Blessed be the wicked, p.9
Blessed be the Wicked, page 9
“Quinn.” Lazarus reached out, gripping Quinn’s chin, turning her to face him, demanding her attention.
“What are you doing?” she snapped as Lazarus leaned forward. Quinn scowled at him, nearly jerking her face away the closer he came, but he held her steady and firm in his grasp.
“Lorraine will be taken care of,” he said, “but in the future, I would appreciate it if you did not antagonize my weapons master as much.”
“Antagonize him?” Quinn shoved back, and Lazarus let her go without argument. “You should tell that to him. I do not appreciate his implied accusations simply because he doesn’t like me.”
“You know that’s not why,” Lazarus said.
Quinn’s eyes dilated. “It’s because he fears me,” she snapped and then grinned. “Good.”
Lazarus fixed her with a focused glare. “You understand that not all fear is entirely logical. Let it go for now. If he presses, do not respond.”
Silence echoed between them, and Lazarus’ eyes narrowed as Quinn’s snarl slipped away and was replaced by a cruel twist of her lips. “You know as well as I, Lazarus, that his fear of me is entirely logical. After what he saw . . . what you all saw, I am not surprised by it. What surprises me is that neither Lorraine nor Draeven seem to have the same reaction to me.”
“Draeven and Lorraine understand the Maji power far more than Dominicus. As a non-Maji, he does not possess the same intricate knowledge of the extent of our abilities. He is good at what he does, but you must give him some latitude. He is my vassal, just as you are. I demand that you, at the very least, attempt to tolerate each other.”
Quinn huffed and turned away. “Contrary to what you might think, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” She said it mockingly, her voice holding more than a small trace of caustic irritation.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “It means,” she started, “that the emotions of your vassals cannot be controlled just because you will it so. I will do my part, but I cannot change Dominicus’ fear of me. Fear will continue to make him act as he does, no matter what you say.”
Lazarus frowned. He couldn’t deny the legitimacy of her claim, and it rankled him. Her icy blue eyes bored into him as she pivoted once more and faced him head on. Finally, with a resigned breath, he gave her a nod. “I will have a discussion with him,” he finally conceded. “That will do.” After a beat, simply because he could not help himself, he returned her harsh stare with one of his own and added, “For now.”
Quinn didn’t respond immediately, but when she did, it was to attempt to brush by him. “I suppose we’re done talking, then,” she said absently.
Lazarus chuckled under his breath. Quinn paused at the noise, when Lazarus reached out and snatched her, turning her and pushing until her spine was flush against the entrance to the gardens. He loomed before her.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Oh?” Quinn lifted her hand and patted her open mouth as she mimed a yawn. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss? Perhaps you want to blame me for someone else’s emotions as well?”
“You are not the only one I scold, Quinn,” he said. The woman he had trapped between himself and the wall didn’t act as though she was trapped. Quinn lounged back against the stone, staring up at him. “I told you I would talk with him.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother.” Quinn reached for his arm, meaning to duck beneath and stride off once more, but he stopped her with a shift of his hips, and she froze. Anger echoed across her face; so unique, so fascinating. Lazarus found himself transfixed by the violence in her. “Release me, Lazarus,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m far too busy performing my vassal duties”—she spat the words as if they were distasteful to her—“to cater to your every whim and desire.”
Lazarus’ eyes flashed, and his nostrils flared as every muscle in his body tightened against the thinly veiled insult. “As my vassal, it is your duty to cater to my every whim and desire,” he growled.
Quinn’s lips thinned. “I’m not in the mood for this game, Lazarus.”
“There is no game.” His voice was a rumble; a slow, deep sound of thunder emitting from his throat.
Her cerulean eyes bored into him. “There is always a game with you. First, we were talking of Lorraine and Dominicus, and now you have me pressed to the wall. Everything you do is a game. You kiss me and then you treat me as though I’m simply another servant among your horde. You’ve made your refusal quite clear, and vassal or not, I do not beg men for their attentions.”
