For King and Corruption, page 22
“Potes,” she cursed under her breath, following after. The problem in Axe’s plan was that she used her size to her advantage, sidestepping drunken nobles and darting under outstretched arms. She didn’t pay mind to the people around her, or more specifically, the men.
The places that Axe squeezed, Risk was unwilling to get within five feet of. She made it about halfway into the room before her feet stopped as if weighed down by lead. An itch rode up her inner arm. A buzzing started in her head.
Risk closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to fall into the world around her.
It was near impossible to do when she was in the middle of it, though.
“My lady,” a voice said from behind her. Risk whirled around.
A man only a few inches taller than her stood with his hand outstretched. His skin was flaccid and his eyes hungry. She’d seen that look on many a man in her short life.
“I’m not a lady,” she bit out, trying to fight the inner panic that was beginning to once more overwhelm her.
“Not a lady?” he repeated. His eyes did a slow perusal of her form. “You certainly look like a lady,” he said, still smiling. She didn’t like the way he smiled.
It wasn’t so different from her sister’s, but where Quinn would never hurt her, this man . . . she had a feeling that was exactly what he wanted.
“Leave me alone,” she whispered. He stepped closer.
“A lady dressed in men’s clothes at a royal ball. You’re either a servant or a commoner trying to play pretend—”
“I belong to house Lazarus,” she said in a rush. Her heart beat faster.
Faster.
Faster.
She sensed the magic as it danced with her at the edge of her panic threshold.
Risk wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hang her head and pull at her hair for how stupid she was to leave her chambers. She hated this reaction she had. To run. To flee. To stay. To fight.
Why couldn’t she be like Quinn?
Why couldn’t she be strong and wicked and cruel?
“Are you certain?” he asked softly, stepping closer. “Perhaps we should have a talk somewhere more . . . private. I am quite curious about these.” He reached out, and she froze, stiff as a board. A single finger traced her horn and she felt it.
A shiver ran up the back of her spine.
To run. To fight. To flee. To stay.
Her options cycled through her mind rapidly, but her feet were stuck to the ground. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe.
Stop. She wanted to tell him to stop.
But the words wouldn’t come out of her mouth.
All she could think of were the other hands that touched her.
The chains that held her.
She was powerless to stop them no matter how hard she tried.
“You seem disoriented. Come. Let’s get to somewhere quieter, where there’s fewer prying eyes—”
Sweaty fingers grabbed her hand and tugged.
Risk squeezed her eyes shut, and regardless of what he wanted, she couldn’t stop herself. Not even if she tried. The tether that held her motionless and unable to answer snapped as a rage consumed her.
In a fraction of a second her nails turned to claws and her skin to fur. A sharp searing pain ran down her back that she knew to be black, bat-like wings. They tore through her tunic and flapped once, holding her in place even as her feet didn’t move.
The man paused.
“What—”
She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as blood rushed in her veins and the roaring drowned out all else. Her vision tinted red.
Then it went entirely.
She didn’t know how long passed.
She didn’t understand what was happening.
Not until it was too late.
As the rage faded and she came back to herself, the roaring turned to screams. She couldn’t understand. Where are they coming from?
She looked at her hands, not understanding.
Red colored them, as if someone had spilled their wine. It coated the floor too. There was a man there. At least she thought it was a man.
It was hard to tell when the pieces had been severed and pulled apart.
She stared and stared and stared.
It was only when it clicked that she realized the screams were coming from her.
This man, whoever he was . . . she’d killed him.
At the ball.
Her teeth chattered, and her body shook. Her legs threatened to give out. But all at once she was there.
Quinn. Her sister.
She wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close.
Risk didn’t know what to do. She simply clung to her as the truth slapped her in the face.
She wasn’t ready.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
“It’s okay,” Quinn breathed, holding her tight. “Tell me what happened.”
“I just”—Risk stammered—“I just—I don’t—I’m sorry—I—” Quinn pulled away. Risk felt cold, but her sister didn’t leave her. She didn’t abandon her. Quinn never abandoned her. She wrapped her still clawed hands around her sister’s wrists, and Quinn didn’t flinch as she cupped her face.
“You came to the ball, start there. Go slow. Walk me through what happened.” Risk nodded. Her breaths were coming too fast. She couldn’t calm herself. She couldn’t get the words out.
Quinn inhaled slowly, mimicking her own movements. Risk followed, doing as her sister did.
“In,” Quinn said, taking a deep breath. “Out,” she repeated, releasing it just as slow. They did it again and again. Until she settled enough to speak.
“I was t-trying to follow Axe,” she said in a very small voice. “I got l-lost.”
Quinn nodded. “What happened then?” There were voices. Other voices speaking. They pulled at her attention, but Quinn made a tsk noise, pulling her back.
“Attention on me. Only me.”
Risk could do that.
“There was a m-man. He stopped me. He wanted to t-talk s-somewhere else.” Her teeth were chattering still, and the bone-deep cold was beginning to spread.
