Fortune Favors the Cruel Page 11

Draeven pursed his lips, no longer looking as thrilled to be commanded about, but dropped down from his perch, nonetheless. He landed on a branch halfway up the tree and continued swinging down until he was standing on the squishy forest floor.

  Quinn gasped, drawing Lazarus’ attention. “Feel him still?” he asked. Quinn paused, and that pulse of anxiety flickered. She nodded. “Good.” Then he looked back to Draeven. “Walk around,” he commanded.

  Draeven began to walk, circling the area, only pausing to check if she could tell. “Faster,” Lazarus said when that became too easy. Draeven sprinted from one side to the next.

  “It’s harder to feel where he is when he’s moving,” Quinn admitted.

  “That’s okay,” Lazarus said. “I want you to practice this as much as possible. It’s called a field of vision. All Maji can create one. Soon you’ll be able to do it without thinking, and when you’re well-practiced, you may not even have to use the physical manifestation.”

  Her hands dropped away as she tried to keep the field up using only her mind—the wisps began to seep back up from the ground and Draeven jumped back as one slithered over his foot, starting to wind its way up his leg. Quinn lifted an eyebrow and directed the thread to follow him. He shook it off and stomped on it, but the thread merely squirmed from under his foot and slithered away before dispersing.

  “That’s your first lesson,” Lazarus said. She stiffened as she let the web unravel entirely and stopped teasing Draeven. “You control the power, not the other way around. The more you practice, the easier it will become.”

  Quinn nodded, but still didn’t turn to meet his dark eyes. “What else can I do?” she asked.

  Lazarus didn’t respond right away, but she noticed when Draeven looked over her head, nodded, and grabbed his things and headed back to camp. Then, with creeping stillness, Lazarus leaned in close. She could feel the heat of him at her back as he turned his head and spoke in a low, quiet voice that sent shivers crawling up her spine. “You can destroy the world,” he said. “But only if you learn to control it.”

  She gulped, her heart thudding against her breast. “And if I don’t?”

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  She thought about his words and then asked, “Is that what you want to do?”

  He chuckled darkly, but there was no amusement in the sound. “No,” he answered. “I don’t want to destroy the world.”

  She grew more curious, more daring. “What do you want to do, then?”

  His breath whispered against her temple. “Remake it.”

  Quinn whirled around, but he was gone. The only remainder of his presence was the small rustling of leaves and the smell of burning wood tickling her nostrils.

  After a moment of staring through the trees as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared from the small sliver of sky above her head, she started back towards camp—marching with her head down and her thoughts muddled.

  “There you are.” Lorraine’s voice dragged her from her inner thoughts as she arrived back at the campsite to see that Dominicus and Lorraine had everything set up. Draeven was laid back with a bowl of something in his hands as he talked quietly with Dominicus. But Lazarus was nowhere to be seen. Draeven caught her looking his way and silently shook his head. “Dinner is ready.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn said absently as Lorraine led her over to a spot by the fire and handed her a bowl of whatever was cooking in the pot.

  Quinn sat, letting the bowl warm her palms for several moments before she started eating. The bowl was filled with meaty stew—Dominicus must have caught something. While a bit bland, Quinn didn’t complain—she had gone far too many times without eating much at all to turn down perfectly good food.

  As the moon rose higher in the night sky, the fire started to die down. Lorraine took their bowls and began cleaning while Quinn waited for Lazarus to return. When Dominicus turned in for the night, grunting as he rolled himself in his blankets, Quinn gave up and turned towards Draeven and Lorraine.

  She bit her lip, wondering if she should voice her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if they could be trusted, but then she wasn’t sure what harm it would do if Lazarus knew she was asking about him. He probably already expected it.

  Lorraine—surprisingly—was the one to draw it out of her. “If you think any harder on whatever is going on in that mind of yours, girl, you’re likely to give yourself head pains.”

  Quinn sighed and scooted closer so that her side was facing the fire as she turned and looked at the other woman. “What do you suggest, then?”

