For King and Corruption, page 7
Risk’s shoulders lowered, and her hand fell away from her side as she straightened. Looking to the table, she nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she replied.
Quinn waited a moment, eyeing her, but she didn’t want to hover, so she merely nodded and turned back to Draeven, stepping out into the hall and letting the door close behind her.
“Is your sister getting used to the palace?” Draeven asked as they made their way down the hall.
Sliding a glance his way, Quinn murmured her reply. “She’s getting along fine.”
“Lazarus told me you asked for a trainer for her,” Draeven said. “I’ve arranged for an old friend to make the trip here. He’ll be here within a day or so, and he’d be happy to train her.”
“Risk still isn’t comfortable around men,” Quinn warned.
Draeven nodded and turned to her with a grin. “I doubt she’ll truly think of Haspati as a man. He’s not much more than a mass of darkened wrinkles and age spots at this point.” He laughed. “But I would say that you should warn her of his coming, so she’s not startled. I’ll be arranging it and overseeing their sessions.”
Quinn nodded, making a note to talk to Risk. She’d be happy to have a trainer, but not about the gender—regardless of age. Quinn stroked the skin just beneath her left elbow and felt a twinge from the creature beneath it. There were ways around the discomfort. Things she could do to make Risk feel more secure, much to Draeven’s chagrin.
They arrived at a small chamber of sorts a few moments later. Draeven reached forward, hands closing around the ornate handles to a set of double doors, turning them and pushing them inward, revealing a room full of familiar and unfamiliar faces alike.
“Dominicus,” Quinn greeted the man who stood to Lazarus’ side.
Dominicus grunted his greeting, moving away as Draeven entered, turned to close the doors behind him, and then moved to Lazarus’ left side. Quinn stopped by Lazarus’ right and turned, facing the men surrounding the long oak table where Lazarus sat at the head.
Of the four others surrounding them, Quinn only recognized one. Lord Callis smiled her way, and she returned the notion, eliciting a quiet frown of disapproval from Lazarus, which only made her smile widen.
“Now then,” a tall, gray-eyed, older man said, coughing as he called everyone’s attention to himself. “If all members of the King’s council are present, shall we proceed with this matter?”
Lazarus nodded and waved his hand, gesturing for the man to continue. It was Draeven who stopped them.
“Actually, perhaps we should go around the table and introduce ourselves. I know most of you haven’t yet met His Grace’s right-hand, Quinn Darkova,” he interrupted before the man could continue.
The lord shot Draeven an annoyed look, but grumbled an agreement. “Very well,” he said. “I am Lord Langston. This is Lord Brameer—” He paused, gesturing to the slightly younger man to his side, and then pointed across from him as he continued. “Lord Callis and Lord Northcott.” Quinn nodded, and he took that to mean that his duties of introduction were through. “We’re here to discuss the letter His Grace received from Amelia Reinhart requesting an audience.”
“Is it just Lady Amelia?” Lord Callis inquired. “Or will her brothers be joining her?”
Lord Langston coughed as he reached for a piece of parchment set on the table before him, lifting it up as he withdrew a set of spectacles from his pocket and fixed them upon his nose and glanced through it. “By the sounds of it, her brothers as well.”
Quinn watched as Lord Callis smirked. “She rarely leaves them behind,” he said with a knowing nod.
“Right,” Lord Langston replied, turning to face Lazarus. “Then, should you decide to agree to her request, you’ll be agreeing to hosting the three of them.”
Lazarus nodded. “Understood. Do you think I should agree, then?”
“They’re the blood heirs.” Quinn stated. “Why would you invite your enemy to your home? This is no longer their right.”
“Lady Darkova,” Lord Langston blustered, his face growing red beneath his glasses. “You were invited here as a vassal to His Grace, but it is clear you know nothing of these circumstances.”
Quinn leveled the man with a dangerous look. “Oh, no?” she replied. “Then perhaps you might be willing to explain them to me.”
