For King and Corruption, page 18
“There is a girl,” Draeven nodded. Quinn’s eyebrows rose at the nonchalant way he responded. “She has horns and belongs to this house. She’s not to be called a raksasa, however. If you see her, I would advise you not to speak to her at all.”
“Oh?” Lord Erwing asked, completely engrossed in the conversation. “Why is that?”
“Because the hand of the King told you not to,” Draeven responded. Quinn tilted her head in a slight nod, agreeing with that logic.
“Do you know why Draeven is the left and I am the right?” Quinn asked. When Lord Erwing didn’t respond, she looked to Amelia, and then Titus. “No? None of you?”
“I’ve heard—” Erwing started, but Quinn waved him off.
“I’ll enlighten you so there’s no confusion going forward about what our roles are in the palace.” Quinn leaned forward, resting her elbows on the white tablecloth as she spoke directly to the two Reinharts in front of her. “The left-hand is the hand that feeds. Draeven exists to play nice with lord and ladies of the court. He’s the one that the people of Norcasta will come to love because he’s kind. He’s predictable. Safe.”
Draeven snorted once, rolling his eyes. Quinn ignored him.
“And the right?” Erwing prompted.
“Is the hand that strikes,” she answered. “Draeven consoles the people, but I ensure they know who is truly in charge and don’t question it. That applies to noblemen and women, Lord Erwing.” She met Lorraine’s steady gaze at the other end of the table. They were almost the same words she’d told her weeks ago when she’d killed the very Lord she was now impersonating. The other woman smiled a fraction and nodded once.
“And how is it that you ‘strike’, Lady Darkova?” he asked, a sly smile lit his face. She didn’t smile in return as she looked back to him. She simply lifted her glass of water and took a drink.
“Let’s hope for your sake that you never find out.”
Erwing opened his mouth to respond again, but servants began to pour in from the outer hall. They carried silver platters, piled high with smoked pig, roasted vegetables, braised potatoes, and plum pudding. For a moment, she thought of Axe and her obsession with plum liquor. Neither her nor Vaughn had been invited to dinner. As emissaries, they were required for official functions, but not intimate gatherings with the King and his closest advisors.
“Lydia, isn’t it?” Lord Callis spoke from the end of the table. “This looks delicious, Lydia. Do give the kitchen my regards.” The servant girl blushed a shade of crimson and hurried out of the dining room with the others, her hips swaying a tad more than when she entered.
“Lord Callis, always such a charmer, he is,” Quinn commented merrily while loading her plate with food.
“Lord Callis?” Erwing asked.
“Yes . . .” Quinn trailed off. “That is what I said.”
Was he daft?
No. She already knew that to not be the case. If he was, her heart wouldn’t have just skipped a beat.
The way he questioned it had a sick sensation thickening in her stomach.
“Yes, I’m simply confused why he was mentioned when he isn’t here.”
“Brother,” Amelia chided. “What are you talking about? The dear man is right there.” She motioned toward the end of the table where the illusion lifted its cup of wine before draining it entirely, then turning to clap Titus on the back. The rage thief stiffened.
“Right where?” Erwing asked, looking between his sister, Quinn, and the empty chair.
Myori’s wrath, she cursed internally as it occurred to her what was going on. She leaned in subtly and whispered in Draeven’s ear, “What are the odds he’s a null?”
Draeven stiffened.
“Right there,” Amelia motioned, growing frustrated with what she perceived as her brother’s antics.
“I’m telling you, Amelia, there’s nothing there. The chair is empty.” He waved his hand toward it, tossing down his napkin though he’d yet to take a bite. “What in the dark realm is Titus cringing about?”
Quinn quickly directed the illusion to get to his feet.
“I can assure you, I’m right here, Lord Reinhart. Are you sure that the travel hasn’t done in—”
Lord Northcott got to his feet. Jaw tense and teeth clenched together. He stood and faced the illusioned lord. “Right before the late king died he brought us to his bedside. You, me, Brameer, and Langston. What did he say?”
