Fortune Favors the Cruel - Kel Carpenter Page 0,84

with sweat and far too hot, but the snake … its scales were chilled. She relaxed into its cool embrace as once again she drifted thinking about what she saw.

Vow of Silence

“Friendship was just another word for favor, and neither were granted without reason.”

— Lazarus Fierté, dark Maji, heir to Norcasta, Master of men

Lazarus froze, watching as the basilisk curled around Quinn’s prone form. It stared at him with its deep, knowing eyes. The creature had not forgotten its previous master, but it seemed that it had found another. One that Lazarus noted with no small annoyance, that it was more than happy to serve—loyal in a way it never had been with him.

“You answer to her?” he asked the snake, knowing full well that if the beast wanted to communicate with him then it would.

“Yes,” came the serpent’s reply. Lazarus nodded. Just as he’d suspected, the basilisk hadn’t simply died or disappeared. It had been consumed … but not in the same way as Lazarus had consumed the animal before. Somehow, the basilisk had merged with her, taking the smallest sliver of his magic with it. The single strand that held its soul together, keeping it from disintegrating without its original body.

Lazarus took a step forward and the snake hissed, cocking its head and baring deadly fangs. “She’s sick, creature. I cannot help her if I can’t touch her,” he said, staring down the massive snake as it slowly began to recoil and shrink.

“I am watching,” it said in his mind, the warning imminent. Lazarus nodded as the thing began to slink back into her, leaving her fevered skin bare to the elements. She’d gone from shivering to catatonic that first day, where she stayed for another one, but then the fever hit…

Three days and they hadn’t been able to make it back down the mountain. She’d fallen ill in that time, and while he was certain her body had retained its magic, he wasn’t certain her body would survive whatever illness plagued her now if he pulled her from the fire for too long.

So, they waited, but Lazarus knew they were running out of time. What food and water he did bring was growing scarce after so many days. He’d filled his flask at the spring but only made it a quarter of the way down before having to stop.

He smoothed a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling deeply. A moment or two was all he allowed himself before attempting to make her drink water. He’d had varying success the past three days, but this was the first time she’d woken with any sort of clarity. He had to hope that meant the fever was coming to an end, for both their sakes.

Her lips parted as he lifted her front half and settled her against his thighs. A sigh escaped her as he unscrewed the flask and placed it to her lips. Slowly, he tilted it, allowing the smallest trickle of water to flow between her lips. Quinn moaned, swallowing before she began to guzzle more.

Lazarus sighed. He would never believe that relief was what lessened the tension in his shoulders as Quinn’s fingers came up and closed around the flask as she downed the rest of their remaining water.

He wouldn’t admit to the worry that gripped him. He wiped her sweat slicked skin and dressed her in the only clean clothes she had. Like it or not, they had to make it back down this mountain today. She needed proper nutrition and real rest to overcome the last of the effects of the spring, and he needed to talk with Thorne about what had transpired.

Pulling the clean burlap shirt over her bare stomach, his knuckles tightened as he pulled away. Quinn was unquestionably a woman, one that he’d been taking more and more of an interest in whether he wanted to or not—and it wasn’t because of her body, though he had noticed her slight curves and pale skin more than he wanted to admit during the past three days. She was sick, and the Quinn that intrigued him was not an unconscious woman without bite.

Turning away, he dressed himself, strapping on both their weapons before hauling her into his arms, cloak still tight around her shoulders. A few kicks of dirt smothered the remaining fire and then they set out.

Lazarus carried her, one arm wrapped tight around her back and the other under her knees as he started down