“What Lord Langston means, Quinn,” Lord Callis said, “is that the Reinharts are not enemies. They are highly respected nobles; the late King Claudius’ own children.”
“Who no doubt would love nothing more than to see Lazarus removed from what they consider their throne,” Quinn replied stiffly.
“You obviously don’t know how court is run,” Lord Brameer said with a nasally scoff. “Why His Grace would allow an uncouth woman in his council is beyond me.”
Quinn felt a rage boil up within her, and she took a step forward as if to show the pathetic worm of a man just how much of an uncouth woman she could be. Draeven, however, chose that moment to move around Lazarus’ chair and grab her arm as he lifted his head to address the others.
“I think what Quinn means is that she is only concerned for King Lazarus’ safety,” he said gently. “It’s no secret that history has seen trouble for new rulers when there is an abrupt power shift. There are those who would prefer to see Claudius’ children on the throne rather than his chosen heir.”
Quinn let Draeven’s arm stop her, but that didn’t keep her from glaring at Lord Brameer with the promise of violence should the little prick irritate her further. Lord Brameer, for his part, appeared uncomfortable as he adjusted in his chair and looked away from her intense gaze.
“That’s quite insightful, Lord Adelmar,” Lord Callis said, clapping his hands. “And it’s quite noble of Quinn to want to keep her master safe.”
Quinn stiffened at that word once more, leaving off staring at Lord Brameer to take in Lord Callis’ pleasant expression. She shrugged off Draeven’s arm, though the man stayed at her side, nonetheless.
“Do you have a particular way you want this to play out, Your Grace?” Dominicus asked, directing his attention to Lazarus.
Lazarus frowned, leaning forward to prop his elbows upon the table and steeple his hands as he considered his words carefully. Silence stretched through the room as he thought long and hard. Everyone else remained mute as they waited with bated breath to see Lazarus speak his desires.
Before he had a chance, however, the quiet came to an end when the only man in the room who had yet to speak, gave his answer.
“Whether or not you want to amend to Lady Reinhart’s request, Your Grace, I do not see how you have much of a choice.”
Lazarus looked up as Quinn did, both of them fixing the dark-haired lord with a serious expression and giving him their sole focus. “What choice do I not have, Lord Northcott? Speak up,” Lazarus commanded.
Lord Northcott lifted his head, his expression unchanging as he took in his surroundings. Quinn got the distinct impression that this man had seen danger and was intelligent enough to weigh the pros and cons of anything he said or did. When his eyes settled on her and remained briefly, her suspicion was proven. He knew danger when he saw it.
“If you do not acquiesce to Lady Reinhart’s request, then she or her family will surely use it as an excuse to prove that you mean to cut them out completely of what many argue is their inheritance by birthright. It would behoove you to allow her an audience and at least see what she has to say.”
“No,” Quinn argued immediately. “He doesn’t have to do anything. He is King. He makes the decision.”
“Yes, he will make the ultimate decision, Quinn,” Draeven said. “But Lord Northcott has a point.”
Northcott nodded, but he sent Quinn a wary glance, especially when she pivoted abruptly to look at Draeven as though the man had lost his mind. “What in the dark realm are you talking about?”
“His Grace should agree to Lady Reinhart’s request. It is better to hear them out and understand their demands than assume and make a blunder that could hurt not only his reputation, but his rule.”
“You—”
“Then it’s decided,” Lazarus said, cutting Quinn off. “We will have a vote.”
“A vote?” Lord Langston sounded confused.
“Yes,” Lazarus answered. “I, of course, will still make my decision regardless of the results of said vote, but I am curious to know how many would prefer I agree and who would argue that I shouldn’t concede to this request. Draeven?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Draeven straightened as Quinn pressed her lips together and glared her displeasure, splitting her anger between Draeven and Lazarus. “Those in favor of agreeing to Lady Reinhart’s request, raise your right hand.” Hands lifted. Draeven, Lord Langston, Lord Callis, Lord Brameer, Lord Northcott, and . . . Quinn blinked in surprise as Dominicus’ hand remained down. “Those in favor of declining her request, raise your right hand.”