“He tried to get you to go somewhere else?” Quinn asked. Her voice held no inflection. No judgement. No empathy, but also no damnation.
“Yes.” Risk started to lower her eyes.
“What else happened?” Quinn prompted before she could shut down entirely.
“I—he—” she struggled for words, but Quinn didn’t interrupt her. Risk took a deep breath and in a rush said, “He t-touched my horns.” Water filled her vision. Her sister’s face became blurry. “He grabbed me.”
Quinn nodded and pulled her in. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Risk held onto that even though she didn’t believe it. When Quinn made a mistake, it wasn’t a mistake. One way or another she got her way because she was Quinn.
Risk wasn’t Quinn.
She wasn’t strong or brave or cruel.
Perhaps though, she was wicked too.
“Draeven,” her sister’s voice pulled her in once more. Risk blinked twice, letting the tears fall so she could see. Draeven stood near them. He and Quinn shared a look. Risk didn’t understand it, but after a moment passed, her sister said, “He’s going to take you back to our room where you will lock the door. You do not open it for anyone except me. Do you understand?” Quinn asked her.
Risk swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Good. Now stay near him. You know him. He won’t do anything but protect you. You have my word and his. Doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” Draeven answered.
“Can you do this?” her sister asked. Risk looked between her and him. His violet eyes blazed, but the fury in them wasn’t aimed at her. She recognized it. She understood it.
“I can do this.” She nodded.
Quinn kissed her forehead, and Risk couldn’t help but feel like it was a goodbye.
Draeven offered her his free hand, in the other he held a sword.
She pressed her lips together and took it.
“Step aside,” Quinn demanded. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. Even behind her, Risk could sense the shift. The hairs on her arms stood straight because this wasn’t Quinn that was addressing the soldiers that surrounded them.
It was the fear twister.
“That thing killed my brother,” came another woman’s reply. “Her head is mine.”
“I am giving you one chance, Amelia.” The words coming out of Quinn’s mouth were apathetic. The decision of whatever she was about to do already made. “Step aside.”
Silence held the throne room by the throat like a noose.
One command, and it would break.
“No.”
It was a death sentence.
Paint It Black
“Where there is life, there is fear, and no one can control it, save fear herself.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, right-hand to the King of Norcasta
* * *
One of them was not walking away from this tonight.
It had been clear to her for a while that might be the outcome. The truth of it was Norcasta couldn’t have two heirs. Let alone four. They’d tried Draeven’s way. They’d made an attempt at peace. It hadn’t worked.
Now it was her turn.
Quinn lifted both hands. They were empty. The guards around them exchanged glances. A few sneered.
She smiled at Amelia. Then she called fear.
The row of guards before them fell to their knees. Blood dripped from their ears. Skin turned clammy. Eyes rolled back into their heads. She twisted her hands, and they sang like little songbirds for her. The heralds to her wrath.
Quinn let the effects play out slowly to highlight every excruciating moment of what it meant to die by her hand. It wasn’t for her enjoyment; not when Risk was still here. No, she needed to get her sister out before the real show started.
When the last note finally ended, and the throne room fell silent once more, Quinn lowered one hand to the ground.
“Neiss,” she beckoned forward. The snake moved from her back, up her spine, over her shoulder, and down her arm. His head rose out of the palm of her hand and let out a hiss. The crowd took several steps back as they began to question, was she a fear twister? Or a soul eater? “Stay with her,” she commanded the snake. He didn’t respond, instead choosing to go to Risk. Quinn glanced behind her as Risk squatted and extended a shaking hand, still tipped with claws that dripped blood. He wound himself around Risk, his forked tongue grazing her jaw where a stray droplet of blood lingered.
Draeven didn’t release her hand, though he hated snakes.
He must really, truly care about her sister.
Maybe one day her sister would care about him too.
“You think to fool me with tricks?” Amelia asked. “Illusions?”
Quinn laughed callously as she faced her once more. “I don’t need tricks or illusions to handle you, Amelia. I simply need fear. Luckily for me, we have an audience.”
She expanded her power to the whole of the throne room and beckoned it forward.
Tendrils black as smoke began to drift upwards into the air as people started to scream and cry and faint. They begged for her to stop. They pleaded with the gods to spare them.
She wasn’t doing much more than stirring them up because she still wasn’t ready to do what needed to be done.
Not with Risk here.
Her sister had seen her do many horrible, terrible things.
She didn’t want her to see what came next.
She didn’t want her caught in the crosshairs.
And she certainly didn’t want her to fall prey to Quinn’s own power.
With the court on their knees, Lazarus’ house became easier to find. At the other end of the hall stood Axe, brandishing her weapons. Next to the door leading to Lazarus’ study stood Lorraine, slipping away for the worst of what was to come. At the base of the throne stood Lazarus, watching with a blistering intensity.
A girl that could see magic. A null. A soul eater.
Why they stood was clear. But there were two others who also stood, unperturbed.
