For King and Corruption, page 10
“Oh, I had her placed in the east wing, near my own chambers—for in the event she needed anything. The west wing, however, has beautiful decor and a wonderful view of the forest toward the back of my property. I thought you would enjoy the wild imagery,” Lord Callis said quickly.
With a cruel smile of his own, Lazarus shook his head. “I’m afraid you’ll find that Quinn enjoys wildness far more than myself. Perhaps she would be more comfortable there.”
“I’ll be comfortable anywhere, Artan,” Quinn said. “Please don’t concern yourself with my comfort.”
Lord Callis’ lips pursed in displeasure as he took in Lazarus’ expression. “Well, perhaps my steward can find a suitable room somewhere else in the east wing and have it aired out,” he finally conceded, nodding to the older man at his side.
Interesting, Lazarus thought. He was so unwilling to have Quinn far. The man was infatuated with his little fear twister. It was unfortunate, then, that if the man so much as touched Quinn in the ways he no doubt wanted to, Lazarus would severe his arms from his body.
“I’ve had a late luncheon prepared. Shall we adjourn to the dining room for our meal?” he asked, nodding to the open front doors as he held his arm out for Quinn to take.
Without hesitation, she did, moving with a grace that befit a battlefield more so than a noble’s dining chamber. Lazarus trailed behind the two of them, fantasizing about when he could take her alone into a room and deliver a series of blows upon her backside that would no doubt do nothing for her temper, but would at least assuage a miniscule amount of his frustration. Barbarian that he was, he enjoyed the idea of her bending before him once more.
Callis’ dining room was the picture of elegance and dignified heritage. Murals decorated the walls on either side of the long table. One of them depicting a man in ceremonial robes, bowing before the pillars of the gods; statues representing the council of divine beings that had created this world and the next. Turning his head, he took in the second mural, which showcased a brilliant shining white knight riding into battle with a horde of soldiers at his back and a fierce dragon at his front, breathing fire down upon them. Lazarus’ mouth curled in amusement. If asked which he pictured himself, he would say that while knights were noble and respected——he was more akin to the dragon.
“What do you think, Your Grace?” Callis asked as he sat himself at the head of the table with Quinn taking her seat on the right. Lazarus waited for a servant to pull out his own chair and sat as he nodded to the murals on the wall.
“Beautifully crafted,” he replied.
Callis, obviously pleased, nodded. “Yes, I thought so too. I had the one on the left commissioned with an artist that hailed from Jibreal.”
“And the other?” Lazarus inquired as a line of servants appeared, carrying trays leaden down with a feast that was far too much for the three of them. Lazarus did not comment. Luxury and overindulgence was something he knew the nobles of any region were well versed in.
“I don’t know actually,” Lord Callis looked up at the picture of the knight and dragon. “It was found in a centuries-old toppled temple, and it has been in my family for many generations. I was told by my father and his father before him that it was a gift from one of the Reinhart kings of generations past.”
“Hmmmm,” Lazarus hummed, a non-reply as the coverings were removed from the platters of food and they began their meal. Small talk filtered through the dining room as Callis tried hard to win Quinn’s affection. Lazarus watched the two of them with a combination of annoyance and indifference, fighting for the latter, though the previous continued to crop up.
“That was a lovely meal,” Quinn said, wiping down the corners of her mouth as the food was carted away, more than half of it still on the plates.
Lazarus slid his eyes to Callis. “When shall we take to the forest for our hunt?” he asked.
“Oh, the hunt is already prepared,” Callis said, standing and gesturing for the door. “Let me take you outside. Normally, I wouldn’t suggest hunting after a particularly filling meal such as that one.” He paused and patted his stomach with a satisfied smirk on his face. “But I’ve had my hunt master prepare something more enjoyable for us.”
Quinn frowned, but didn’t say anything as she followed behind. Lazarus kept his eyes trained on the back of the man’s head as he led them both outside to a veranda that looked out over the long stretch of land that made up Lord Callis’ estate. Just beyond the flattened grassy plain, a wall of trees awaited.