All other hands lowered as Dominicus and Quinn lifted their palms. She looked at the weapons master with a small form of respect. At least not everyone in the room was a complete fool.
“Thank you, you may lower your hands,” Draeven said, turning back to Lazarus. “Your decision?”
Lazarus nodded. “I think Northcott has made a good point. Lord Langston, you will arrange for a messenger to deliver my acceptance?”
Lord Langston bowed as Quinn gritted her teeth against her frustration. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“They are in northern Norcasta, are they not?” Lazarus asked.
Lord Langston blinked, seeming a mix of surprised and confused by the question. “Why . . . yes. They are, sir.”
Lazarus nodded. “Send one man on horseback. He’ll be much faster that way. In the correspondence, let Lady Reinhart know that I expect her presence immediately. I want no time wasted.”
“It’ll be a stretch to expect her in anything less than ten days,” Draeven commented.
“Ten days it is, then,” Lazarus said with a nod. “You’re all dismissed.”
Quinn scowled as she stomped past Draeven, tossing him a disgusted glare as she slammed out of the chambers.
“What a reckless young woman. . .” one of the men commented as she left. The voice was that of Lord Langston, but Quinn didn’t care. If they thought her reckless, then they were weak-bellied creatures.
Men. The fool of the species.
A Point to be Made
“Ignorance is not bliss, just as bravery is not a good thing. Teach people the brutal truth, and perhaps they won’t be susceptible to the beautiful lie.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, right-hand to the King of Norcasta
* * *
Heat pounded through her veins as she stormed down the halls. Guards looked on from their posts, servants scuttled to the side, but not a soul dared say anything to Quinn when she was in a mood such as this. She made her way across the palace in half the time it had taken her and Lord Idiot to walk. Her hands trembled from rage as she grasped the metal handle and twisted sharply. The door to her rooms swung open, and Quinn stepped inside, slamming it behind her.
Risk jumped up from the window seat and looked her over. “What happened?”
“The blood heirs happened.”
Risk blinked and slowly started toward her. “What do you mean, ‘the blood heirs happened’? They can’t be here,” Risk paused, looking back to the window behind her. “Are they?” Quinn shook her head, her fists clenching hard enough she might actually be able to crack stone.
“No, not yet.” Quinn curled and uncurled her right hand. Wisps of black floated off her skin.
“Then I don’t understand—”
“They will be,” Quinn interrupted. Her eyes flashed as she looked from the wisps at her fingers to her sister. “Amelia Reinhart sent a letter asking for an audience with Lazarus, and like the fool he is—he accepted because his blasted council deemed it the ‘right’ answer.”
Risk nodded slowly, her expression wary. “You don’t agree, I take it.”
“No, I don’t,” Quinn said through clenched teeth. She paced the length of the room and back. The action was doing little to settle the anger inside her; bubbling, seething to get out.
“Why?” Quinn paused. “Why don’t you agree?” Risk asked.
“The blood heirs believe they deserve the throne, and there’s a decent portion of Norcasta that agrees. Lazarus knows this, and still he is inviting them into Leone—welcoming them into his house like this is any other noble and not the people that most want to see him dead.” Quinn pivoted again, pacing the room once more. Risk seemed to consider her words for a moment.
“Surely they can’t be that dangerous,” her sister started. “This place is armed with guards at every entrance.”
Quinn laughed, and it was a cruel thing.
Risk shuddered.
“Guards?” she asked her sister. “You think they could really prevent an assassination in any way?”
“Well, they’re there for a reason—” Quinn held up her hand, not even letting Risk finish that thought. She motioned with her fingers for her sister to follow as she turned for the door.
“Let’s take a walk.”
The wary expression on Risk’s face only deepened as she looked on with distrustful eyes. Still, she followed Quinn out of the room and down the hall.
“Is there a reason for this walk?” she asked as they came to the foyer. Quinn continued on, past the guarded entrance, toward the wall around the palace. “Or are you simply tired of wearing a path into bedroom floors?”