Amelia and Titus Reinhart.
“The rumors didn’t do you justice,” Amelia mused.
“Now, Draeven.” Quinn kept her eyes on the heirs. Through her field of vision she sensed them moving.
“You know what else they didn’t do justice?” Amelia asked. Her dark eyes glinted with hidden knowledge and power. She lifted one hand and made a fist.
The crying stopped.
The pleading stopped.
The terror began to leak away.
People started to get to their feet. They turned on her. On them. On Risk and Draeven and Lorraine and Axe—and even Lazarus.
“Me.”
“Kill her!” they exclaimed. “End her! She’s a nightmare—a terror!”
They called for her blood, but Quinn merely lifted a brow. “A passion cleaver worth a damn.” Her voice was nonchalant and unhurried even as her heart started to race. “It’s been a long time since I had a challenge.”
“Where are they?” she asked Neiss.
“Halfway.”
Time. She needed time. For her and for them.
Warm fingers touched her bare wrist. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was, but she did anyway. Lazarus’ eyes met hers, and he nodded once, like he understood.
Damp petals. Midnight weeds. Fresh snow.
Fire. Ash. Bitter winds.
The scents of magic filled the air as a storm unlike any other brewed over the capitol of Norcasta. An errant wind swept through the throne room, bringing with it the familiar cold.
“A king that can’t hold his crown. I’ve heard whispers about you too, Lazarus. I’ve yet to see even a hint of that power that they claim you hold. Your white raksasa; she certainly is something. Maybe I’ll take her for myself when this is over.”
Quinn lifted both brows and looked at her.
“You must be daft.”
Insults always worked best to buy time. People felt the need to defend themselves, whether they were true or not. Very few simply didn’t care.
Amelia chuckled softly. “Titus, step forward.”
Without concern for the dead that lay before them, he stomped forward. A series of cracks and snaps filled the air as he turned the bodies to mush.
“Lazarus tells me you like to play games, Quinn. I like to play games too. Me and my brother used to play them often—and then one day, I won. You see, a rage thief without anything but rage is rather useful. Pliant even. Stripped of all other emotion, I wonder if you too might be of use.”
“How far?” she asked Neiss once more.
“Almost.”
Close. They were close. She just needed a little more—
Titus lunged without warning. Quinn flung a tendril of fear at him, but the action did little more than bounce off whatever hold Amelia had over him. Around them, the mob moved from jeering to action. They rushed forward, trampling each other in their artificial anger to get at Quinn and Lazarus.
Titus slammed into Lazarus with such strength that a boom echoed through the throne room. Dust and dirt fell from the ceiling. Sand whorled around them.
But Lazarus remained standing, holding his own.
“Not my friends, you swarmy, git-faced bastards!” Axe yelled. Quinn had to hope that between her and Draeven and Risk’s own powers that they would make it out of here because she couldn’t wait any longer.
Lords and ladies had turned on them.
Servants had turned on them.
Guards, both their own and the Reinhart’s, had turned on them.
There was nothing normal about it. Nothing natural.
Amelia had cleaved away whatever emotions that held them back, turning them into a mindless mob.
“You will die for this,” Lazarus said. He pulled at the leather gloves he wore and dropped them. Amelia laughed.
“We’ll see, Your Grace,” she replied pleasantly.
“Neiss?” Quinn asked once more.
He didn’t respond.
“Neiss?” she repeated.
The fear in her veins buzzed with contempt. Surely she would have felt something, anything, if the worst had happened . . .
“Safe,” came the whispered response. “We are safe.”
There was much she wanted to say, but no time at all. So she gave him the only command she could. “Run.”
And then she let go.
It had been a long time since she felt genuine worry. Longer still that she faced something that could inspire it. She let go of that. Let go of whatever humanity she held.
Risk was gone. It was time.
She was going to enjoy this far too much.
Quinn tossed her head back, a laugh bubbling up within her.
“Why are you laughing?” Amelia asked. Annoyance flitted across her features. Quinn grinned.
“Because,” Quinn paused, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. “They can love you. They can hate me. In the end, what they feel for you and for me matters not. I will crush them all.”
Darkness descended over the throne room as every light flickered out of existence.
Masked in shadow and night, Quinn didn’t just pull on their fear. She sent her own into them. While few lived in the dark, none could run from it. Threads began to form, crisscrossing across the space. They spun their way to and around the men and women present.
She called spiders and snakes and centipedes forward with only one command.
“Burrow,” she breathed.
Light flooded the room once more as the illusion of darkness faded, but not her web.
Quinn’s breath turned ragged. Her heart beat rapidly. Sweat coated her skin as she sent figments of herself into each of them.
No one came at her or tried to stop her. They couldn’t. They were too busy tearing out their own eyes. They scratched at their skin and pulled at their hair.
Some of these men and women might have been supporters. Some were likely enemies.
In the end, friend or foe didn’t matter.
Under Amelia’s control she had no choice but to kill all of them.
