For King and Corruption, page 12
“Do you know what it means to be the right-hand, Quinn?” she asked her.
“I thought I did. I’m beginning to wonder.”
Lorraine nodded as if she’d suspected as much. “It means being the hand that strikes. Draeven is the diplomat. He’s the smooth talker that keeps Lazarus out of trouble, and councils him with a level head. You—you’re the one that makes the calls no one else will.” She smiled sadly. “You exist to deal with men like Lord Callis and the uprisings that will occur as a result. You are the might of Lazarus. The spear that reminds the people why rebellions are unwise, and that should we be attacked—you can handle it. You can keep them safe.”
“But Lazarus said—”
“Lazarus knew what he was doing when he took you in, Quinn. He understood the ramifications of bringing on a vassal with so much power, for better or worse.” She brushed a stray lock of hair from Quinn’s face. “He might not be happy with your actions today, but so long as you remain loyal at his side and are willing to quell the rumors that arise—you’re doing exactly what the right-hand should.”
Quinn’s lips pinched together as she said, “His council won’t see it that way.”
Lorraine snorted once. “His council isn’t half as loyal as you, and he knows that—the late Lord among them.” A flinty expression crossed Lorraine’s face before it was gone.
“If they’re not loyal, why aren’t they dead?” Quinn asked.
Lorraine chuckled, her hand dropping away. “Loyalty is not something that can be given without reason and time. If Lazarus killed every man before they could prove their worth, none of us would be here—you included.”
Quinn blinked, the corners of her lips turning down. “But if they support the blood heirs—”
“If they truly support them, then Lazarus will handle those lords when the time is right. However, some men might be swayed in the coming weeks when the heirs themselves finally make an appearance.” Lorraine turned for the door and said, “I will be back in a moment with water for a bath.”
She slipped out of the door, her footsteps quietly padding down the hall while Quinn waited for her. With stiff fingers, she reached up and tugged at the drawstrings of her cloak, letting it fall to the ground beneath her.
Several minutes later, Lorraine returned carrying two buckets of water. She hauled them over to the bath in the corner of her room and took care to dump them in without spilling a drop. Only when the water was in the tub did Lorraine motion for her to come over. Quinn walked softly, pulling her top from her breasts and tossing it on the floor beside her. She unlaced her trousers and bent to handle her boots.
“How do you know when the time is right to kill someone?” Quinn asked, pulling one of her boots off.
Lorraine didn’t even blink at the question. “How did you decide when it was time to kill your family?”
Quinn thought on that for a moment as she stripped away the rest of her clothes and stepped into the tepid water. She sat down, settling back against the rim. Lorraine handed her a chunk of soap, and she began to wash.
“I killed them when they outlived their purpose, or their deaths served to further my cause.”
Lorraine nodded. “Lazarus will do the same.” The older woman pulled out a chair and took a seat while Quinn continued washing. Plumes of brown thickened in the water so quickly, it was no longer clear by the time she got to her hair. Quinn reached around and undid the leather tie, running her fingers through her tresses to break up the stiff chunks where blood had dried.
“Lord Callis hadn’t served his purpose,” Quinn said, breaking the silence once more.
“No, he hadn’t,” Lorraine agreed, sighing deeply.
“But I killed him anyways. Does that make what I did wrong?” She leaned forward to dip the lower half of her hair in the water.
“Right and wrong don’t matter,” Lorraine told her. “Morals are for better men and women than those that follow Lazarus. Each of us has blackened our soul in some way that led us here, and we will blacken it further before the dark realm welcomes us.”
Quinn scowled at the water and then leaned back to dunk her head twice before she scrubbed at the top of her head. The wet strands lathered, and their slippery feel mimicked blood.
“I enjoyed killing him. Draeven is furious with me for it, and Lazarus is concerned about the fallout with the council, but I don’t regret it.” Quinn lifted her gaze from the murky water to see Lorraine nodding.