Quinn paused, and Risk followed suit. “Look there,” she pointed. Risk did as she said. They both watched as the guard standing post chatted animatedly with the other. “How difficult do you think it would be to take them out?”
Risk shifted uneasily. “Not very, but they might be Maji—”
“Maji?” Quinn repeated, lifting a brow. “You think any of these pathetic skeevs could be Maji?” At that, some of the other guards milling about started to take notice.
Quinn laughed again. Risk grimaced.
“There’s no way to really know. . .” her sister started, eyeing the men distrustfully.
“You’re right,” Quinn said. “You’re completely correct.” Risk blinked, not expecting Quinn to agree so readily. “That’s exactly why the heirs shouldn’t be allowed within the walls of Leone ever.” Realization dawned on Risk’s features as she pushed her lips together, but made no move to comment. “Who’s to say how powerful they are? Who’s to know if their guards are Maji?” Quinn turned back to the palace, glaring at it with vehemence. It wasn’t the palace itself that incurred her wrath, but the pointless rules and maneuverings that Lazarus was attempting to play within. As if he were a lesser man. “Certainly not the council that voted to invite them as guests and not the traitors that they are.” Her last words had been spoken softly, but a hush settled over the courtyard between the palace entrance and its wall that sectioned it off from the rest of the city.
“Quinn, I think we should go back inside. We’re starting to draw attention.” Risk pulled at her sleeve, and Quinn went completely still, her sister following suit. The beast tamer in her knew when to recognize a threat, and slowly she backed away as Quinn warred to take hold of herself. The dark magic in her veins was humming, striving for a way to break free.
“You should listen to your sister,” one of the guards said.
Quinn slowly turned her head. The man in question stepped forward. He wore a gold chest plate, but the cloth had been dyed red. His hair was short and uneven, as if someone had chopped away at it for utility and cared not how it looked. The dirt beneath her boots was the same color as his currently harsh eyes. Quinn noted the golden pommel of the sword hanging at his hip, and the insignia laid into it.
Lazarus’ crest.
“Why is that?” she asked, taking a single step forward. Several hands went to their waists at that moment, not even disguising their mistrust.
Quinn was alright by that. She made no attempt to disguise what she was. Not anymore.
The man continued forward. “Because those are mighty big words to come from a woman. Right-hand or not, these soldiers act at the King’s behest—just as you.”
Quinn took a single sweeping look around the courtyard. What she saw, she found . . . lacking.
She raised a single delicate eyebrow, making that observation known.
“I’m sure you lot do the best you can,” Quinn said. He nodded as if finding that amenable, but Quinn continued. “However, a single Maji with enough power could walk right through you. You’re well-suited for managing citizens, but a real threat—a true assassination attempt?” Quinn laughed again; the sound as lovely as it was horrible. Risk stepped away, her lips pressed together in a grimace. “Lazarus would be just as well off to leave children at the gates. At least the enemy might have moral conundrums in slaughtering them.”
The sound of metal sliding along metal reached her ears, and a full smile bloomed. Quinn looked over at the young guard that had drawn his weapon.
“Do you think you could slay me with that, boy?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. The entire courtyard held its breath as she stepped forward, not toward the man with the weapon, but the one that had thought to dismiss her to begin with. “Do you think you could stop me from doing whatever I wish?” she asked him, still looking at the man only feet from her. The one with the uneven hair and hardened gaze.
Quinn extended her hand, and though she held no weapon the boy with his rushed forward.
A single twist of her palm and snap of her fingers was all it took.
Black wisps they could not see shot forth, rooting the child playing hero where he stood. His weapon clattered to the ground. Quinn grinned.
“Tsk, tsk,” she murmured. “I did warn you.”
The guard who should have held his tongue walked forward, and Quinn leaned in, blowing a breath of black air in his face. He stumbled and then halted. His eyes went glassy, and his fist uncurled into claws. A sweat dotted his brow as his bottom lip trembled.
