Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,12
through the market as, one by one, men began to fall around her. Their internal struggles now as overwhelming as her own.
Panic clawed its way through them as terror coiled around their hearts, sinking sharp vile claws into their deepest, darkest fears and squeezing the organ that beat rhythmically, trying to keep them alive. She couldn’t control the onslaught. She didn’t know how.
For most of her life, she’d worn some sort of barrier—chains or stones meant to mute it, to cage that darkness inside her. The trouble with cages is that eventually the beast breaks free.
Those chains of silence that allowed her to control it in small bursts had completely fallen away with the shattered opal and left to her own devices, Quinn did the only thing she knew how.
She lashed out.
In a burst of power, she detonated. The entire southern market fell into utter chaos. People dropped where they stood—men, women, children—as their nightmares consumed them. No longer could she contain it to just the guards. Some fell to their knees and sobbed. Others simply stood. Stared. Catatonic.
And at the center of it all was Quinn.
The girl with more power than she knew what to do with.
More men came and the bells rang in the square. A horn sounded, and in Quinn’s turmoil, a soldier not yet obliterated by her powers stepped up. Brandishing his sword, without pause, the man brought the decorative pommel down on her head.
Like a candle snuffed out, the market fell eerily silent as Quinn crumpled in the dirty streets without any barrier—magical or otherwise—to protect her. And finally, the nightmares ceased.
Blood Contract
“The price of freedom is greater than all but one—survival.”
— Quinn Darkova, former slave, prisoner, possibly deranged
Quinn opened her eyes and stared at the slowly dripping ceiling—the very thing that had awoken her—as another water droplet fell, splashing her forehead and sliding down her temple. An echoing silence greeting her and a slight ringing in her ears that slowly ebbed. Her throat was parched, and it hurt to swallow. She wiped the back of her hand across her face, and it came away slick with sweat, water, and grime.
Where in the dark realm am I? Quinn wondered.
A creaking hinge nearby alerted her to people and stirred her into action. She struggled to sit up just as a wave of nausea threatened to send bile up her throat. Groaning, she leaned forward, head on her knees with her arms wrapped around her middle as she waited for it to pass.
“She’s awake,” a low voice whispered, just at the edge of what she could hear past her own beating heart. “Go notify Fierté before someone’s head ends up disconnected from their shoulders.”
Quinn perked her ears upon hearing a name. She wasn’t sure who exactly this Fierté was, but a niggling in her gut gave her a suspicion.
“Where—” she choked, her mouth salivating. She swallowed twice, trying to settle some moisture in the back of her throat before trying again. “Where am I?” she called out, blinking and turning her head to the other side so she could take in her surroundings.
Dirt floors and a bucket to piss in. Metal bars surrounded her on three sides, just tall enough for her to stand if she desired. She didn’t.
The guard at the end of the hall outside her cell didn’t reply. He wasn’t wearing the gold and white of the capitol. Nor the blue and silver of Dumas’s city guards.
He wore red and gold. She frowned. “Who…?” she started.
Her lips parted when it hit her. She knew exactly whose footsteps were coming down the corridor. The guard said nothing, made no move to reply to her unfinished question. His eyes were cold as they settled on her.
“Thank you, Dominicus,” that voice said. The one from the market. The one from her dressing room. He turned the corner, and Quinn inhaled sharply.
“You,” she spat. Her voice gravely and dry. She lifted her head as her nausea finally settled.
“I told you it wasn’t over, Quinn,” he said. There was a hard edge to his voice that spoke of control. Restraint. “Did you really think I’d let you go after your little threat?”
Quinn remained silent as she stared at him through the bars of her cell. The guards behind him watched her with an anxiousness she had expected. She couldn’t quite remember how dried blood had gotten on her hands, but she clearly wasn’t getting out of here any time soon.