Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,47
was cold. Quinn didn’t pause to think what that might mean, or why that single silver feather was different. She reached out, locking two fingers around the base of it and pulled.
At first, the feather resisted its removal, but with a second hard yank it came free. The bird let loose an ear-splitting scream and launched into the sky. Quinn stared down at the silver feather in her fist as it circled above her head, free to ride the winds at last. The feather was so much heavier than it should be, but nothing other than its weight gave her the impression that it was anything more than what it resembled.
With another loud shriek that drew Quinn’s attention, the bird shot upward several dozen feet and exploded. Gasping, Quinn fell to her backside and gaped as a creature rose out of that plume of feathers that danced on the breeze. The thing that came forth from the animal’s skin was immense. Its wings spread across the dull sky—darkening everything in sight for a mere blink of a moment. Black smoke rose from its outstretched limbs as the bird’s beak opened and lifted upward in a silent cry to the wind.
Then, with a sharp turn of its head, the bird’s eyes locked on Quinn. They were no longer as black as the pitch of its wings. Instead, they were crimson—the color of freshly spilled blood. The creature—not a bird, but an animal from beyond—tucked its smoking feathers close and fell… no, Quinn realized, it’s diving.
Quinn scrambled backwards, rising to her feet a split second before the ground beneath her disappeared, crumbling beneath her bare soles as the black force she had freed swept under her, lifting her to the wind. Those terrifying red eyes peeked back as Quinn’s hands clung to its form, wisps of darkness rising between her fingers.
The animal seemed to be trying to tell her something, though she couldn’t understand what and would never know because in the next instant, the creature pivoted dumping her into the vast opening below. Quinn fell down, into the abyss of nothing, panting and clutching the only thing she could. The silver feather.
“Wake up.” Quinn was jerked away from her fall by the sound of a low familiar voice hovering over her. She tensed, ready to throw Draeven across the clearing for coming so close, but he merely leaned in and whispered, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Indignation rose in her, trailed by a chilling calm as once more the silence of the forest drew her attention. It wasn’t a total quiet, because something was off. Something was here. Draeven’s eyes weren’t on her and Quinn turned her gaze to the side.
“They’re here,” he whispered, rising to his feet. His hand went to the hilt of his sword just as Dominicus rose from his bed, moving to wake Lorraine from her sleep before he stepped in front of her.
“Get ready,” Draeven commanded as dark figures began to step out of the forest, large and imposing.
Something fell from Quinn’s grasp as she reached for the dagger under her cloak. When she looked down, a spot of silver flashed in her vision, surprising her. A single feather, as silver as the hair on her head.
Into the Mountains
“If you turn your back on those who would stab it, you deserve sweet death—for you were too gullible in life.”
— Quinn Darkova, former slave, fear twister, vassal of House Fierté
A low hum of voices rose into the air, chanting in an intelligible language that Quinn had never heard before as the dark figures circled them. Magic thickened the air as they came out of the trees, gliding into the early morning fog. Draeven shifted, turning his back to her as he raised his sword. Quinn rose to her feet, the brief flash of silver—the feather—now gone as she reacted to the danger in their midst.
“Who are they?” she asked, lifting her voice so that it carried over their chanting. She turned, her back touching Draeven’s as they both took in their enemy and found themselves far outnumbered. The figures were sturdy, masculine bodies, every one of them built to be the size of monsters. They were either at Lazarus’ height or taller, Quinn noted.
Thick furs lined their chiseled chests and legs. Each of them wore what appeared to be a mask—no, those aren’t masks. They wore skulls with the jaws unhinged, and the pelts of dead animals trailing behind them as cloaks.