Blessed be the wicked, p.15
Blessed be the Wicked, page 15
“Is she coming here?” Draeven asked.
Lazarus shook his head. “No, she’s searching for the real assassin.”
Draeven snorted. “She would.” He leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head.
“Dominicus should have my message by now,” Lazarus said. “Perhaps if I sent another, he could—”
“Stop her?” Draeven interrupted, squinting his eyes. “You want to stop her? If she can find the real assassin, then that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s reckless.” Lazarus grit his teeth as a fresh wave of anger rolled through him.
Draeven stiffened as though he could feel the rage from his position across the room. “What else do you suggest, then?”
“You should do as she-wolf Quinn asks,” Vaughn said.
Lazarus sent the man a scathing glance, but Vaughn did not heed the clear warning Lazarus intended.
“She will take care of this,” he said with a nod. “We let her.”
“I’m surprised you’d say that,” Draeven commented. “Aren’t your people more protective of their women?”
“She-wolf Quinn cannot be caged,” Vaughn replied. “She is like animal. Wild. Untamed.”
Lazarus paused in his pacing as Vaughn smiled fondly. As distasteful as the mountain man was, particularly his affection, he was right. Quinn was no innocent, ignorant to the darker facets of life. She was the darker facets of life.
Quinn could fight, arguably better than most. She could also track, but she knew when to disappear. In truth, this was what he’d trained her for. She was forged for this. If he put chains on her now, it would only set them back later. Instead, this would be a test; a show of her strength, and more importantly, her loyalty. He had no doubt that she could and would find the culprit behind the Pirate Queen’s poisoning.
The real question was could she contain herself from killing?
Crossing his arms across his broad chest, Lazarus inhaled as he stopped at the window. He would exercise his patience, but should Quinn come to harm, should she somehow perish—whether by Imogen or her guards or even the assassin—Lazarus would unleash horrors upon Tritol unlike anyone on this continent had ever known.
But this was Quinn they were talking about. She had ascended.
The odds of her killing someone in a rage were far greater than her ever being killed.
All eyes shot to the door when the guards’ voices just outside grew abruptly louder. A short pause of silence. They stiffened in anticipation as the door banged open and several men in blue and white uniforms filed in, only two with their swords drawn. A man stepped forward from the rest and gestured to the hallway behind him.
“You will follow,” he commanded in Norcastan, his accent a thick-Ilvan drawl.
Draeven and Lazarus split a look between them, but neither attempted to speak as they nodded, and as a unit, filed out with the guards—Vaughn bringing up the rear and growling at any guard that dared venture too close. They were too busy watching him, squinting their eyes at Draeven, and trying to prod the mountain boy to bother noticing the shrinking serpent that had disappeared beneath a chaise. He had no doubts the creature would be returning to its master shortly now that its message had been received.
Paying no heed to the soldiers who kept their blades pointed at him, Lazarus followed behind the man who appeared to have some sort of authority over the others. He knew that should the guards attempt to harm him, they would be dead before their knees hit the marbled floors.
The same man who spoke stopped before the doors to the throne room and looked back with suspicious, untrusting eyes. “The Queen awaits.”
The Queen?
Lazarus didn’t show it, but he wasn’t quite sure how Imogen managed to pull it off given what the basilisk had just relayed to him. She should be lying unconscious, somewhere near the brink of death. Yet, they were being brought before her.
The door opened and soldiers led them forward.
Imogen rested upon her throne; her skin bedewed with a light sheen of perspiration. She appeared shaken and pale, though her eyes were still sharp as cut obsidian as they watched him. Lazarus noted the dampness of her gauzy white blouse and the slight tremor in her hands. While Imogen was out of the woods, she had indeed been poisoned and was unwell.
Lazarus walked forward, weighing his options. He would be a fool to think she would not notice Quinn’s absence. That she would not know of Quinn’s escape.
But to admit that he also knew, though he’d been under guard the whole time . . .
It would make her more suspicious than she already was.
“Lazarus Fierté of Norcasta,” Imogen began. “It has come to my attention that a member of your house has attempted to take my life. How do you plead?”