  Lorraine shrugged as she worked. “Ask what you want to ask.”

  “No promises on the answers,” Draeven said.

  Quinn shot him a look and he winked at her, earning one of her signature scowls. “How can I trust you won’t go running off to Lazarus?”

  Lorraine stopped what she was doing and turned to Quinn with an exasperated sigh. “That’s Master Lazarus,” she snapped. “How many times must I—”

  “You don’t know,” Draeven interrupted in answer. Quinn glanced his way. Once he had her attention, he shrugged and leaned back, watching her curiously. “But we don’t tell Lazarus everything. That would just piss him off if we went running to him about every little detail.”

  “This is about him,” Quinn said.

  He shrugged again. “And? What do you want to know?”

  “Why do you follow him?”

  There was a brief moment of silence. Neither of them appeared shocked by her question, however. Lorraine was the first to answer.

  “Master Lazarus has been good to me,” she said simply.

  “How so?” Quinn asked.

  “He brought me into his household when he didn’t have to. Paid off my debts. He’s putting my boy through school.”

  “So, he’s bought your loyalty, then,” Quinn deadpanned.

  Lorraine’s eyes flashed with something akin to anger. Draeven didn’t say anything, but his shoulders stiffened slightly.

  “Money bought my services,” Lorraine said quietly. “I work for him for compensation, but he did not have to do everything that he has for me. He didn’t have to help my family or give us asylum.”

  “Asylum?” Quinn frowned. “What—”

  “We all have our secrets,” Lorraine interrupted. “Your curiosity does not entitle you to answers, just as we aren’t entitled to yours.”

  She was right. Quinn nodded her understanding as Draeven spoke up.

  “Lazarus is a complicated lord,” he said, securing her attention once more.

  “How long have you been with him?” she asked as Lorraine moved away.

  Draeven blew out a breath, leaning back and staring up at the tree tops. “That’s a good question. I’d like to say forever, but I know that at one point in my life there was a time when I didn’t know him. It’s just been so long now that I can’t recall it.”

  “How did you meet?” Quinn prompted.

  Draeven laughed. “I was dancing with Mazzulah when Lazarus found me,” he said, his eyes carrying him away to a far-off place that Quinn couldn’t see. “He yanked me up by my bootstraps and pulled me away from the hangman’s noose. He handed me a sword, and with it, a purpose. I never knew how much I needed it until later,” he paused. “I still follow him because he still gives me that. That’s what keeps us going when times are not well.”

  “Purpose?” Quinn repeated, frowning in confusion.

  Draeven nodded. “He’s not a good man, I know that. But he’s not evil, either. Lazarus is my friend and my lord. He is the wielder, and I his weapon.”

  “You follow him to let him use you?”

  “Everyone uses someone, Quinn,” he said, his eyes slowly refocusing as he tipped his head back down and looked at her across the fire. “I follow him because I trust him. Lorraine follows him because she trusts him. He has proven himself to be a leader worth following. Not to you. Not yet.”

  When Quinn expected him to go on, he merely stood up an
d patted her shoulder, eliciting a jerk from her as she leaned away. He sighed. “Go to sleep, Quinn. We have a long ride into the mountains tomorrow,” Draeven said as he ambled away, heading for his own mound of blankets.

  Quinn sat there, staring into the heart of the fire as the rest of them fell into slumber.

  The birds were silent. The night creatures of the forest were quiet. And finally, Quinn gave up on waiting for Lazarus to return from wherever he had disappeared to. She crawled beneath her own blankets alongside Lorraine and stared upward as she willed her mind to shut off. But it wouldn’t. It continued to circle that one word—trust.

  Trust Lazarus. Trust him and follow him. How could she when she didn’t even know who he was or what he was capable of? As Quinn finally felt herself slipping into oblivion, she wished she could use that field of vision of hers to see inside Lazarus—to know if he was someone deserving of her trust.

  The Hand that Feeds

  “Darkness is far more powerful than light, and far more destructive if not controlled.”