Callis led both of them down the side stairs and out where one man—the hunt master, Lazarus presumed—stood with his grip on a young boy. Lazarus sensed the moment Quinn realized what was happening. His arm snapped out, his fingers closing over her forearm as she strained. Callis, unrealizing, tramped onward, leaving them several paces back, his smile still in place. The fool.
The complete and utter idiot.
Lazarus cursed under his breath even as Quinn spoke up. “What is this?” she demanded, gesturing to the obvious slave—a young sandy-haired boy with big eyes and hair shorn so close to his scalp that there were obvious nicks and cuts where the blade had cut too close.
Callis paused and turned back, shock on his face at the clear vehemence in her tone. “It’s a slave hunt,” he replied nonchalantly. “I find it somewhat more challenging than hunting animals. Slaves have some brain power and can think for themselves. A bit harder to kill, perhaps—” The slave boy’s eyes widened, and he began shaking as tears welled within the depths of his gaze. “But that’s why I had a boy brought out and not one of the men or women. Adolescents are a little easier, and I didn’t want you to be dissuaded by difficult prey.”
“Quinn . . .” Lazarus warned, tightening his grip upon her arm. Her muscles tensed, and her veins began to darken and turn black.
“He’s human,” was all Quinn said, the quiet in her voice an ominous warning.
Callis laughed. “That’s debatable, but I suppose if you want to be technical. Yes, the slave is human.”
“You’ve hunted slaves before?” The uncanny stillness of her form gave away what Lord Callis was too foolish to see.
“Not as much as I wish, but. . .” the idiot prattled on, unaware of the violence he was feeding. Lazarus could feel it, though. He turned, quickly cutting off the man as he stepped in front of Quinn.
“Go inside,” he ordered. Quinn didn’t move. She didn’t even appear to hear him. “Quinn. Go inside, now,” he repeated.
“I want to kill him,” she whispered, too low for Callis to hear, though the man was watching them with confusion.
Lazarus shook his head. “I will deal with him. Go inside.”
“The boy—” she started.
“Take him,” Lazarus said quickly. It would give her a reason to stay away. She wasn’t the maternal sort, but she understood the child in a way no one else in the vicinity could.
“Excuse me, what seems to be the problem?” Callis approached, and Lazarus felt Quinn tense. She bared her teeth—not that the foolish Lord could see with Lazarus blocking him. Black wisps slipped from her fingertips and lifted, tickling Lazarus’ senses. The souls within him stirred for her.
Lifting a calloused hand, Lazarus gripped Quinn around the throat, turning her attention back to him—at least somewhat marginally. She was so focused on Lord Callis that she hardly reacted to his rough handling. That concerned him. Ordinarily she would have griped or pushed or done anything she pleased to either force him to unhand her or push him closer.
Quinn did neither. Her blue eyes reflecting wisps of darkness through them like shattered glass.
Lazarus tightened his hold.
“Take the boy,” he enunciated each word clearly as he leaned down next to her ear. “And go inside. Once you’ve seen him fed and back with the servants, find someone to take you to your room and remain there until I come for you.”
“Your Grace?” Lord Callis was almost upon them. “Quinn?”
Lazarus released her, and they moved in sync, Quinn sliding past them as he turned and blocked Lord Callis once more. Lord Callis noted Lazarus’ frown and then glanced back as she went to the hunt master, snatching the boy from his grip and storming away. The child cried out, terror clear on his face, and Quinn paused, bending briefly to say something to him that neither he nor Lord Callis could hear. The boy nodded, confused, but allowed himself to be lead away as Lord Callis turned to Lazarus.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked.
“Quinn does not hunt slaves,” Lazarus said. “In fact, you should be aware that slave hunting will become illegal the very moment I return to the palace on the morrow and have a seal placed in my hand.”
“What?” Shocked, Lord Callis stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. The man had no clue how very close to losing his life he’d come.