Lazarus stiffened. It was then that he understood the basilisk’s words.
Buy her time.
How much, he wasn’t sure, but he would try. Lazarus feared nothing—least of all a death by the hands of the Pirate Queen—but he did not appreciate the way she curled her lip in distaste at the sight of him, nor did he like the clear disrespect her guards were showing his vassals as they jabbed at Vaughn and Draeven to drive them closer to him.
She wanted them together. Easier to slay, should the command be given.
Vaughn growled, ever the wild predator, and Draeven watched on, waiting for a signal of some kind. Lazarus would not be giving a signal, not yet. Instead, he tilted his head, looked away, and then back to the Queen, letting out a heavy breath. Imogen sat, her back straight and her legs spread to make room for the sheathed sword she held upright between her knees, its pointed end on the floor and the handle gripped in both of her fists.
Her intent was clear as she slid her hand along the long sheath. Her pointed nails tapped the fine leather, as if she were playing an instrument instead of impatiently awaiting his answer.
Lazarus dared not look away as he proclaimed, “Innocent.” Imogen narrowed her eyes. “As my house is not responsible for your sudden illness.”
Imogen lifted a brow in surprise. “Innocent?” she repeated. “You claim innocence in a time like this instead of admitting guilt and pleading for mercy? I’m not sure if I should be impressed by your gall or appalled by your lack of intelligence.”
Lazarus nodded. “My house and I are innocent, Your Grace.”
She shook her head. “You must be mistaken about how this is going to go. I brought you here so that you may admit your folly before I strike you down.” Her expression was hawkish, and her lips thinned as she stared down at him, already convinced of their guilt. “I will give you another chance to do so.”
Lazarus remained quiet for a beat. With every second that passed by, his silence slowly crawled across her nerves and her ashen face grew pink with her anger.
Imogen stood, using her handle on the sword as grounds for her stability as she glared at Lazarus. “Admit your guilt, or I will have you burned alive and her skull placed upon a pike to be paraded through the country as a warning to those who lie in my court!” she shouted.
Lazarus lifted one elegant brow at her outburst. “I do not lie, Your Highness. My house is innocent of all accusations. If you look to your own house, you might find more appropriate suspects.”
“My house?” She looked ready to unsheathe her sword and swing it at his head. Somehow, she managed to rein in the anger so plain upon her face. Imogen took a step back and retook her seat upon the chaise before casting a look out at those gathered before her. “My house knows that there is no way a poison could kill me. I’ve been ingesting different kinds from every land to dull my reaction to it for years. Only an outsider would attempt to kill me in such a cowardly manner.”
“And you believe this outsider to be Quinn?” Lazarus asked.
“She was the one with me when I was poisoned,” Imogen pointed out. The fingers that closed around her sword hilt whitened across the knuckles.
Lazarus shook his head, but as he opened his mouth to reply, Draeven spoke. “If you think Quinn is the type of woman to kill someone by poison, then you obviously don’t understand her.”
All eyes in the court shot to him—including the Queen’s. “You are Lord Fierté’s left-hand, are you not?” she inquired.
Draeven nodded. “I am, and Quinn is not your assassin.”
The Queen sat back and eyed him before turning her gaze back to Lazarus. “You defend the N’skari with such passion,” she said with a small smile upon her lips. “One might think there is more to the woman than meets the eye.”
Lazarus’ nostrils flared as a white-hot spike of rage sprung forth. It rattled the souls beneath his flesh, causing them to cry out and jerk in his skin—each one fighting to be released. After several moments of unanswered, tense silence, the Queen finally turned her cheek.
“It seems, however, that your N’skari is not the only one missing. My soldiers have informed me that Axe is also mysteriously gone. Care to explain that as well, Lazarus?”
The Queen knew very well Lazarus had nothing to do with her daughter’s disappearance. Lazarus could see that very plainly without the help of his soul-stealing magic. Still, her eyes watched him with suspicion behind an inscrutable mask.
