For King and Corruption, page 20
“I’m heading out for training,” Risk called. There was a bump on the other side of the door before Quinn thrust it open.
“Are you sure you’re okay going alone? Lord Sunshine is indisposed after guard duty last night. If you give me a minute, I can throw on—”
“I’ll be okay,” Risk said. “Give me Neiss, and if there’s any trouble he can handle it.” Quinn nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eye as she extended one hand. The mauve reptile crept forward, slithering from beneath her skin. He dropped to the floor, letting out a pleased hiss before making his way to Risk. She bent over, extending one hand for him to coil himself around. The weight of his form settled behind her shoulders made Risk stand straighter. Surer. More like her sister.
“Be careful, even with Neiss,” Quinn said, her eyes fell on her familiar. “If there’s any trouble, you let me know.” Risk swallowed once. Knowing how that would go down. “I’ll be here taking a nap before I have to start getting ready for this damned ball Lazarus is throwing.”
Quinn was already collapsed in bed and half asleep by the time Risk closed their chamber door behind her. Her soft leather boots clicked lightly as she strode down the hallway. It looked the same as any other day she’d gone to lessons. That was until she reached the foyer. There were the usual guards in red and gold, but joining them were those in blue and silver. They watched her as she walked, scrutinizing her beneath the wrap. Neiss lifted his head and let out a warning hiss to one that stepped too close. The guard in blue stumbled back, muttering to himself about marudas. Risk continued on, keeping her head down until she reached the palm fronds that enclosed the garden. The shade combined with the breeze down here was far less stifling than her room in the palace. Down here there was no silence that sat on her as the hours ticked by, the birds and the breeze and the beasts of Leone didn’t allow it.
She stepped out of the trees and a gust of wind carrying sand smacked her in the face. Risk cringed, rubbing the grit from her eyes as she approached Haspati. Her teacher sat cross-legged on the flat surface of a rock. His tattered robe blew around his thin form. Sightless eyes peered up at her, and he smiled with teeth whiter than bones picked clean.
“Hello, Risk.”
“Haspati,” she nodded once in respect, taking her place on the rock across from him. Neiss slithered down her body to curl up on the heated rock. She closed her eyes, sinking into the magic almost instantly. It felt like a breath of fresh air after the anxiety she’d been experiencing. The sensation of coming home comforted her.
“Use your field of vision. Tell me where the closest person is,” Haspati instructed, his gnarled fingers wrapping and unwrapping around the wooden staff that lay across his lap.
“There’s a guard that’s close to the edge of the courtyard by the palm fronds. He’s following a rotation, though,” Risk answered. She could feel so much more than the singular guard and track them all simultaneously, but that wasn’t what Haspati asked.
“Call on your magic; make yourself grow talons,” he continued. She extended both hands and all it took was a light stroke for the magic to respond. She grew talons.
“Now put them away.”
Risk lowered her hands to her lap and took deep, calming breaths to release the tension inside her. The talons shrunk away, back to her bitten fingernails as the magic allowed itself to be lulled into security.
Haspati continued doing this, running through every exercise they’d ever tried. She passed them all and at the end the sun was still high in the sky.
“You’ve improved a great deal in very little time,” her teacher told her.
“I’ve been practicing,” she said. “The drills help the magic . . . settle more. Without using it, my magic feels trapped. It gets riled easily. I do the drills every night and every morning so that the outbursts don’t happen as much.”
“Soon it won’t be enough,” he said.
Her lips parted. “I don’t understand. I’ve done everything you’ve told me—”
“You have,” he agreed. “This is through no fault of your own, child. It is the way of the world. The will of the gods.”
“Haspati,” she said slowly. “What exactly are you talking about?”
He smiled a sad sort of smile. It didn’t quite meet the corners of his wrinkled eyes. “Your time draws near. I can sense it.”
Risk blinked. “My time?”
“To ascend.”
Unveiled Intentions
“Threats and promises are the same thing; the latter is simply a more palatable term.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, the unforgiving King of Norcasta
* * *
A knock at his office door interrupted Lazarus’ meanderings. He lifted the glass of spirits to his lips and drained it. The liquid burned on its way down and the souls settled. He left the glass on his desk corner as he stepped around the side and went to answer the door, already knowing who waited on the other side.
“Your Grace,” Lady Reinhart said when it swung open. Lazarus nodded to the guards on either side of her, relieving them of their duty. They both swallowed hard.
“Have a good afternoon, m’lady,” one of them said under his breath. Lazarus lifted a brow and the same murmured, “Your Grace.”
They both disappeared down the hall, and he opened the door wider.
“Come,” he said almost pleasantly. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
She smiled coyly, her magic already reaching its sickly tendrils for him. She wanted to be desired. To be worshipped. She wove a spell that would pull most men in, but he was not most men. The only thing it made him do was grit his teeth and think of Quinn.
Where her fear was palatable for him, this sort of wickedness was not.
“You’re looking much better today,” Amelia commented as he shut the door. She waited for him to walk around to the other side of his desk before taking a seat.
