Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,70

as a symbol of our alliance, I can assure you it is not necessary,” Lazarus replied.

A gleam of Thorne’s normal humor passed across the Cisean’s face. “Afraid he may take the girl from you?”

Lazarus scowled. “That is not the case.” Because he’d kill Vaughn before it came to that. Not that he said as much.

Thorne shook his head. “Whether it is or not, I will insist this time, my friend. I have no doubt that in a few months’ time you will be on the throne or well on your way, and I would like this friendship to be one that others see. It will keep certain parties out of the mountains, just as it will give the royal brats pause. You see? I will only give you this stone if you agree to these terms.” Lazarus stifled a growl. He did not like being commanded, ordered, or backed into a corner. But he knew there was little choice in the matter now. The boy would be a distraction for sure, but his presence was irrelevant.

Lazarus nodded. “I can accept these terms.” Thorne waited another moment before he nodded back and handed the satchel over. Lazarus took it and turned to leave, pausing only when Thorne’s hand closed over his arm.

“There is one more thing. I would ask that you keep your use of the spring between us, my friend.” Thorne posed the request politely, but the glint in his eye let Lazarus know that it was no request at all. “As the elected leader of my people, I have certain permissions. As my friend, my ally, I can give you certain allowances, but Lazarus, make no mistake—this spring is sacred to the Cisean people. We have been guardians of these mountains since before the ancient times and some might not take kindly to my allowance of you using it for this purpose.”

“I can do that.”

“And whatever you do, do not enter the water with her,” Thorne said, his voice dropping. “If you get into the water, the stone will take from you as well. The two times it has happened, no one made it out alive.”

“Noted.” Lazarus turned and grasped the other man’s hand in a firm, masculine manner. The movement, the willing closeness, startled Thorne. “I will do my best to ensure we return, and your secret—it stays between us.”

Thorne stayed a moment, assessing the truth in Lazarus’ eyes. Whatever he saw there must have assuaged his concerns, for he sighed, nodded, and then stepped back, allowing Lazarus to leave the hut.

Lazarus tucked the leather pouch Thorne had given him into his cloak without looking inside. Quinn would be on the female training grounds at this time. He headed that way. No doubt, Draeven would be somewhere close by. His second-in-command—his left-hand—had taken to watching the girl, his curiosity mounting on the distrust he first felt towards her. Lazarus knew Draeven was concerned about Quinn, worried, and therefore, he never let her out of his sight.

Sure enough, as soon as Lazarus stepped out of a line of trees and onto the training grounds, he saw the flash of silver hair just before Siva took her down. Not far from their sparring session, Draeven stood by with arms crossed and eyes focused. Lazarus headed straight for him, noting with a scowl that the boy was not far—his eyes glued to Quinn as she spoke with Siva from her prone position on the ground.

Draeven must have sensed his presence and turned to greet him just as Quinn jerked her arm out and sent Siva flying. He waited as the two women spoke some more in low tones difficult to hear over the grunting and clashing of weapons nearby. Once it was obvious they were done, Draeven raised his voice and called for her.

Ice blue eyes turned on him, stabbing deep into his gut and curling around the vile organ in his chest that kept him alive. Her frozen fingers closed over the vessel of lifeblood and squeezed. She had no clue. Absolutely none. But Lazarus wanted to see that darkness in her eyes come to life, he wanted it to fester and multiply. And when it did, he would forge her into the greatest weapon the world had ever known.

A Warrior’s Staff

“Weapons come in many forms, the greatest being our minds.”

— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister

Sweat poured into her eyes as Quinn maintained her stance, circling Draeven as he circled her. His violet eyes were sharp, analyzing