“I can’t say I would either from what you’ve told me.”
Quinn frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “You don’t seem to be condemning me for this.”
“I’m not,” Lorraine replied. “It’s not my place. Not anymore. You’re a grown woman, and a Maji in your own right. You’ve earned your place in Lazarus’ inner circle, and while the timing of this particular death is inconvenient,” she paused, looking Quinn over. “I don’t believe it is insurmountable.”
Quinn dunked her head several more times, washing the suds from her hair. Only when she was clean as she could be did she stand, again noticing how the rivulets of water and blood were not so different when they ran freely.
The older woman held up a towel, and Quinn took it, drying herself. Even in the dim light, it came away smudged a reddish-brown in the corners. She grimaced, but said nothing as she dropped it on the floor beside her clothes. Lorraine pulled open the drawers of her armoire and plucked several swaths of fabric. Quinn stepped out of the bath and took them from her, dressing without much regard to what she wore.
“If you’re wrong,” she started. Quinn swallowed again, this particular question not sitting well with her. “Do you think Lazarus will kill me?”
The other woman paused. She didn’t turn or move as she stared straight ahead, as if seeing something Quinn could not. Then, in a voice so quiet Quinn almost missed it, Lorraine said, “I don’t think he can.”
They cleaned up the floor and tossed Quinn’s dirty clothes in the water bin to be washed. Together they worked in silence, until almost all evidence of her actions were gone, save the cloak and the body. The confession of her words hung between them.
Only when the light of an early dawn started to peek through the window did she turn for the door to return to her rooms before morning.
“Lorraine,” she said softly, hesitating at the door.
“Yes, Quinn?” the other woman said. Her voice betrayed nothing.
“I hope you’re right.”
A pause. Then, “You and me both, dear.”
Chains of Time
“Secrets and rumors are not the same. One is bound by the lips of society and the other will always, eventually, be set free.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, King of Norcasta
* * *
There was surely a special place in Mazzulah’s realm for Lord Artan Callis, Lazarus knew. The man had been nothing but a pain to deal with. Difficult to appease, to say the least—always wanting this or that. Wheedling away at his time. And for what? Hunting? Flirting with the palace ladies and maids. Lazarus scowled as he stared through the windowpane of his office, watching the morning sun rise and stretch its long orange-red fingers across the sky.
He could not deny that seeing the man dead, and at Quinn’s hand no less, gave him some small measure of amusement. But that amusement had been quickly overtaken by the realization of what she’d done. Her actions had damned him. The death of the lord was not one that could be handled lightly. No. It had to be handled with care.
“She is on her way,” Draeven informed him as the man came to stand at his side.
“And Dominicus?” Lazarus inquired, but he needn’t have. The man in question slid into the private study a moment later, his face drawn and dark circles marking the undersides of his eyes. Lazarus’ weapons master looked at him and nodded an acknowledgement of the unspoken question. It was done. The mess that he should have predicted had been cleaned up and the evidence of Callis’ demise washed away as though he had never been.
Lazarus’ lips twisted cruelly as he strode back across the room to his desk and took a seat, weaving his fingers together and propping his arms on the mahogany as he considered his thoughts. The chains of time tightened in an invisible noose around his neck as he contemplated what they were to do now. Quinn’s actions were going to cost him—that much was clear—but how long could he postpone paying the price of her misdeed?
A knock sounded on the door and Dominicus reached for the knob, turning and holding the door open for those beyond to enter. Quinn—having been cleaned of the night’s bloodshed—stood before him, her eyes dimmed and her face strained. Lorraine stepped up to her side. They were all there.