“No, of course not,” Lazarus said slowly. He ran his eyes over her, noting her stiff muscles and damning lips. “You have far too much pride for that.”
“Then release me,” she snapped.
His lips twitched at the ire of her words, the growing fire within her eyes. Lazarus shook his head. “Why would I do that?” he inquired absently. The souls beneath his skin shivered in delight, moving beneath his flesh to each part of him that pressed against her. Those damned souls—more than anything else—kept him right where he was when he knew it would have been smarter to release the woman and step away; to let her go as she wanted to. But her intense desire to leave his presence was just as much a reason to keep her right where she was. If only to show her who was actually in command.
Quinn glared at him for a moment more before her frown eased away and something else entered her expression, causing him to frown this time. “I have other things to worry about that don’t involve you, Lazarus.”
Quinn shifted forward, rubbing against him. She angled her hips inwardly to rock into his, and he stiffened. Lazarus lifted an impassive eyebrow, masking his emotions.
“Unless . . .” she continued, speaking in a breathless and husky voice. “You wanted to pick up where we left off the last time we were this close. I’m not all about pleasing my lord, but if my lord wanted to please me . . . well, I could make an exception. Just once, I suppose.”
“You avoid me,” Lazarus accused through gritted teeth as the sound of her voice and her suggested words sent a rush of pleasure straight to his groin.
She shrugged. “I’m not avoiding you. You’re here, aren’t you?” she pointed out. “Much as I’d prefer you to be on a horse heading straight for the dark realm, you’re the one who has me against a wall.”
Lazarus released her abruptly and backed off. With a wayward grin on her lips, Quinn sidestepped around him. Before he could turn and say anything, she made a sound of amusement in the back of her throat. Lazarus jerked his gaze over his shoulder and an immediate glower overtook him. Vaughn was striding toward them, eyes set on Quinn as he approached.
“She-wolf Quinn,” he said by way of greeting. The oversized mountain boy flicked a glance Lazarus’ way but made no move to greet him as well.
“Vaughn.” She smiled; her eyes fixed on him. Lazarus’ teeth threatened to crack under the strain of his clenched jaw.
“There is training yard,” he said, his speech still lacking in refinement, though he had already learned a decent bit over the last few weeks. “Will you join?”
Quinn took one look back over her shoulder at Lazarus and nodded. A glint of something vicious settled in her gaze as she said, “Of course.”
The boy must not have cared too greatly for his life because he offered his arm to Quinn and she, being Quinn, didn’t seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation because she took it.
As they started to stride away, Lazarus considered how truly important his alliance with Thorne was before Quinn paused.
“I’ll come by to check on Lorraine,” she said over her shoulder, her voice going a shade darker as she added, “I’m sure Dominicus will be there, but I won’t be a hindrance.”
With that, she left, and Lazarus wasn’t sure what to call the strange feeling sliding through him, though he’d felt it before—and now he felt it each time the boy came near her. The souls beneath his skin writhed with need because for the first time in all his life—he wanted a woman he shouldn’t have.
Quinn was violent and unpredictable. She was prone to fits of madness and rage.
She was not a good choice to warm his bed when he was going to be king.
She was too irrational. Too . . . territorial.
Then again, so was he.
Queen of Evasion
“You should know as much about your friends as you do your enemies.”
— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister
* * *
Darkness descended over Tritol as Leviticus’ eye slipped under the horizon, making way for Leviathan to rise once again. Quinn leaned her arms against the railing, watching the city of drunks, as she liked to call it, with a keen eye. The Pirate Queen’s holiday was coming to an end, and with it, Quinn’s patience. Though much still remained unfinished, she was ready to leave Ilvas.
Lorraine hadn’t recovered from the exertion that caused a tear in her wound. Whatever danger had befell her that day in the garden still held her under. She was alive but not well. They continued to keep a very close watch on her and would until she woke from the stupor she’d remained in the last two days. At the thought of the other woman, Quinn spared a glance over her shoulder to Dominicus. The weapons master’s pacing was putting them all on edge.