“Quinn’s past is a private matter, but she does not condone the use or possession of slaves. You will refrain from discussing the matter with her. Is that understood?” Lazarus spoke with authority, unable to stop a small amount of malevolent intent from entering his tone.
“Your Grace . . .” Lord Callis looked at him curiously. “You don’t mean to outlaw slavery in Norcasta, do you? These actions are not the actions of a man who wants to keep from . . . inciting a series of riotous events in the country.” Lazarus eyed him coldly at the underhanded remark. The southern lord’s intent was quite clear. “Slavery is an age-old means of servitude. It has been around for centuries. To rid the country of such a trade—it would devastate the economy and no doubt turn many noblemen against you.”
Lazarus didn’t care for slavery one way or the other, but this rule had little to do with him. In his mind, everything was merely a means to an end, and though he hadn’t considered it before, he knew that were he to outlaw the practice of slavery, it would strengthen Quinn’s loyalty all the more. Perhaps even cut the outbursts down against his own house; something he very much needed with her back in the country. However, he needed to reply to Callis’ indications very carefully. He hadn’t yet made any decisions, but he needed to make his point as crystal clear as possible, lest the idiot unintentionally give Quinn yet more cause to come for him. He still needed the man, much as his mere presence was beginning to be a problem. Lifting his head and glaring down at the lord before him, Lazarus folded his arms over his chest.
“Lord Callis, you misunderstand me,” he said. “I have not outlawed the practice, nor the trading of slaves,” he paused, letting the unspoken yet hang in the air before continuing. “But it would behoove you and your health were you not to speak of it in Quinn’s presence. Do you understand?”
Lord Callis took a step back, cold dissatisfaction making its way into his expression. “As you wish, Your Grace,” he said.
Lazarus let his glare stretch between them for a moment more before he turned and strode back to the mansion. He glanced above, noting the stretch of the afternoon sky. Though it wouldn’t have been too late for a short hunt in the nearby woods, it was far too late to try and head back to the palace. Darkness would soon fall, but the moment dawn broke, he and Quinn would be well on their way back. He needed to get her as far from Lord Callis and the man’s slaves as quickly as possible.
In Cold Blood
“The vermin of the world should be extinguished. It is the only way humanity can thrive.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, right-hand to the King of Norcasta
* * *
Quinn paced across the room she’d been shown to after she’d taken care of the slave child. Hours had passed since she’d nearly lost her mind and killed Lord Callis on the back lawn of his estate. She paused at the four-poster bed, one hand going to the elaborately carved footboard. Her fingers curled into the wood, nails digging in until she felt her own blood run wet against her fingers.
Hatred, vile and cruel, filtered into her thoughts. She had thought Lord Callis cruel. She knew he enjoyed pain. But this . . . this was much worse. He wasn’t simply a man taking whatever pleasures he sought in life, twisted or not. He was a slave owner. A slave killer.
The footboard beneath her grip groaned and cracked with her strength as a fissure worked its way up from the bottom. If she held on any longer, she’d break the two-inch-thick wood in half. Quinn would have much preferred Lord Callis’ throat to be in her grip.
Damn Lazarus, she thought. She’d been nearly out of her head with rage, on the brink of murder. She regretted it now, not killing the Lord. She could easily find him. She considered it as she turned toward the room. He would have no clue. She could sneak into his bed and should he awake, he would welcome her with open arms. He’d made his thoughts on Quinn’s presence in his chambers quite clear. She’d slide between the sheets, pin him to the mattress, and watch with a smile as the life drained from his eyes as she’d slide a blade right into his heart.
Quinn shuddered with desire. How she wished to make that dream a reality. Lazarus, however, would have her head. She shook the image she’d built of the kill from her mind.
Outside, darkness had fallen. She moved to the window, thinking back on what Lazarus had come by to tell her after leaving Lord Callis. They would leave at first light. He’d also told her that upon his return to the palace, the hunting of slaves would be banned. It wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted Callis’ head on a platter. Or better yet, his heart. She wanted to carve it into a thousand tiny little pieces and feed those pieces to the rats.