“Close the door and lock it,” Lazarus commanded. Dominicus nodded and did as he was bid. As soon as it was done, he turned his eyes back to Quinn and held them for a moment before he sighed and addressed the room. “No one beyond these walls is to know what happened this night,” he said. “As you know, Lord Callis is dead.” Quinn stiffened, but he ignored her. Yes, he was angry with her—positively furious—but at the same time, he understood. The man was bound to wind up at the end of his life’s path in a violent and bloodied manner. The way he lived—fast and hurried, with slaves and mistresses everywhere he went, had definitely seen to that. The timing and method, however, could not have been worse. “I’ve gathered you all here because there is no way that announcing the man’s death will have anything but a negative impact upon my reign. It cannot be put off forever, of course, but a temporary solution is needed.”
Draeven nodded, turning to the others. “Before your arrival, Lazarus and I discussed the possibility of telling the other lords that Callis had been called away or sent on an excursion of the highest secrecy. He—”
“That won’t work,” Quinn announced. Lazarus’ eyes landed on hers, and he released his hands, gesturing for her to continue. She took that as her cue and nodded, turning back to Draeven as she spoke despite the fact that this was a suggestion that Draeven and Lazarus had colluded together. “What will happen when he’s gone for too long?” Quinn asked. And before Draeven could respond she pushed onward. “Will he die on this top-secret mission? Of course, because he’s already dead. But then people will wonder where you sent him and if you didn’t have him sent to wherever he supposedly went just so he could be killed. That rumor will only come back on you, Lazarus.” She paused, her focus switching its target as those cerulean eyes of hers bore into his dark gaze. “And that’s what you want to avoid, right? The backlash?”
“Then what do you suggest?” Lazarus asked, curious to see how the woman might come up with some way to rectify her mistake. No, perhaps killing the man hadn’t been a mistake, but doing so too early was definitely a blunder—on both of their parts.
Quinn’s lips pressed together, and he watched, curious despite himself, as the thoughts raced through her mind. When she realized he was fixating on her so intently, her expression closed down with the same effect of slamming a door. He fought against the curling of her lips as she straightened and glared at him.
“If your only goal is to buy time, then I suggest an illusion.”
“An illusion?” Lazarus’ thoughts echoed Lorraine’s words as the older woman looked at Quinn in confusion. “What kind of illu—oh you mean . . . ” Lorraine trailed off, worry falling over her face. “That seems a bit dangerous. The last time you—”
“That was not the last time, Lorraine,” Quinn said, correcting the woman. It was clear that Lorraine only recalled Quinn’s unleashing an illusion from the battle outside of Tritol in Ilvas. But as both Lazarus and Quinn knew, Quinn’s illusions had other uses. “I can create an illusion of something small. Something—or someone, in this case—that everyone would see, and think was there,” Quinn said.
Lazarus nodded. “An illusion might work,” he concluded. “The only one who wouldn’t be affected by it would be—”
“—Me,” Lorraine finished for him.
Lazarus nodded. “Nulls wouldn’t be affected due to their magical immunities.” He turned to Draeven. “Do we have any other nulls in the palace?”
Draeven shook his head. “No, sir. None that are known.”
Lazarus narrowed his eyes and then abruptly turned to Dominicus. “I want you to ensure that there are no nulls—known or otherwise—in the palace. Should you find any, have them removed. Quietly.”
“You want them killed?” Dominicus asked.
Lazarus leveled the man with a hard look. “That isn’t necessary. Simply have them go on an extended leave of absence—with pay, if need be—until after the blood heirs leave.”
“Is that the timeline for this delay?” Quinn asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Lazarus replied. “We cannot hide the truth forever. It always has a way of getting free. I simply want to keep this contained until such a time as I can use the death of Callis to my best advantage.”
Everyone in the room nodded—everyone, that is, except for Quinn, who simply stood there, staring at him as though she were trying to crawl into his mind from across the room. Beneath his skin, a soft fluttering of his souls began to vibrate. He clenched his fists on top of the desk and turned his chin.
“An illusion will do, then?” It was Draeven who asked the question, and Lazarus looked to the man, watching as a pucker formed between his brows.