“I’m feeling it,” Lazarus answered gruffly, recalling the ways he’d had his fear twister the night before. The way she gave herself freely and without expectation was more thrilling than anything he’d experienced with another. It was darker. Deeper.
Something that a title nor a ring could not define.
“Well, that pleases me, my king,” she said, like a bird parroting back what its master wanted to hear. Lazarus regarded her for a moment. Her long, dark hair and sultry expression. The tight fabric of her dress and rouge painted on her lips.
“Why are you here?” he asked once, bluntly.
Amelia stiffened for part of a second before recovering. “I’m here to show my support to the crown—”
“Why. Are. You. Here?” Lazarus asked once more. “You can’t possibly believe that I’d fall for this charade. Come now, Amelia, you’re smarter than that. Your father made sure of it.”
The sickly sweet smile slipped from her face, turning her from the picture of false innocence to something more intriguing altogether.
“I’ve come with a proposition for you. Something that will please the lords of the land and get both you and I what we want.”
Lazarus arched an eyebrow. “I have what I want.”
“You have a weak claim to my throne. You have no lords’ support. You have no people who will stand for you. You’re ruling this country in title alone.” Amelia laughed once, and it was as practiced at being sensual as the rest of her. “Perhaps if you listened to Lord Adelmar more, you might have had a stronger claim after all these months. As it is, your right-hand has done a fabulous job paving the way for me.”
“Ah, Amelia,” he sighed. “Men can be bought, both lords and armies. What can’t be bought with gold can be bought in other ways. As you seem to know well, given the assets you’ve been using during this meeting.”
She placed a dainty hand to her well-endowed chest. “Your Grace, whatever do you mean?” she asked, mockingly.
It didn’t have the same effect as when Quinn did it. In this case, all it did was serve to grate on his nerves further.
“You’re a skilled passion cleaver to be able to strip away one’s emotions so that they feel the desired thing you want them to. Clever, really. Quite ingenuous.” He leaned back in his chair.
“My king,” she purred, “you flatter me.”
“I know another woman,” he continued. Her expression turned brittle at the change in conversation. “She’s also quite good at what she does. Clever too. I’ve never heard screams quite like what she draws out of men who are more battle hardened than you, Lady Reinhart.”
“Is that a threat, Your Grace?”
“Yes.”
Amelia leaned forward, resting her forearms on his desk and extending her chest until her breasts sat raised up over the edge. “I can assure you, my king, there’s no reason to worry for me. Me and my brothers are quite adept at handling ourselves.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “If you’d like to test that, keep pushing me. I do enjoy her most when she’s at her worst.”
Amelia didn’t flinch, much to her credit. “I take it you’ve made up your mind about my proposition already?”
“I have,” he nodded, placing his forearms on the armrests and steepling his hands together. “The answer is no.”
“That’s a shame. We would have made such a lovely pair,” she answered, almost wistfully if not for the indifference in her tone.
“You don’t make attempts on my life or my vassals and get rewarded for it. You don’t come into my house and play games with me. You don’t get to set the board and make the rules, Amelia. Your father may have ensured you had the best tutors his money could buy, but you overestimated your own talents.” She narrowed her eyes but made no move to interrupt him. “Tell your brothers to fall in line.”
“Or?” she asked, challenging him. That single word made his blood boil, though he didn’t show it.
“Or I let Quinn out to play. I think you’ll find her games less palatable than the ones we’ve been playing.”
An inkling of uncertainty crossed Amelia’s expression. She hid it fast, but not fast enough. Lazarus clapped his hands together once before getting to his feet. He walked around his desk and opened the office door, signaling her dismissal.
“The choice is yours. I look forward to seeing you at the ball, Lady Reinhart.”
She got to her feet and passed by him. The gauzy material of her gown brushing over his boots. Amelia stared straight ahead; the words nothing more than the script she’d rehearsed. They told him very little. It was the tone that said it all.
“And you as well, my king.”
Dangerous Delights
“The only use for a dress is to be worn as a weapon unto itself.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, right-hand to the King of Norcasta
* * *
“I’m not wearing that.” Quinn crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, looking from the bone and fabric corset to the woman holding it.
“It’s all the fashion these days,” Lorraine argued.
“I don’t care.”
“This is an official ball, Quinn. You must look the part—”
“I don’t care,” she repeated.
Lorraine pursed her lips. “Such a pity,” she said, turning to place it back in the trunk of unmentionables she’d had Draeven drag into Quinn’s chambers before shooing him away. “Lazarus would likely find it very attractive and have a hard time controlling himself.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Lazarus already has a hard time controlling himself. I could be dressed in rags and it would be no different. Your attempt at manipulation, while applaudable, isn’t going to work on me.”
Lorraine tsked and let out a harrumph. The metal hangers screeched as she flipped through the hanging assortment in the wardrobe she’d had Vaughn bring. “Half these dresses can’t be worn without a corset.”
“Perhaps,” Quinn mused, “I shouldn’t wear a dress then—”
“Oh no,” Lorraine said, shaking her head. “You’re wearing a dress. You agreed.”