Dominicus’ unsettling irritation, Lorraine’s fallen health, and the fact that the Queen had still refused Lazarus an audience—it appeared as though their departure wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, much to Lazarus’ great frustration, if the man’s glowering was anything to go by.
“Have you tried sending gifts?” Draeven asked from his spot on the lounge. “Women love gifts.” He reclined back, smirking at Quinn as he tossed grapes into his mouth. Lazarus sighed and continued sipping his spirits from a glass while staring at the fireplace, like the flames might hold some answers that only he could see.
“I had two chests of gold brought to her before we even reached the Cisean mountains,” Lazarus grumbled. “Not to mention the jewelry we found in the market that you had me send this week.” He continued pondering a moment longer.
“I’m not sure what to tell you then, Lazarus.” Draeven glanced past him toward Dominicus. “Perhaps your weapons master might have some suggestions, given that he earned Lorraine’s affections—”
“Do you find yourself funny?” Dominicus asked, shooting him a withering glare.
“Quite often,” Draeven responded dryly. Dominicus shook his head and walked out the room, closing the door to his suite hard enough that the furniture rattled.
“He’s a moody one. Perhaps our dear Dominicus isn’t the most well-suited for advising here. Both he and Lorraine are a bit more stoic than the Pirate Queen.” Draeven turned his head again, catching Quinn’s eye. He flashed a satisfied grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing. Gone was the brooding male from the previous week and in his place was the same, albeit slightly more amusing, left-hand. “What about you, Vaughn? What would you do to gain an audience with the Queen?”
Vaughn glanced up from the corner of the room, both hands stilling against the greywood spear he was carving as he considered the question. “Bring Queen fruit of the red dawn and behead her enemies,” he finally said. His lips pinched together for a moment as if he were contemplating a more elaborate answer, then he nodded once before returning to his spear.
“Uh huh . . .” Draeven drawled, glancing back to Quinn.
“I’m with him,” Quinn answered with a shrug before he could even ask.
“You can’t be serious,” Draeven deadpanned. “You’d rather a man bring you fruit and severed heads over gold and jewelry?” The space between his brows puckered in disbelief.
Quinn turned from the railing and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the wooden frame of the open double doors. “The fruit of the red dawn is rare. Exotic.” Quinn paused, raising both eyebrows when Draeven opened his mouth to interrupt. He promptly closed it again. “And furthermore, it’s a food that Vaughn’s people value more than gold or jewels. It’s considered a great honor for the Ciseans to gift it to you at a meal, something not even we—who are allied with them—were given the pleasure of.” Draeven tilted his head, seeming to consider this.
“But it’s just fruit,” Draeven said.
“And jewelry is just a useless trinket that women wear to display wealth,” Quinn countered. “At least Vaughn’s idea of a gift is thoughtful. I’d be more inclined to trust a man who was willing to kill my enemies just as he would his own, than someone that tried to buy my allegiance.”
“I can’t believe I’m listening to this.” Draeven shook his head. “You’d really rather someone who killed your enemies and brought you fruit?” Quinn nodded, taking note of how quiet Lazarus had gotten.
“I don’t know about these women you keep picking up, Lazarus,” Draeven said. “Their priorities just aren’t right.”
Quinn rolled her eyes and strode toward the door. “If that’s all, I’m going to check on Lorraine. The healer said she should wake any day now.” Quinn reached for the door, her fingers only just brushing over the cool handle when two thumps from the other side made her pause.
Quinn frowned, and Draeven called, “Don’t just stand there. Open the door.” Gritting her teeth to bite back a sharp reply, Quinn grasped the handle and pulled, stepping to the side as she did so.
“What do you want?” she asked.
A mop of red hair with beads and feathers swished as Axe strode in. She perused the room with leisure, watching Draeven then Vaughn and finally Lazarus, before turning back to Quinn.
“Another plum liquor, but Aunt Petra cut me off now that Madara’s holiday is comin’ to an end,” she bemoaned. “Apparently, I have to go back to my court duties as the princess.”