Lazarus inclined his head. “It works better than setting about a rumor about his unintended departure from court. The man was a glutton for court life. Something major would have had to have drawn him away for the others in his flock to believe it.”
“Won’t they be suspicious if his attitude changes and he’s not seen at as many parties and gatherings?” Draeven pointed out.
“The illusion will only work when I’m in the room,” Quinn agreed. “But the attitude of his persona won’t change.” She grimaced. “I talked with the man enough times that I’m sure my illusion will work well enough. And as we’ve already said—this isn’t a long-term solution, Draeven.” She lifted one elegant eyebrow at him. “This is short term. Worrying about suspicions now will only ensure that we’re looking for people to be suspicious.”
Lazarus agreed with her. “So long as everyone acts appropriately, everything will be fine. We only need to keep up the ruse until the blood heirs leave. Lorraine,” Lazarus turned his attention to his stewardess. Lorraine’s eyes widened, and she straightened, meeting his gaze. “I’ll need you to go to Lord Callis’ estate and ensure that things there are running smoothly until his death is announced and a suitable replacement can be appointed.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed readily, but then frowned as she tilted her head to the side. “I’ll not be able to do it all on my own, Your Grace,” she continued. “There are still preparations to be made for the events of Axe’s birthday.”
Lazarus clenched his teeth, stifling a growl of frustration as he bent his head in acknowledgement. “Fine. Take Gulliver and have him assist you and Dominicus, as you must—but only if absolutely needed.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said.
“As for you, Draeven,” Lazarus said, switching his attentions. “Lord Callis had a bevy of duties in the palace as well. I’ll need you to ensure that they are done.” Draeven’s lips tightened in pure displeasure, but he merely nodded and kept any and all objections silent. Lazarus pivoted back to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning them. “That’s all,” he finally said. “You’re dismissed.”
Dominicus was at the door in a heartbeat, opening it and holding it for Lorraine as she curtsied and left. Draeven circled the desk and bypassed Quinn, trailing out just behind them.
Lazarus lifted his head and met her unreadable expression head-on and waited.
And then he waited some more. Still, Quinn didn’t say anything. She simply looked at him. Watched him for the longest time, her eyes roving over his own expression. He got the feeling that she was attempting to dissect him for information. But there was nothing for her to find. Lazarus kept his emotions in check, under lock and key, and when she finally felt she had looked enough, she turned and strode from his study, letting the door click softly at her back.
Lazarus leaned back in his chair and once again turned his eyes to the rising sun. It glinted off something on one of his many shelves. Some of which held books written by kings and nobles past. Others held trinkets and gifts from foreign dignitaries.
Lazarus’ eyes fell on a simple hourglass. A large one by the looks of it. He stood and strode across the room, his shadow blocking out the sun that reflected against the clear surface of the trinket’s curved shape.
There was only so much time left, he thought to himself as he lifted the object and turned it, setting it back in place. Sand fell as they all awaited the impending storm.
Temperamental Magic
“There is a first time for everything, even emotions.”
— Mariska “Risk” Darkova, beast tamer
* * *
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Risk glanced at the grandfather clock, a slight frown gracing her lips. She reached for the door for the third time, considering walking alone when a knock came. Soft. Swift. Two raps. That could only be one person.
She opened the door, blinking her surprise instead of speaking it aloud.
“You’re late,” she said. Not a rebuke, but a statement instead. Draeven pushed the sandy-blond hair from his eyes and sighed heavily. The dark circles that lined them seemed to have come out of nowhere these past days, steadily deepening to a light plum color. It made the violet of his irises appear even more vivid than usual.
“My apologies, Risk. I was held up dealing with—” He broke off, his mouth open, but no words coming out. There was an extended pause, and then he continued, “well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll try not to be late again. Shall we?” He stepped away from the door and motioned for her to join him. Risk squinted a little, not sure what to make of his odd behavior. She stepped out and closed the door. Neiss wrapped tighter around her. Draeven didn’t even look at the creature.