It was only through the years of learning to mimic others that she kept her expression confused as Lord Callis looked taken aback. “This is hardly the place for this, Darren—”
“What did he say, Artan?”
Quinn didn’t know. “I—” Callis broke off to wipe his forehead and let out a heavy breath. She flushed his cheeks and dilated his pupils, letting the wine they thought he’d consumed show. “I can’t say I remember. The wine must be getting to my head.”
“Excuse me, but who are you talking to?” Erwing said, leaning back in exasperation.
Lord Darren Northcott turned to the table, his face grim. “I don’t know, but that man is not Artan Callis. The real Artan wouldn’t have forgotten Claudius’ last words.”
“Trust in my chosen heir,” Lord Langston said. “For he will pave the way to a brighter future for all of the Sirian continent.”
Quinn did a subtle sweep of the table, trying to gage reactions. It was a mistake.
“It’s her,” Amelia Reinhart stated. “Erwing is a null. Magic doesn’t affect him. Which means whatever it is we’re seeing isn’t there. Everyone knows there’s only one kind of Maji that can create illusions.”
All eyes turned to Quinn.
She regarded the woman across from her apathetically.
Quinn had two options right now, to stand down or to stand up. She got to her feet, and with a flourish of her hand, Lord Callis vanished.
“It appears you’ve caught me.”
“If that was only an illusion . . .” Lord Brameer began, already moving on to the truth that they’d specifically tried to keep from him and the other lords.
“Where is he? Where is the real Lord Callis?” Northcott demanded.
Quinn sighed. “He’s dead.”
True Loyalty
“There are two kinds of kings. Those ruled by men, and those that rule men.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, the possessive King of Norcasta
* * *
The wooden chairs around the small council table sat unoccupied.
At the far end of the room, Dominicus leaned against the wall, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Not far from him, Quinn stood, unmoving. She didn’t pace or mutter as Lord Brameer did. She didn’t stew as Langston or Northcott. She simply stood and waited for the eye of the storm to pass, and the lords of his council to rage at them once more. To his right, Draeven had his hands splayed on the oak table, his head hanging as he took a deep breath. The man was exhausted. They all were after they’d spent weeks pretending that Lord Callis had never died.
In some ways, it was a relief to no longer have to keep up the farce. His attention and that of his vassals was better spent on things other than handling the distasteful things the late lord engaged in. True as that might be, though, it didn’t prevent the conflict brewing among his own council that was going to reach a head this night.
“My lords,” Draeven began.
“Don’t ‘my lords’ us, Draeven Adelmar. By the girl’s own admission, she killed Artan and you helped them cover it up,” Langston responded. His eyes, while old and gray, were also hard as he regarded Lazarus’ left-hand.
“Why should it matter whether we covered it up?” Quinn responded sharply. “If the King chooses to do so, it’s not your business.”
“And did the King choose for you to kill Lord Callis?” Langston responded acidly toward her.
Her lips twitched. “No.”
“Precisely,” he responded, turning to Lazarus once more. “You’ve taken this child as your right-hand and allowed her to act however she wants—kill whoever she wants, and then hide it. What does that say about you, Your Grace?”
“What are you implying it says, Langston?” Lazarus asked, a hint of darkness creeping into his tone once more.
“You can’t control her.”
He wanted to laugh, because in that moment it was painfully clear to him that Langston was right. He couldn’t control Quinn. He never had been able to, and if he had his way, he never would. Once he’d dreamed of being the hand that guided her, but over the months he’d had alone with the iron and oak throne, he’d had to face that simple truth.
When she returned, he once more tried to make her bend, and she once more showed him that she doesn’t bend. She doesn’t yield.
She gives her loyalty freely, but nothing and no one will control her should she not choose it.
It was the very reason she would be his right-hand as long as she chose so.