A knock sounded upon her door, and she froze, her hand on the pane of the window. Surely, Lazarus wouldn’t—
“Quinn?” Her eyes widened with shock. Instead of Lazarus, it was Lord Callis’ voice that filtered through the wood.
Sucking in a breath and holding it for fear she’d march across the room, throw the door open, and stab the man through his groin and up into his intestines, Quinn counted down the seconds in silence before the man spoke again.
“Listen, I was hoping we could talk,” he continued. Her chest burned with the effort she was expending to keep absolutely still. “I’m aware that you were upset by today, and I was hoping that I could ease your concerns.” When still there was no answer, she heard him sigh. “I’ll be in my study if you change your mind,” he said. “It’s just down the hall. I’ll leave the light on for you. I . . . hope you change your mind.”
Oh, she was changing her mind, alright, she thought as she listened to him move away from the door. Her breath came rushing back into her chest. The air fueling the wildfire within. Though she craved desperately to kill him, she knew she couldn’t. Lazarus had instructed her, quite specifically, to stay put until he came for her. He would not come for her again until morning. But Callis—dear, foolish Callis—was dangling a carrot before her nose.
Twisting back to the window, Quinn grit her teeth. You can’t kill him, she told herself. She repeated it in her head. You cannot kill him. He was a pawn; Lazarus’ pawn.
A battle raged within her. If she left this room, she feared what she would do. The door was flimsy in comparison to her power, but the door itself was not the issue. It was a symbol; a reminder of what she was. She was under Lazarus’ command, and no matter the vileness of the man that owned this mansion, she needed to somehow curb her dark cravings. She needed to—Quinn scowled at the irrational thought—make peace with him.
Dark tendrils wafted from her skin, curling in her hair, caressing her cheeks. It was as if her own power disagreed. She knew that she herself was not wholly in accordance with the knowledge of what she needed to do. It felt as though Draeven had sunk into her mind. Peace was not a concept she enjoyed. In fact, she hardly understood its meaning. Lazarus had done well to angle her attention elsewhere this afternoon. He’d kept her from committing what would be an atrocity in the eyes of the nobles—and justice in hers.
Instead of peace with Callis, she would create an illusion. One guaranteed to keep him under wraps, at least until Lazarus gave her the go ahead to kill him. She would weave Lord Callis into a web that would hold him hostage. Oh yes, she liked that idea. There was something to be said for the breaking of a man. Some were shattered instantly. Others took a bit longer. She wanted to make her torture of Lord Callis last. Perhaps, she’d first feed him nightmares. Never-ending horrible nightmares that would shake him to his very core. Drive him to the brink of insanity.
Quinn straightened away from the pane of the window and turned to the door. She could wait for his death, she decided. She was sure that once Lord Callis served his purpose to Lazarus, he’d allow her the opportunity to remove the beating organ that kept the vile man alive. A slow grin spread across her face. Yes, he would. And in the time Lord Callis borrowed in Lazarus’ will, she would plan for the man’s death. It would be far more glorious than what it might have been this afternoon. She’d been too rash. He would keep breathing, for now, and when his time came, she’d make him suffer before she let him leave this world. She’d take him straight to the edge of madness—as she’d done with her sister—and then she’d end the man’s miserable existence.
Quinn’s feet carried her to the door, and she turned the handle, slipping into the hall. He said he’d be waiting in the study. Pivoting on her heel and easing the door shut behind her, she took off in the direction she’d heard him go. The man was a fool. All it would take were a few simple, fake words of apology for her reaction this afternoon. She let her legs take her to the end of the hall and on the right, she spotted the flickering of candlelight from beyond.
Quietly rapping upon the door, she reached for the handle and turned it, letting herself in before she could be turned away. Lord Callis stood from his desk as she came in. He looked surprised, but also pleased to see her.
“Quinn. . .” He looked her over. She had not changed from that afternoon and was still dressed in her leathers. Blinking and turning his gaze back to her face, he sighed. “I was afraid you would not come.”