“I thought I did. I’m beginning to wonder.”
Lorraine nodded as if she’d suspected as much. “It means being the hand that strikes. Draeven is the diplomat. He’s the smooth talker that keeps Lazarus out of trouble, and councils him with a level head. You—you’re the one that makes the calls no one else will.” She smiled sadly. “You exist to deal with men like Lord Callis and the uprisings that will occur as a result. You are the might of Lazarus. The spear that reminds the people why rebellions are unwise, and that should we be attacked—you can handle it. You can keep them safe.”
“But Lazarus said—”
“Lazarus knew what he was doing when he took you in, Quinn. He understood the ramifications of bringing on a vassal with so much power, for better or worse.” She brushed a stray lock of hair from Quinn’s face. “He might not be happy with your actions today, but so long as you remain loyal at his side and are willing to quell the rumors that arise—you’re doing exactly what the right-hand should.”
Quinn’s lips pinched together as she said, “His council won’t see it that way.”
Lorraine snorted once. “His council isn’t half as loyal as you, and he knows that—the late Lord among them.” A flinty expression crossed Lorraine’s face before it was gone.
“If they’re not loyal, why aren’t they dead?” Quinn asked.
Lorraine chuckled, her hand dropping away. “Loyalty is not something that can be given without reason and time. If Lazarus killed every man before they could prove their worth, none of us would be here—you included.”
Quinn blinked, the corners of her lips turning down. “But if they support the blood heirs—”
“If they truly support them, then Lazarus will handle those lords when the time is right. However, some men might be swayed in the coming weeks when the heirs themselves finally make an appearance.” Lorraine turned for the door and said, “I will be back in a moment with water for a bath.”
She slipped out of the door, her footsteps quietly padding down the hall while Quinn waited for her. With stiff fingers, she reached up and tugged at the drawstrings of her cloak, letting it fall to the ground beneath her.
Several minutes later, Lorraine returned carrying two buckets of water. She hauled them over to the bath in the corner of her room and took care to dump them in without spilling a drop. Only when the water was in the tub did Lorraine motion for her to come over. Quinn walked softly, pulling her top from her breasts and tossing it on the floor beside her. She unlaced her trousers and bent to handle her boots.
“How do you know when the time is right to kill someone?” Quinn asked, pulling one of her boots off.
Lorraine didn’t even blink at the question. “How did you decide when it was time to kill your family?”
Quinn thought on that for a moment as she stripped away the rest of her clothes and stepped into the tepid water. She sat down, settling back against the rim. Lorraine handed her a chunk of soap, and she began to wash.
“I killed them when they outlived their purpose, or their deaths served to further my cause.”
Lorraine nodded. “Lazarus will do the same.” The older woman pulled out a chair and took a seat while Quinn continued washing. Plumes of brown thickened in the water so quickly, it was no longer clear by the time she got to her hair. Quinn reached around and undid the leather tie, running her fingers through her tresses to break up the stiff chunks where blood had dried.
“Lord Callis hadn’t served his purpose,” Quinn said, breaking the silence once more.
“No, he hadn’t,” Lorraine agreed, sighing deeply.
“But I killed him anyways. Does that make what I did wrong?” She leaned forward to dip the lower half of her hair in the water.
“Right and wrong don’t matter,” Lorraine told her. “Morals are for better men and women than those that follow Lazarus. Each of us has blackened our soul in some way that led us here, and we will blacken it further before the dark realm welcomes us.”
Quinn scowled at the water and then leaned back to dunk her head twice before she scrubbed at the top of her head. The wet strands lathered, and their slippery feel mimicked blood.
“I enjoyed killing him. Draeven is furious with me for it, and Lazarus is concerned about the fallout with the council, but I don’t regret it.” Quinn lifted her gaze from the murky water to see Lorraine nodding.
“I can’t say I would either from what you’ve told me.”