  — Lazarus Fierté, nobleman, murderer, dark Maji, and keeper of secrets

  He woke before day break, lulled from his sleep by the sweet torment that was her. She slept on the opposite end of the fire as him, the absolute farthest place away. Yet the scent of her still called to him, even in his sleep.

  Lazarus sat up, his actions silent as he rose to his feet and began to move through the camp, to the forest beyond in a vain hope of escaping her, of outrunning what he knew in his blood was beginning to become an obsession. A raw need. A dangerous desire.

  He ran a hand down his face, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he inhaled a fresh breath of air. Even here, her magic tinged the air. It whispered of sweet promises, delicious dreams and so many things wicked. Today was going to be another rough one, riding so close to her, all while keeping the distance that they both needed him to—not that she realized it yet.

  For as much as she saw, in this, she was completely oblivious.

  The branches shifted behind him as his left-hand’s not-so-silent footsteps followed. “Having trouble sleeping?” Draeven asked quietly.

  “Always,” came his reply. And he did. The whispers were usually restless when he was away from home, but never like this. Now they were stirred into an outright frenzy, and the cause was a silver-haired woman with far too much mystery under her flesh.

  “This is worse than normal,” Draeven remarked, approaching his left side.

  “Do you have a point?” Lazarus asked, blunter than he usually was.

  The other man shook his head and sighed in exasperation. “It’s the girl, isn’t it?” Lazarus didn’t respond immediately; he didn’t need to. Draeven sighed again and nodded into the hazy gray. “It’s the girl.”

  “She’s different,” Lazarus said after a heavy pause.

  “She’s deranged,” Draeven replied distastefully. “Or if she’s not, then she soon will be. They always are.” Lazarus shook his head.

  “No,” he said, looking to the canopy of trees, replaying the web of fear she’d created in his mind all over again. “It’s more than that. She’s like me.”

  “She’s a dark Maji—”

  “It’s more than that,” Lazarus repeated, harder this time. His left-hand only stood there and waited for him to continue. “I’ve met other dark Maji, Draeven. Ones that are sane. I’m telling you, there is something about her that calls to me.”

  The blond-haired man seemed to weigh his words. “Have you considered that it’s because she’s the darkest you’ve met? There’s only one magic that is naturally darker than a fear twister. Maybe she calls to you because she is the closest you have found both in sheer power and absence of light.”

  He had considered it. He’d considered it many times. Had gone so far as to assume that’s what it was. That answer didn’t explain all things, though—only the surface questions brimming in his mind.

  “I don’t wish to consume her,” he said so softly that Draeven almost missed it. The answering look told him both too much and too little.

  “I don’t think you can,” Draeven responded. “She’s highly untrained, but the things she can already do…” He shook his head. “I think it would destroy you both if you even attempted something as dangerous as that. It would be like trying to control a storm. A wicked, impossible storm.”

  Lazarus nodded because he suspected as much as well. Never in his time had he come across one he didn’t think he could take, but that was no longer the case.

  “Her magic would drive me to the brink of insanity. Even if I wanted to, I won’t,” Lazarus said, thinking again of that web. He hadn’t lied when he said Maji could see other’s magic, but he hadn’t told the full truth either. Most magic was completely invisible to the eye, unless wielding it at dangerous levels.

  Quinn’s very footprints were like blackened soot. The darkness she kept inside her bled out into the tangible world, because even now, before her ascent, the sheer power she was holding in wasn’t meant to be contained. It was meant to be set free, but the liberation of something that untamable would cause too much damage.

  He didn’t think that Draeven or other Maji could see it quite that clearly yet, but if she continued at this rate it wouldn’t be long.

  “She doesn’t see it, but one day she will be a force that the world will come to fear,” Draeven replied, pulling him from his reverie. “My question remains for you, Lazarus, about what you will do then. If you cannot consume her, will you kill her?”

  “I don’t think it will come to that,” he replied stiffly. Draeven laughed, a quiet mocking sound.