“I cannot speak for your daughter,” Lazarus stated. “But I can assure you that no one in House Fierté had any hand in poisoning you. We have come here to strike an alliance. It seems counterproductive to attempt to kill the woman I would ask to align my country with, don’t you think?”
Imogen’s next words were a cold reminder. “You forget yourself, Lord Fierté. You are not a king yet.” Lazarus gritted his teeth and remained silent. Provoking her would do nothing but raise his ire once more. Finally, she sighed and waved her hand. “If you have any proof, I would suggest you bring it forward now to present your case. I cannot promise mercy without evidence.”
Lazarus and Draeven exchanged a look. “We—” Draeven began.
The loud scraping of the throne room doors being pushed in from the outside halted any further speech as Axe appeared, her shoulder-length hair haphazardly tied back. She shoved the doors open just enough for her and the person behind her to squeeze through before she started forward, striding across the stone flooring of the hall toward her mother, her head tilted back and an impish grin upon her face.
At her back, Quinn followed at a slightly slower pace, and when Lazarus saw the rope in her hands, he realized why. Struggling grunts emitted from the man—his wrists bound and attached behind him to his bound legs, another length of rope keeping them connected—as Quinn dragged him through the throne room.
Imogen’s face was pure shock. Draeven stepped to the side as Quinn and Axe bypassed them. Quinn shoved her lavender hair back as she hefted the Queen’s advisor onto the bottom most step of the throne and stood back with her hands on her hips. Axe beamed with pride.
“What’s with the apple in his mouth?” Draeven finally asked.
Axe turned, and with her hands on her hips, answered, “He wouldn’t stop talkin’, so I thought we’d bring the pig in dressed up like one.”
Quinn sighed and glanced over her shoulder. “She conned it off someone.”
“Axelle,” Imogen said. “What is the meaning of this?”
“This, Madara,” Axe said, turning back to her mother, “is the real traitor.”
Apple of Discord
“Neiss and Ramiel have always been friends; for where there is justice—there is also fear.”
— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister, assassin hunter
* * *
Imogen’s shoulders straightened as she stared down at their evidence. Quinn and Axe stood with Zorel’s body hog-tied between them. He struggled uselessly against his bindings, grunting as he tried to talk through the apple in his mouth. Finally, he managed to spit it out. Quinn looked down in distaste as it rolled to a stop in front of her feet.
“My Queen—” he began.
Axe bent down, snatched up the apple, and shoved it back in his mouth. “No talkin’,” she snapped, clearly enjoying the feeling of power she had over the slimy weasel. He screamed in frustration and spit the apple back out. Axe bent down a bit slower this time, keeping her gaze locked on Zorel’s as she picked it back up, but before she could shove it back in a third time, her mother interrupted.
“Axe,” Imogen snapped. “Explain. Now.”
Rolling back on the heels of her boots, Axe grinned. “We caught your poisoner, Madara,” she said, gesturing to Zorel.
Quinn kept her mouth shut and took a subtle look around. More than two dozen Ilvan soldiers were gathered around the throne room, several of whom were surrounding the three men at her back. She felt Lazarus’ fierce gaze on her, and for a moment, she turned, meeting his eyes. He wasn’t happy. That was clear. Quinn turned back around and faced the Queen once more.
“Where is your proof?” Imogen demanded. “If you have brought my advisor before me with no evidence of his wrongdoing, then I’m afraid, Tesora, that you will be implicated in this mess as well.”
Both Axe and Imogen looked to Quinn, and she bit the inside of her cheek, looking around for her own proof. Where in the dark realm is Dominicus with the healer?
She knew she would have to make do until they arrived.
“We have a witness.” Quinn cast a glance down, pressing her lips together to keep from grimacing at the man attempting to loosen the knots of his bindings with little success. “We also apprehended him attempting to flee your country.”
Imogen’s eyes turned down to Zorel, and without missing a beat, she switched to her native tongue of Ilvan. “Is that true?”
Zorel followed her example and spoke in slightly accented Ilvan as he responded. “My Lady—it’s not what you think.”