Quinn shook her head and stepped around the girl who stood a full head shorter than her. “Well, if that’s all . . .”
“Not so fast,” Axe said. Quinn paused in the doorway. “Madara sent me because she’s decided to grant you an audience.”
Quinn frowned, shuffling forward as Lazarus said, “Excellent.”
His hulking form drew closer, and Axe coughed. “Not you.”
A short pause followed as the pieces clicked together.
She couldn’t mean . . .
“Madara has decided to grant you an audience,” Axe said, pointing at Quinn. “Not the rest of them.”
“What?” Lazarus asked, a tint of anger entering his voice. Quinn schooled her face in a mask of neutrality.
“Why would she do that?” Quinn asked, standing with her arms crossed in front of Lazarus.
“How would I know?” Axe shrugged. “She told me that dependin’ on what you have to say, she may decide to grant Lord Fierté an audience as well.”
Quinn blinked. Not good, she thought, right as Draeven said, “We are so screwed.”
Quinn pushed her lips together and stared past Axe to the smoldering coals boring down on her. Lazarus’ stare was heady and tense with a burnishing intensity so hot she felt her skin heat.
“Are you just goin’ to stand there eye-fuckin’ each other?” Axe asked in a completely serious tone. Quinn blinked as Draeven choked on a grape and let out a spluttering cough, his fisted hand pounding against his chest as he fought off asphyxiation.
“I’m waiting for you,” Quinn answered smoothly, still feeling his eyes on her despite Axe’s words. The girl saw both too much and too little.
“Uh huh.” Axe snorted, obviously not believing Quinn for a moment. The girl stepped around her and headed for the door. “Sure you were.” Axe disappeared into the hallway, muttering something about hussies being coy.
Quinn frowned, but chose to not comment as she followed her out, shooting one last look Lazarus’ way. His dark burning stare held a weighted meaning. They would be talking again very soon. Quinn passed through the door, letting it swing shut behind her, and then trailed behind Axe as the smaller girl shook her head and led Quinn off.
Quinn followed behind Axe as they strode through the cracked marble halls, passing servants and guards on the way—all of whom made it a point to steer clear of Axe. The twin arching doors into the throne room were hanging slightly ajar when they arrived. Instead of knocking or announcing her presence, Axe pushed until there was just enough space for both her and Quinn to squeeze through.
Imogen looked up from her chaise lounge, stiff parchment clutched in her hand. She sighed and waved a servant away after shoving the papers into his chest. “Make sure to deliver that to my council,” she commanded sharply. The wide-eyed servant nodded and abruptly turned, rushing away as if whatever he held was of the utmost importance. Or perhaps, he didn’t want to keep Imogen’s orders waiting. Given her reputation of impatience, Quinn could understand the urgency on his part.
Axe bounded up the stairs to her mother’s throne, but Imogen shook her head, and Axe froze. “Not today, Tesora,” she said. “I’d like to talk with Fierté’s vassal alone.”
Axe’s forehead scrunched as her eyebrows drew together. She paused, nodding once before turning on her heel and heading out the side door—tossing a confused glance over her shoulder as she went. Once the doors closed behind her and they were alone, the Queen rose from her throne and motioned for Quinn to follow.
“Do you know why I summoned you?” she asked.
“No.” Quinn fell into Imogen’s shadow as they moved, striding toward the back of the throne room. The Queen walked with her head held high, a purposefulness to her steps as she reached for a half-concealed door and then pressed down on the gold-plated handle, easing the hatch open. She gestured for Quinn to go first.
Wary, Quinn walked, feeling as if she were on a plank and being doomed to the sea at a single word from the Queen, if Imogen so chose. It was disconcerting, and Quinn’s fingers twitched, her power humming in her veins as she entered the darkened interior of the room. Behind her, Imogen chuckled, and the door closed, shutting them both in shadowed obscurity. Quinn closed her eyes, sensing Imogen’s movements. There was no thrill of danger in the air, no ill intent, which both relieved and frustrated Quinn.
