push her away even when he felt the last pieces of her soul slither back into place.
Her hands grasped the straps holding his weapons and pulled, reeling him into her. Lazarus—careful, calculated, and controlled as he was—threw caution to the wind and let her. Her nails grazed over the cloth of his tunic, scratching too hard to be accidental. She bit his bottom lip, drawing a groan from him. Gods above, he cursed himself. Her tongue toyed with his, wicked and maddening as the woman herself. He tightened his hand around her throat just a fraction and Quinn moaned. He wound his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer to—
A horn blasted from the other side of them, coming from Tritol.
The change in her was instant as she shoved with a strength she hadn’t previously possessed. “Liar,” she growled, wisps coming off her like smoke as she lifted a hand and clenched her fist.
An all-out dread absorbed him. Impending doom settled in his gut as anxiety clawed its way up his throat, his knees threatening to collapse. “Quinn, I didn’t lie to you—”
She pulled harder and the air left his lungs as terror reached its hands for his chest. Images filled his mind of terrible, dreadful things. “You tried to distract me,” she said in that same emotionless voice. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Quinn,” he groaned as a flash of silver caught his eye. She lifted the dagger above her, poised to strike. “Don’t do this.”
“May Belphor embrace you, Lazarus,” she whispered.
But it was too late. Far, far too late.
Axe
“Everything has a cost, whether you choose to pay it or not.”
— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister, Master of Neiss
Her hand stilled, the dagger hovering above his prone form. The darkness rode her, those shadow tendrils of fear whispering sweet nothings in her ears. They told her that she couldn’t trust anyone, that it would all end in chains.
And Quinn wouldn’t be a slave.
Never again.
She would die before she took that route.
But to kill Lazarus … even as they pushed and pushed, something held her back. Something made her still her hand, even as the clomping of hooves grew near.
She didn’t want to stab him.
Kill or be killed, they told her. Those deadly tendrils feeding on the rage within.
Her arm shook from the exertion as she forced herself to remain still and not do as they commanded. Sweat trickled down her temples, tracing the line of her jaw before falling.
Still, she fought. She fought her own demons with all she had.
I will not be a slave to anything. She meant it, and that included fear itself. It was her drug. Her addiction. Fear gave her power, but giving in to it also stripped her power away, and she could not allow that.
“You. Do. Not. Control. Me!” she cried out as the dagger began to slip from her fingers. Her eyes widened just as a hand clamped over her wrist. “Wha—”
The anger drained out of her, leaving her dizzy and light-headed. She swayed on her feet for a moment, her gaze traveling up a tanned arm to meet the violet eyes of the ash-haired man that stopped her.
“D-draeven?” she stuttered as her magic settled instantly when it no longer had the rage to fuel it.
His jaw tensed and the twitch of his eye told her he was struggling as he dropped her hand and backed away. “Drae—”
“Don’t,” Lazarus breathed. He rolled on his side before climbing to his feet. “He took your rage to stop you from doing something that would end us both, but the demons you faced are now on his back. Let it be.” He reached out a hand to still her and she marveled for a moment, staring at Draeven and then to the hand that touched her.
“Do you fear me now?” she asked him. The void she’d created began to shatter into pieces and fall before disappearing entirely, allowing the harsh light of a new day to bathe them.
Lazarus turned his gaze from her to the rising sun and the people on horses that approached them. Quinn tensed for a moment when he said, “I don’t think I would fear you even if you killed me, Quinn. There’s a lot of things I feel for you, but fear isn’t one of them.”
She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say. She stood in silence when he started for the half dozen people approaching them. His relaxed gate kept her at bay as she glanced back to Dominicus carrying Lorraine, and Vaughn trailing behind them.
The horses came to a halt before Lazarus, and the group remained tense for a moment before the one at the back came forward. The steed itself was a beast, but the girl on top of it was barely a wisp. If not for the flaming red hair twined in braids with beads and cloth scattered in it, she would hardly warrant notice. Her face was younger, much younger than Quinn, but her gaze was that of someone well beyond her years as she observed their party and the bones that surrounded them.
“You’ve got five seconds to tell me who in the dark realm you pricks are that thought to start a war outside my mother’s city,” the young woman spoke in Ilvan, a language Quinn knew.
Though it seemed Lazarus did not as he answered, “We come from Cisea to speak with Imogen. I am Lazarus Fierté, friend of Ilvas.” The girl narrowed her eyes and just as Quinn opened her mouth to say something, she smiled.
“Lazarus,” she said in far better Norcastan than Vaughn could speak. The accent was nearly indistinguishable. “She’s been expectin’ you. Thorne of the mountains sent word, but we were dealin’ with a small predicament from Norcasta you so nicely chose to handle for us.” She gave him an appraising look. “Tell me, who have you brought to the Pirate Queen’s city?”
“I am Vaughn,” the warrior said before Lazarus could reply, and she could tell it irked him.
“Emissary from Cisea, I presume?” she asked, sucking the air between her teeth as he nodded.
“Dominicus is a guard, and as you can tell, Lorraine—one of my vassals—has been injured and needs a healer immediately,” Lazarus said. The girl motioned with her hand and one of the soldiers dismounted to assist Dominicus and Lorraine.
“Patch and Poppet,” she said. “You go with them. Make sure she gets the help she needs and let Mother know our guests have arrived.” Two of the riders broke away and escorted Dominicus to the city in the distance. “What about these two?” she asked, waving an axe that Quinn hadn’t noticed before in her and Draeven’s direction.
“Draeven is my left-hand and second-in-command,” Lazarus answered tightly.
“Not right?” the girl asked.
“He’s too kind to be the right,” came Lazarus’ reply. The girl considered that for a moment before nodding.
“And you?” she asked. “You come from the self-righteous bastards over the border, do you not?” Her dislike of N’skara clear from the grim set of her lips.
“She’s with me—”
“Obviously,” the girl replied, cutting him off.
Quinn stepped up, storing the blade she held before turning her attention to the girl. “I’m Quinn, his right-hand,” she answered.
Overhead, a bird, black as the void she’d created, spread its wings and cast a shadow over her. Quinn squinted, putting a hand over her eyes as the beast turned its head and let out a caw so loud the Gods must have heard it. Quinn frowned as a single silver feather drifted on the wind before it turned to the west.
Towards N’skara.
Towards her home.
Quinn looked back to the red-headed young woman who only blinked and then smiled with swagger. “I’m Axe, adopted daughter of Imogen the Pirate Queen,” she said. “And I look forward to hearin’ all about how you came to be with the next king of Norcasta.”
To be continued …