“Were you attempting to leave Tritol? To leave Ilvas while I was unwell?” she demanded. “It’s a simple question, Zorel. Yes or no?”
“I-I was m-merely trying to . . .” He struggled and cut himself off as he yanked at his bonds. “For the love of Myori, will someone please release me from these blasted things!”
Quinn thought it interesting that he would plead for the love of Myori. The sea goddess held little love in her—much like the Queen herself.
Imogen nodded to Axe, and the girl huffed out a breath, pulling one of her axes from her belt. She bent down to saw at a few of the ropes until he could get himself free. Sliding the weapon back in place at her hip, Axe stepped back and pouted, crossing her arms.
Zorel cursed as he freed himself from the ropes and slowly stood, taking shaky steps toward the throne and away from both Quinn and Axe, but neither of them were having that. Together, they reached forward, each with a hand firmly grasped around one of his arms, and yanked him until he fell onto his knees on the bottom step of the Pirate Queen’s throne. He took the hint and didn’t move from his new position, but instead tried to beseech the Queen’s forgiveness with his eyes. Quinn appreciated the flinty quality of Imogen’s responding look.
“Your Highness, these two women are trying to frame me for your attempted assassination. I received an anonymous tip and—”
Heavy footfalls sounded behind the group. Imogen lifted her head, and Quinn followed her gaze as guards barked out commands. Dominicus strode forward, cold blue eyes homing in on Zorel. With one hand, he dragged the healer along beside him. Harrietta stared wide-eyed at the scene before her as soldiers halted their progression, waiting for an order.
With a wave of Imogen’s hand, they backed away and allowed Dominicus to approach.
“Will there be more joining us?” she inquired tartly in Quinn’s direction.
Dominicus was the one to respond. “No, Your Highness.”
With a heavy sigh and a tightening grip on the sword between her legs, Imogen nodded for them to proceed. Quinn turned her attention downward at Zorel’s panicked expression as he took in the appearance of Harrietta. His fear was palpable. Delicious. Quinn could smell it in her nostrils.
“I-I-I . . .” Zorel stuttered as everyone refocused on him. “Your Highness—this is highly inappropriate,” he finally blurted. “To allow your suspected assassin so close to you and freed of her chains.” He shot Quinn a glare filled with disgust and no small amount of anxiety. She returned the look with a lick of her lips, her pink tongue flicking out as though she could already taste his fear in her mouth. Zorel shuddered. Imogen watched him, waiting as he panted and heaved, overblown with fear and tight desperation. “She was found with your unconscious body in her hands, My Queen, surely that is—”
“Do you have more to present, Zorel?” she inquired.
He looked as though she’d backhanded him across the face. Quinn couldn’t help but think she would like to see that happen. “Your Highness . . .” He blinked in shock. “I’ve been a loyal servant to your reign for many years. I would never . . .”
She lifted her hand, stilling his words as she nodded toward Quinn. “Now you.”
Quinn gestured for Dominicus to bring the healer forward. He did so with a hard hand, releasing her arm and pushing against her back to urge her to stand next to the fallen Zorel.
“After you collapsed against me,” Quinn began, her words flowing in perfect Ilvan. She could feel Lazarus’ flash of surprise, followed by his seething fury through that strange quirk of magic she’d yet to understand, but she continued without turning, ignoring that his deep suction of darkness called to her as it touched her nerve endings and made her long for a little blood. “I was arrested. They sent me to the dungeons and while I was there, I got to thinking, Your Grace, about the uncanny timing of you being poisoned in the ten minutes I had been allowed alone with you.” Quinn paused and extended her hand. A whisper of fear rose from her skin. “I wondered how it was that you came to be poisoned and who might benefit from it the most.”
“If this is a means to distract me . . .” Imogen began.
Quinn allowed those tendrils to wind together and come to life, creating something that wasn’t there. An illusion so grand, so real, so vivid, that the guards turned their weapons from Lazarus and his house to the great beast they believed to be in their walls. Guards gasped. Fear gripped all their hearts, men and women alike; all but two.
