tone that she had said something ‘vulgar.’ She would be correct in this case, not that Quinn volunteered that information.

  “Lorraine, Dominicus—set up camp. Quinn—” Lazarus turned just as she righted herself. Bastian snorted, clicking his teeth and startling her. She growled, grasping the saddle in a death grip. Lazarus lifted an eyebrow. “You and Draeven come with me.”

  He turned on his heel, leaving her to follow him into the woods.

  Muttering under her breath, Quinn huffed. “Yes, your highness.”

  Draeven fell into line beside her. “You’re not far off,” he said with a chuckle.

  “What?” Quinn eyed the other man warily.

  Draeven shook his fair head. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Quinn sighed in frustration, but didn’t reply as they followed behind Lazarus, moving farther into the forest and away from the campsite. She was beginning to wonder if the man was planning on walking them right off a cliff when he stopped and turned.

  “We’re going to train,” he announced.

  Draeven moved to the side and mumbled something she couldn’t hear. Confused, Quinn turned on him. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Draeven turned and relieved himself of his sword and light armor, sliding it all off with graceful movements. “I’m watching.”

  “Aren’t you—”

  “Draeven will observe,” Lazarus said, cutting her off.

  Quinn scowled at him, but turned to face him, nonetheless. “Alright, then. What do you want me to do?”

  “Defend yourself.” He paused as her whole body tensed. “Using only your magic.”

  “What?” she spluttered. “Defend myself from wh”—Quinn barely had time to react as Lazarus came at her with a blow to the chest. She hit the ground hard. Her spine shook as it collided with the forest floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. She tasted copper in her mouth as she rose back to her feet, more than a little irked. Quinn spat a wad of saliva tinged with blood and didn’t hesitate to call her magic.

  It was never far from the surface. Not these days.

  The darkness came to her like an old friend, onyx tendrils slithering out from under her skin. It curled around her wrists and played along her shoulders, weaving through her hair.

  Crystalline eyes focused on Lazarus with an uncanny stillness.

  “Do not let your emotions control you,” Lazarus said as he stepped aside and began circling her. She followed his movements, wondering if he would give her an opening or a warning—an attacker’s tell. Or perhaps he would drop another hint, a sign that she could unravel, something to tell her what he actually was.

  His eyes wandered to the bite mark on her shoulder. Or really, where it should have been, but wasn’t. She’d woken the morning after to smooth, unblemished skin and knew deep down that its absence should have worried her more than it did because there was no way this man before her was a healer. And yet he had healed her. Somehow.

  It made her wonder what else he could do; what other games he could play.

  “Control the darkness, Quinn. Use the fear, not the other way around.”

  “I know that,” Quinn snapped.

  “Do you?” Lazarus raised an eyebrow and nodded upward. Quinn tilted her head back, her eyes widening as she noticed the tops of the trees had all been bent backwards—bent, but not broken. Their spindly limbs stretched up and outward, avoiding the ebony darkness encroaching on their base, coming from her.

  Draeven’s jaw slipped, falling ajar for a brief second as he whispered, “Gods above.”

  Quinn swallowed hard, hating this feeling—this undeniable, terrible, awful feeling—like she was being put on show. Something to gawk at. A thing. It was different from the amphitheater where she performed, because there she was Mirior—the faceless ghost from the in-between. But here, she was Quinn. Her attention swayed when it shouldn’t have, and he struck again, sending her flying backwards. Quinn’s back hit the large trunk of a tree and when another blow came immediately afterwards, from something she couldn’t see, couldn’t stand a hope of predicting—she flung her hands up. Wisps of fear shot from her fingertips, weaving together like tangible threads. They wound tighter and tighter, forming a wall between the two of them.

  She climbed to her feet, a steady thumping in her chest building. Something passed through his gaze as he stopped short of slamming into the barrier she didn’t think he could even see. “Clever, but even if you have an enemy in front of you, you should always be aware of your other surroundings,” he stated as something slammed into her from the side. Draeven grinned at her as she coughed in surprise. He rolled to the side and sprung to his feet.

  Quinn released a grunt of outrage as Draeven ambled back to where he had been sprawled before. “I thought you said you were just watching!”

  The blond behemoth shrugged, but it was Lazarus who answered. “Draeven is watching,” he said. “He’s watching for when you let your guard down. Now…” Lazarus crossed his arms behind his back and clasped his wrist in one hand, “use that magic. Wield it as you just did—stretch it out. Can you feel it?”

  “Feel what?” she ground out, cracking her neck as she clambered back to her feet. Her muscles would need hot stones when this was over, not that she would get it. She could only imagine how vexed Lorraine would be if she boiled stones in the same pot in which dinner was made.

  “Everything.” She shot him a look of incredulity, and he elaborated. “Every Maji is different, but there is one thing we all share. The ability to feel those around us. Draeven can find others through their rage. You can find them through their fear. All creatures have a snippet of magic inside of them—usually unusable, often so small that even the most powerful of magic seekers cannot sense it—but you can, I can, and Draeven can. You just have to look. You won’t be able to sense what kind, but you will be able to sense the minor presence of such, like listening for a pulse.”

  Quinn frowned as the wall she had woven fell away. She closed her eyes and put her hands up, fingers spread as she called to the power inside, letting it flow through her, invading her every sense—heightened by the cut off of sight. The tendrils separated into tiny threads, not tangible to the others, but there. Her brow pinched as Draeven and Lazarus waited to see how her magic would manifest this time.

  The wisps dropped to the ground, multiplying in a network of crisscrossing strings. They crept over the wet leaves, reaching upwards into the trees, spanning the awning gaps from branch to branch. Slowly, they moved, unguided by Quinn and simply flowing through her as they encircled the entire clearing. Draeven cursed and Quinn’s eyes snapped open.

  Her breath caught in her chest as Draeven jumped, trying to outmaneuver her web of fear. She hadn’t tho
ught they could see it, much like the wall, but as he hooked a hand around a low hanging branch to pull himself up and away, she began to wonder.

  “You can see this?” she asked.

  “We can,” Lazarus nodded. Sweat beaded her brow.

  “No one has before,” she said softly. Her eyes not sure which way to look as the netting thickened with smoky black threads. “What does it mean?”

  “The manifestation of your power is visible to us—all Maji can see magic. That is not strange,” Lazarus said, slowly lifting a hand to the strings. “The interesting part is the form yours has chosen to take…” he murmured, though he didn’t seem to realize it. “You have quite a lot of it.”

  “I’ll say,” Draeven chimed in, his face tipped back as he examined the strands just beneath his left boot.

  Lazarus took a tentative step forward.

  Quinn sucked in a breath. “I can feel you.” The strands didn’t stretch or strain as he moved through them, but she felt it as if they did. He changed direction and the strands thrummed with power where he brushed past them, coming to stand behind her.

  “Good,” he said quietly, whispering in her ear. She shivered and the strands began to unravel. “Keep it steady,” he commanded.

  She stiffened as the hairs on the back of her neck rose where his warm breath touched. The network snapped back into place. He waited a beat and when the strands stabilized once more, Lazarus began to direct her. He had her raise the web, eliciting a yelp from Draeven as the man shot him a reproachful look and climbed higher into the tree to avoid the tendrils of dark fear. She didn’t think they’d do anything to him, but the reaction was amusing enough that she liked feeling them slowly creep toward him and his surge of anxiety that pulsed outward.

  Quinn laughed softly under her breath and Lazarus gave her a swift command to lower it into the ground where the strands disappeared completely.

  “Draeven,” Lazarus said quietly. “Come here.”