Quinn frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “You don’t seem to be condemning me for this.”
“I’m not,” Lorraine replied. “It’s not my place. Not anymore. You’re a grown woman, and a Maji in your own right. You’ve earned your place in Lazarus’ inner circle, and while the timing of this particular death is inconvenient,” she paused, looking Quinn over. “I don’t believe it is insurmountable.”
Quinn dunked her head several more times, washing the suds from her hair. Only when she was clean as she could be did she stand, again noticing how the rivulets of water and blood were not so different when they ran freely.
The older woman held up a towel, and Quinn took it, drying herself. Even in the dim light, it came away smudged a reddish-brown in the corners. She grimaced, but said nothing as she dropped it on the floor beside her clothes. Lorraine pulled open the drawers of her armoire and plucked several swaths of fabric. Quinn stepped out of the bath and took them from her, dressing without much regard to what she wore.
“If you’re wrong,” she started. Quinn swallowed again, this particular question not sitting well with her. “Do you think Lazarus will kill me?”
The other woman paused. She didn’t turn or move as she stared straight ahead, as if seeing something Quinn could not. Then, in a voice so quiet Quinn almost missed it, Lorraine said, “I don’t think he can.”
They cleaned up the floor and tossed Quinn’s dirty clothes in the water bin to be washed. Together they worked in silence, until almost all evidence of her actions were gone, save the cloak and the body. The confession of her words hung between them.
Only when the light of an early dawn started to peek through the window did she turn for the door to return to her rooms before morning.
“Lorraine,” she said softly, hesitating at the door.
“Yes, Quinn?” the other woman said. Her voice betrayed nothing.
“I hope you’re right.”
A pause. Then, “You and me both, dear.”
Chains of Time
“Secrets and rumors are not the same. One is bound by the lips of society and the other will always, eventually, be set free.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, King of Norcasta
* * *
There was surely a special place in Mazzulah’s realm for Lord Artan Callis, Lazarus knew. The man had been nothing but a pain to deal with. Difficult to appease, to say the least—always wanting this or that. Wheedling away at his time. And for what? Hunting? Flirting with the palace ladies and maids. Lazarus scowled as he stared through the windowpane of his office, watching the morning sun rise and stretch its long orange-red fingers across the sky.
He could not deny that seeing the man dead, and at Quinn’s hand no less, gave him some small measure of amusement. But that amusement had been quickly overtaken by the realization of what she’d done. Her actions had damned him. The death of the lord was not one that could be handled lightly. No. It had to be handled with care.
“She is on her way,” Draeven informed him as the man came to stand at his side.
“And Dominicus?” Lazarus inquired, but he needn’t have. The man in question slid into the private study a moment later, his face drawn and dark circles marking the undersides of his eyes. Lazarus’ weapons master looked at him and nodded an acknowledgement of the unspoken question. It was done. The mess that he should have predicted had been cleaned up and the evidence of Callis’ demise washed away as though he had never been.
Lazarus’ lips twisted cruelly as he strode back across the room to his desk and took a seat, weaving his fingers together and propping his arms on the mahogany as he considered his thoughts. The chains of time tightened in an invisible noose around his neck as he contemplated what they were to do now. Quinn’s actions were going to cost him—that much was clear—but how long could he postpone paying the price of her misdeed?
A knock sounded on the door and Dominicus reached for the knob, turning and holding the door open for those beyond to enter. Quinn—having been cleaned of the night’s bloodshed—stood before him, her eyes dimmed and her face strained. Lorraine stepped up to her side. They were all there.
