Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,80

was too important. Claudius had made it clear that without her this would all be for nothing. His entire future—his empire—his throne—depended on her.

And so even if no one had survived two people entering the pool before, they would now.

Because he would not let her die. No matter the price.

Lazarus dove through the lower pool, his muscles pushing him, his limbs cutting through the liquid with ease. His head resurfaced as he neared the higher spring and he took the stairs at the base to the top of the small well.

Pressing his palms on the ledge, Lazarus peered over into the blackened waters as they sloshed and churned. With a frustrated scowl, he reached down—trying to keep the rest of his body from the enchanted waters as much as possible. Already he could feel the strings of the stone’s magic reach for the new energy source. It hungered, violently stabbing at his arm as he felt for Quinn.

Lazarus clenched his teeth and jerked his arm away. He reached for the one creature he possessed that could survive this magic and buy him some time. He needed to get her above the water so that when her magic returned, it wouldn’t be trying to reenter a drowned corpse. The basilisk answered his call, sliding from beneath Lazarus’ skin, the creature became tangible in the form of a long body with mauve scales. Stygian eyes met his gaze as the animal dipped its head. Lazarus sent a mental command and the creature curled its body around him like a shield, so that it moved with him as Lazarus heaved himself over the edge.

The siphoning that had assaulted him before remained, thought it was muted by the basilisk’s natural resistance to magic. Lazarus knew the creature wouldn’t last long in this, but it was the more expendable of his possessions. Reaching down, Lazarus found a slender wrist and gripped it between his fingers. Quinn’s head emerged over the surface of the water as he dragged her up from the depths. Her limp body clung to the waters as he pulled her to him, fighting the waves that threatened to pull them both under.

Her lips were dark blue, the color of bleeding midnight. The same color was starting to sink into her cheekbones and under her eyes. She was cold to the touch, her skin a veritable frost. Lazarus lifted her, feeling for a heartbeat at her throat. It was there, but so weak and fragile, only a single small thump against his questing fingers every few moments.

He couldn’t remove her from the spring. To remove her would be to remove all possibility of her magic responding. It needed to return to her body before he pulled her out, or else she would die all the same.

The basilisk curled tighter around Lazarus’ muscles, letting him know that it was beginning to feel the pain of the Servalis stone eating at it. He had to find that stone. Heaving Quinn’s prone body closer to his own, Lazarus angled down and searched for the floor of the spring. His fingers met and curled around a sharp point. What had caused the stone to change form, he didn’t know, but he wasted no time jerking it back above the water’s surface and pressing it against Quinn’s naked chest.

“Breathe, Quinn,” Lazarus ordered as he held her to him and pressed his back to the stone walls of the spring to keep them both up. The basilisk squirmed around him, sliding between Quinn and himself as it shrunk to better suit its environment. The creature flicked its tongue out and hissed as a fresh wave of magic-depleting energy besieged it.

The pool began to settle as the churning and whirling went still. After several moments of calm, the water’s surface became a mirror, reflecting their image back at him. Lazarus hoped that with the waters calming, the end of the ceremony would soon come. Quinn’s magic would be returned and despite Thorne’s warning, they would both survive. He refused to believe otherwise.

And then came the burn. Like fire in his veins, that dreadful magic shot down his spine. Sharp spikes of flame stabbed in a curved motion along his back, causing the basilisk to cry out in pain, its agony echoing up to the ceiling of the cavern. With wide eyes, Lazarus watched as the basilisk’s scales grew pale and began to fade. He did not need to look at his back to know that the tattoo of the creature’s