If he couldn’t control her, no one could.
Not the lords or ladies.
Not the heirs currently making a mess of his court.
Not the one down south, who would soon be entering the game.
In a world full of men who were bound by societal law, Quinn was free.
Truly free.
It made her the most dangerous weapon in the world, and the one he desired above all.
“You’re right,” Lazarus said. “I can’t. We’re better for it.” From her spot in the far corner of the room, Quinn narrowed her eyes at him and tilted her head. Her pupils expanded, and the shadow of Neiss danced under her skin, close enough to the surface that should the lords see, they’d begin to wonder what she really was. Fear twister? Soul eater? Chaos given form?
“Excuse me?” Lord Brameer said, turning on his heel. “Better for it? Better for your whore running around touting the sigil of the crown to keep her from the noose—”
Several things happened at once. The tendrils beneath Quinn’s skin turned stark. Her eyes darkened further as fear leapt to the fingertips. He wouldn’t have noticed had he not been watching her when the lord made a misstep in thinking he had the same protection that Quinn did. Draeven looked up right as Lazarus’ fingers curled around the lord’s throat.
He slammed him into the wall with one arm, holding him a foot above the marble floors.
“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully, Henri,” Lazarus said, stripping him of his title. “Quinn is my vassal. My right-hand. My fear twister. You can call her any of those things, but she is not my whore. Say it once more, and I’ll let her play with you as she did Callis after he orchestrated a slave hunt.”
“He—” Brameer’s eyes went wide. His cheeks were already a ruddy color of rouge and steadily turning purple.
“He brought out a boy. A child. He planned for us to hunt him down like a boar. So tell me, Henri, if my council is better off without a man who would hunt down children for sport?”
Sweat dotted the lord’s temple as he tried to nod but failed. His fat lips quivered as he whispered, “Y-yes, Your G-grace.”
Lazarus released him, and the lord fell to the ground, landing with his legs sprawled and head hanging. He tried to scurry to his feet as soon as Lazarus stepped back.
“If Quinn was acting outside the will of law, so was Artan Callis. The difference is that I know where her loyalties lie. That’s more than I can say for you three. Your spies reported that the heirs were weak. That it was only pity and old blood which kept them well housed in the north.” Lazarus walked around the table to stand between Quinn and Draeven. “Not only were your reports faulty, but the capitol is now at risk given the magic they possess and the armed men they brought with. I should have listened to my right-hand and master of arms, and now it seems I’ll have to find another way to deal with the heirs that are not here for a social visit.”
“Another way, Your Grace?” Langston asked, his gray eyes narrowing. “Surely you don’t mean to turn down Lady Reinhart’s proposal, do you?”
On his right, Quinn stiffened, but didn’t comment.
“Lady Reinhart’s proposal is as empty as your head if you think I’m sharing the crown with the very heirs that have plotted my demise for years now,” Lazarus replied coldly.
“How exactly do you expect to find peace if you won’t take her hand in marriage and your right-hand has killed one of the only lords that have supported your ascension from the beginning?” Langston responded, his voice gravelly but strong.
“Quite simply, actually,” Lazarus said. “If they don’t cede to the crown and disband whatever coup they’re intending, then Quinn is going to deal with them, and I have a strong suspicion that Lady Amelia does not want to be at the other end of her ministrations.”
“Madness,” Langston muttered. “This is madness.” From his place against the other wall, Lord Brameer swallowed. It was clear he agreed with Langston, but wasn’t about to say as much. The only lord who’d yet to speak through all of this was Northcott as he watched it play out with silent lips and guarded eyes. “You mean to bring war on us.”
“I mean to rule, and if the lords won’t accept it so long as the Reinharts plot against me, then I’ll eliminate them from the equation. And if that isn’t enough, I’m certain there are farmers who would love to suddenly be the lord of whatever pisshole in Norcasta these men think they own. They will bend, Langston, or they will be cut off at the knees. At this point, it matters not how it’s done, as long as they understand their place at the end of the day.”