  “Every ruler in this land is going to want her once they see what she can do—and you,” Draeven kept his voice down but the inflection of urgency was there. “You are bringing her right to them.”

  “We’re not going to any of the countries that might sway her loyalty,” Lazarus replied, quite sure of himself.

  “You don’t currently have her loyalty to sway,” Draeven answered testily. Lazarus shot him a look, one that shared the worries he wouldn’t speak of. “I think you know that.”

  “The contract she and I have would not allow her disobedience to me.”

  Draeven snorted, a sound of derision.

  “The Cisean people are too old-fashioned and won’t endear themselves to her, and it will make it easier to gain her trust before we reach Ilvas,” Lazarus replied dismissively.

  “You hope,” Draeven said, not backing down. “Thorne has a soft spot for pretty things and wild girls, both of which are qualities she possesses.”

  “I’m not concerned about Thorne,” Lazarus retorted.

  “Then what are you concerned about?” Draeven asked. The violet of his eyes flashed a shade more indigo as a streak of rage ran through him. For all his pleasantries and easy-going nature, Lazarus’ left-hand was still as much bound to his brand of magic as he and Quinn were.

  Lazarus didn’t know how to answer. Not when he couldn’t put what he was contemplating into words. Not when he didn’t understand it himself.

  “Nothing,” he said eventually. “Nothing that has to do with the plan.”

  Draeven snorted. “Come now, Laz, even I don’t buy that. Like it or not, this girl is part of the plan now. You made sure of it.” The sun began to peek over the horizon, the dingy gray of an early fog turning blue. “And just as I watch you, I’ll keep an eye on her too. Not that it should be too hard with how much she complains.”

  A ghost of a smile graced Lazarus’ lips as they watched the sunrise together.

  “Thank you, Draeven.”

  “Always, my friend.” He turned to leave, patting Lazarus on the shoulder. “When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”

  Lazarus stood there for another few moments before returning to camp. All were up except for Quinn. As usual, she was passed out stone-cold, a sheen of sweat dampening her skin as she slept fitfully. He wondered then if it wasn’t just him that had been s
leeping so poorly in the other’s presence. Or perhaps she always slept that way. It was difficult to tell.

  When they finished packing, Lorraine finally shook her awake, quick to move out of the way as Quinn bolted upright, her fists at the ready. It was the same routine for over a week now, and as the woman climbed to her feet, still in a haze, Lazarus looked to his left-hand.

  Draeven was too kind to be the right.

  But Quinn … she wore cruelty like a crown.

  Yes, he thought to himself. When the time comes, she will be my right.

  It was just a matter of getting them there without her killing anyone she wasn’t supposed to, which some days, was harder than it sounded.

  A Bird’s Feather

  “Always take heed of dark dreams, for they are windows into places you have already gone but have no wish to return to.”

  — Quinn Darkova, former slave, fear twister, and vassal of House Fierté

  With her eyes closed and the feel of Bastian’s jerking footsteps beneath her, Quinn sent out a quick pulse of invisible power. The male body behind her stiffened. Apparently, it wasn’t nearly as invisible as she’d hoped, but Lazarus didn’t say anything. She could sense the horses and only two of their riders—Quinn frowned and glanced behind her. Perhaps Lorraine was too far back. Of the other two, she was able to discern that Dominicus had very little power and little fear, but the other one…

  Quinn opened her eyes and glanced to Draeven as he turned to the weapons master just in front of them and said something too quiet for her to catch. She watched him silently, examining the way he sat in his saddle. Draeven was a tall man—not quite as tall as Lazarus—and not nearly as imposing. Perhaps it was because he was lighter, both in looks and disposition. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to blend with those around him, where like her, Lazarus stood apart. Different. Where Lazarus was a shadow man, Draeven walked in the light of day. While a pompous ass at times, she sensed a core of honor, one that Lazarus didn’t possess. She wondered how they had come to be close, despite their obvious differences in every sense.