“Close the door and lock it,” Lazarus commanded. Dominicus nodded and did as he was bid. As soon as it was done, he turned his eyes back to Quinn and held them for a moment before he sighed and addressed the room. “No one beyond these walls is to know what happened this night,” he said. “As you know, Lord Callis is dead.” Quinn stiffened, but he ignored her. Yes, he was angry with her—positively furious—but at the same time, he understood. The man was bound to wind up at the end of his life’s path in a violent and bloodied manner. The way he lived—fast and hurried, with slaves and mistresses everywhere he went, had definitely seen to that. The timing and method, however, could not have been worse. “I’ve gathered you all here because there is no way that announcing the man’s death will have anything but a negative impact upon my reign. It cannot be put off forever, of course, but a temporary solution is needed.”
Draeven nodded, turning to the others. “Before your arrival, Lazarus and I discussed the possibility of telling the other lords that Callis had been called away or sent on an excursion of the highest secrecy. He—”
“That won’t work,” Quinn announced. Lazarus’ eyes landed on hers, and he released his hands, gesturing for her to continue. She took that as her cue and nodded, turning back to Draeven as she spoke despite the fact that this was a suggestion that Draeven and Lazarus had colluded together. “What will happen when he’s gone for too long?” Quinn asked. And before Draeven could respond she pushed onward. “Will he die on this top-secret mission? Of course, because he’s already dead. But then people will wonder where you sent him and if you didn’t have him sent to wherever he supposedly went just so he could be killed. That rumor will only come back on you, Lazarus.” She paused, her focus switching its target as those cerulean eyes of hers bore into his dark gaze. “And that’s what you want to avoid, right? The backlash?”
“Then what do you suggest?” Lazarus asked, curious to see how the woman might come up with some way to rectify her mistake. No, perhaps killing the man hadn’t been a mistake, but doing so too early was definitely a blunder—on both of their parts.
Quinn’s lips pressed together, and he watched, curious despite himself, as the thoughts raced through her mind. When she realized he was fixating on her so intently, her expression closed down with the same effect of slamming a door. He fought against the curling of her lips as she straightened and glared at him.
“If your only goal is to buy time, then I suggest an illusion.”
“An illusion?” Lazarus’ thoughts echoed Lorraine’s words as the older woman looked at Quinn in confusion. “What kind of illu—oh you mean . . . ” Lorraine trailed off, worry falling over her face. “That seems a bit dangerous. The last time you—”
“That was not the last time, Lorraine,” Quinn said, correcting the woman. It was clear that Lorraine only recalled Quinn’s unleashing an illusion from the battle outside of Tritol in Ilvas. But as both Lazarus and Quinn knew, Quinn’s illusions had other uses. “I can create an illusion of something small. Something—or someone, in this case—that everyone would see, and think was there,” Quinn said.
Lazarus nodded. “An illusion might work,” he concluded. “The only one who wouldn’t be affected by it would be—”
“—Me,” Lorraine finished for him.
Lazarus nodded. “Nulls wouldn’t be affected due to their magical immunities.” He turned to Draeven. “Do we have any other nulls in the palace?”
Draeven shook his head. “No, sir. None that are known.”
Lazarus narrowed his eyes and then abruptly turned to Dominicus. “I want you to ensure that there are no nulls—known or otherwise—in the palace. Should you find any, have them removed. Quietly.”
“You want them killed?” Dominicus asked.
Lazarus leveled the man with a hard look. “That isn’t necessary. Simply have them go on an extended leave of absence—with pay, if need be—until after the blood heirs leave.”
“Is that the timeline for this delay?” Quinn asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Lazarus replied. “We cannot hide the truth forever. It always has a way of getting free. I simply want to keep this contained until such a time as I can use the death of Callis to my best advantage.”
Everyone in the room nodded—everyone, that is, except for Quinn, who simply stood there, staring at him as though she were trying to crawl into his mind from across the room. Beneath his skin, a soft fluttering of his souls began to vibrate. He clenched his fists on top of the desk and turned his chin.
“An illusion will do, then?” It was Draeven who asked the question, and Lazarus looked to the man, watching as a pucker formed between his brows.
Lazarus inclined his head. “It works better than setting about a rumor about his unintended departure from court. The man was a glutton for court life. Something major would have had to have drawn him away for the others in his flock to believe it.”