Quinn opened her mouth to reply when the bathroom door flung open, slamming into the wall. Axe stood in the center wearing a sky-blue eyesore. Her pale cheeks were pink and her crimson hair sitting like a mop upon her head. Behind her, Risk grimaced.
“Oh, Axe,” Lorraine cooed, turning from the wardrobe to admire the young girl. “You look—”
“Ridiculous,” Quinn finished for her. Lorraine slapped her arm and shot a glare her way.
“Sublime,” Lorraine corrected. “There will be many young suitors at the ball, and you’ll be sure to catch their eye.”
Axe’s brow furrowed until it was nearly a straight line across her forehead. “Catch their eye?” Axe repeated. “That’s not all I’ll catch if I wear this fluffy, creme puff, monstrosity. Lorraine,” the girl bemoaned. “I won’t be able to pick pockets or reach any—”
“That’s the point, dear,” Lorraine responded chipperly, her smile pointed. “Besides, you look lovely. Risk, what do you think?” Over Axe’s puffy blue sleeve, Risk stood with her eyes wide.
“Er,” she started, scratching the base of one of her horns before catching herself. A light blush crept up her cheeks as she said, “It looks . . . nice.”
“Nice?” Axe repeated. “For once, the hussy’s right.” She thrust her hand toward Quinn, who lifted a brow. “I look ridiculous.”
“Axe,” Lorraine chided.
“Nope,” the girl said. “I’m not wearing this.”
Lorraine sighed, leaving Quinn’s side to try and convince the child. “The ball is tonight, Axelle. We haven’t got time to hire another seamstress—”
Axe lifted one hand in the air and a hatchet came careening from the other side of the room. An impish glint of delight filled her eyes as Lorraine came to a stop several feet in front of her.
“What in the dark realm are you—”
Axe lifted a fistful of fabric and began hacking at it.
“Axelle!” Lorraine chided sharply. “This is not how a lady acts—”
“Good thin’ I’m not a lady. I’m a pirate.” The girl cackled, continuing away at destroying the dress Lorraine had custom made for her. The King’s stewardess turned to Quinn, and motioned to the problem child, silently asking for help.
“Oh no,” Quinn said, backing away with both hands raised. “I’m the right-hand. She’s not my problem.”
Lorraine’s glare deepened as she straightened her back and waited. Meanwhile Axe continued hacking away at the damn thing. “It’s going to be your problem if she ruins it and I need someone to go down to the market to find her another one.”
Quinn sighed. “She’s just going to destroy that one too until you get her something she likes.”
“She’s right, you know,” Axe crooned, pausing in her destruction to see how Lorraine responded. The older woman dipped her head and sighed.
“If I take you to the market to find a dress, you have to promise to behave. No bar fights. No brawls. No stealing. We find you a dress and come right back here—”
“Done,” Axe agreed, dropping her axe and rushing back into the bathroom. The sound of fabric tearing made Lorraine cringe, and Quinn grimaced.
“You know, she looks up to you a great deal. If you’d agree with me instead of telling her it looks ridiculous, she likely would have let it go and worn the dress.”
Quinn scoffed. “She calls me a hussy. I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there. Besides, she did look ridiculous. This is Leone. That thing would be insufferable to wear all evening in a room full of people.”
Lorraine sighed. “Yes, but it likely would have kept her out of trouble.”
Quinn squinted. “Like it did right there?” She hooked her thumb toward the spot where the girl had taken an axe to her gown.
“Fair enough,” Lorraine groaned. “This doesn’t get you off the hook. I need you and Risk to both be dressed appropriately.”
Quinn chuckled. “Risk won’t wear a dress. You can try convincing her, but I imagine it will go about as poorly as that did.”
The bathroom door opened once more. Axe stood in her leathers, the blue dress she’d worn discarded on the floor beside her.
“Ready,” she said, stepping out.
“Very well,” Lorraine said. “I still expect you to pick something while I’m gone, Quinn.”
“I’m aware,” Quinn answered dryly. She waited for both Lorraine and Axe to let themselves out before she moved toward the wardrobe and began sifting through the options, only half glancing at each. “You know,” she started once it was just her and her sister once more. “You don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“The party is likely to be boring with talk of ‘the newest fashions’ for ladies and which lord has what mistress.” It was true. Partly. There was also likely to be pleasure slaves in attendance and talk of slavery, not to mention her biggest concern for Risk.
Erwing.
“I’m aware,” Risk said. “But I made it through Axe’s birthday celebration, and I’d like to see if I can make it through this.”
“The heirs are going to be there,” Quinn finally said, coming to a stop on one gown in particular. The deep red material, close to the color of actual blood, drew her attention.
“Are you scared?” Risk asked her.
Quinn turned, looking over her shoulder as she pulled the dress from its hanger.
“No,” Quinn laid the dress over the back of a chair and began to pull at her tunic. “I don’t feel fear. Not as others do, at least.” She lifted the tunic over her head and began to unlace her trousers. “One of the heirs has taken an interest in you, though. I don’t like that.”
“An interest?”
“In your heritage,” Quinn replied, shucking her trousers down her legs. She pulled them off entirely and tossed them on the floor.
“I see.”