Toward the end of his speech, Lazarus could sense the shift in himself. He’d tried Draeven’s way. He catered to the fools. He let them have their parties and play their games.
The lords of Norcasta didn’t want to fall in line.
Now he would make them.
War was imminent either way if Nero was pulling the strings. It was better to get a handle on his country now instead of later.
“I think,” Draeven cut in, “that we should adjourn for tonight. Emotions are running high and everyone’s had their share of wine . . .” He trailed off, likely recalling Quinn’s obscene illusion that played Lord Callis perfectly.
It irked Lazarus how brazen the illusion had been. The detail that had gone into it also impressed him on a certain level. It wasn’t the sheer power she put behind it, but the attention she must have paid watching him the few times they’d met.
She’d catalogued the smallest nuances in his movements and verbiage.
It should terrify him, but the truth was it only made him want her more.
He blinked, and the lords were already shuffling out. Draeven closed the door behind them. “I don’t know what is with you tonight, but I’m going to assume it has to do with the passion cleaver down the hall who tried to get me to join her in her chambers this afternoon.”
Lazarus nodded once. “They’re not here to make peace. They’ve brought war to our doorstep. I’m only acting in kind.”
Draeven sighed. “The lords are going to be a problem after this evening.”
Lazarus shrugged. “They are lesser men. Being born into station has made them lazy and far too willful. I gave the council my decision. If they choose to turn against me, they will come to sorely regret that choice. Word will spread, and Norcasta will fall in line.”
“And if they don’t?” Draeven asked. “If you’re wrong?”
“If I have to choose between love and fear, then I will choose fear.”
His left-hand shook his head. “As much as I don’t agree with this, you may not have another option after this visit with the Reinharts is over. The lords will never love you; not when she can wrap anyone around her finger with her magic.”
From the corner of the room, Dominicus came forward. “I need to make sure Lorraine got back to her chambers after escorting them to theirs, and then I’m taking watch with whatever guard you have posted. I want to know where these bastards are at all times.”
Lazarus nodded. “Draeven, please ensure that Vaughn and Axe are both in their rooms and haven’t managed to draw too much attention to themselves.”
His left-hand looked between Lazarus and Quinn, shaking his head again as if he knew of the King’s intentions. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said, and Lazarus knew he wasn’t talking about the Reinharts.
“I do.”
Draeven watched him for a moment longer before sighing and then leaving at last. The door clicked shut once more. Quinn still hadn’t moved or spoken.
“I called on you this afternoon,” Lazarus said into the dark room.
“And I refused you,” she answered, slowly moving to walk around the table. Her sharp nails trailed over the hard wood.
“I know,” he said. “I don’t blame you.”
She paused, her head tilting once more as she regarded him. “I was beginning to wonder if the man I left in N’skara stayed in N’skara.”
“No,” he moved toward the table, standing directly across from her. “You were gone for a while, and I began to question.”
“I came back,” she said softly. “Just as I said I would.”
“You did,” he nodded, running a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I want to make a trade.”
“Oh?” she asked, almost coy.
“A truth for a truth,” he clarified. Her slanted eyes peering up at him made the souls vie for power. A wicked grin curved up her lips.
“Very well, ask your question.”
Lazarus leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. Less than a foot separated them. The scent of damp petals and midnight weeds hit him, and he inhaled sharply. It struck him how similar this was to the night she’d returned.
“Why do you follow me?”
She didn’t react at first, seeming content to study his features. Her lavender hair tumbled down her shoulders in a wild mane, framing the sharp angles of her face. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Blue veins ran across her chest and down her arms, and he knew from memory they’d turn black when she channeled fear magic. Right now, though, in the dimly lit room, all he could see was the brightness of her eyes and the curve of her lips. His cock stiffened, already anticipating how this was going to end.