“Won’t they be suspicious if his attitude changes and he’s not seen at as many parties and gatherings?” Draeven pointed out.
“The illusion will only work when I’m in the room,” Quinn agreed. “But the attitude of his persona won’t change.” She grimaced. “I talked with the man enough times that I’m sure my illusion will work well enough. And as we’ve already said—this isn’t a long-term solution, Draeven.” She lifted one elegant eyebrow at him. “This is short term. Worrying about suspicions now will only ensure that we’re looking for people to be suspicious.”
Lazarus agreed with her. “So long as everyone acts appropriately, everything will be fine. We only need to keep up the ruse until the blood heirs leave. Lorraine,” Lazarus turned his attention to his stewardess. Lorraine’s eyes widened, and she straightened, meeting his gaze. “I’ll need you to go to Lord Callis’ estate and ensure that things there are running smoothly until his death is announced and a suitable replacement can be appointed.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed readily, but then frowned as she tilted her head to the side. “I’ll not be able to do it all on my own, Your Grace,” she continued. “There are still preparations to be made for the events of Axe’s birthday.”
Lazarus clenched his teeth, stifling a growl of frustration as he bent his head in acknowledgement. “Fine. Take Gulliver and have him assist you and Dominicus, as you must—but only if absolutely needed.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said.
“As for you, Draeven,” Lazarus said, switching his attentions. “Lord Callis had a bevy of duties in the palace as well. I’ll need you to ensure that they are done.” Draeven’s lips tightened in pure displeasure, but he merely nodded and kept any and all objections silent. Lazarus pivoted back to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning them. “That’s all,” he finally said. “You’re dismissed.”
Dominicus was at the door in a heartbeat, opening it and holding it for Lorraine as she curtsied and left. Draeven circled the desk and bypassed Quinn, trailing out just behind them.
Lazarus lifted his head and met her unreadable expression head-on and waited.
And then he waited some more. Still, Quinn didn’t say anything. She simply looked at him. Watched him for the longest time, her eyes roving over his own expression. He got the feeling that she was attempting to dissect him for information. But there was nothing for her to find. Lazarus kept his emotions in check, under lock and key, and when she finally felt she had looked enough, she turned and strode from his study, letting the door click softly at her back.
Lazarus leaned back in his chair and once again turned his eyes to the rising sun. It glinted off something on one of his many shelves. Some of which held books written by kings and nobles past. Others held trinkets and gifts from foreign dignitaries.
Lazarus’ eyes fell on a simple hourglass. A large one by the looks of it. He stood and strode across the room, his shadow blocking out the sun that reflected against the clear surface of the trinket’s curved shape.
There was only so much time left, he thought to himself as he lifted the object and turned it, setting it back in place. Sand fell as they all awaited the impending storm.
Temperamental Magic
“There is a first time for everything, even emotions.”
— Mariska “Risk” Darkova, beast tamer
* * *
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Risk glanced at the grandfather clock, a slight frown gracing her lips. She reached for the door for the third time, considering walking alone when a knock came. Soft. Swift. Two raps. That could only be one person.
She opened the door, blinking her surprise instead of speaking it aloud.
“You’re late,” she said. Not a rebuke, but a statement instead. Draeven pushed the sandy-blond hair from his eyes and sighed heavily. The dark circles that lined them seemed to have come out of nowhere these past days, steadily deepening to a light plum color. It made the violet of his irises appear even more vivid than usual.
“My apologies, Risk. I was held up dealing with—” He broke off, his mouth open, but no words coming out. There was an extended pause, and then he continued, “well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll try not to be late again. Shall we?” He stepped away from the door and motioned for her to join him. Risk squinted a little, not sure what to make of his odd behavior. She stepped out and closed the door. Neiss wrapped tighter around her. Draeven didn’t even look at the creature.
