the slightest. She’s using the field of vision,” Draeven said. His second-in-command crossed his arms and leaned forward, squinting. “But I can’t see her magic.”
Interesting, Lazarus thought. He could see the wispy strands of fear and ashen footsteps she left in her wake, but no field. He had assumed that meant she either wasn’t using it or had already placed it, but Draeven couldn’t see anything.
That made him wonder. Was it possible she…? No. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought.
But her control, he couldn’t deny, had improved tenfold.
Vaughn advanced on her and she moved with steady limbs as she stepped one foot back and thrust the staff forward. The boy caught it between two hands, just a breath before it slammed into his face. They stood at an impasse, but not for long. Quinn twisted to the side, keeping a firm hold on the staff as she moved to kick him in the chest. Vaughn saw it coming this time and released one hand on his end of the staff to catch her boot, holding her there. He forced her off her footing, causing her to lose her balance as he pushed her back.
Somehow, the warrior either didn’t see or didn’t think about the cruel twist of her lips and the way she smirked as she fell. Her back hit the ground hard, but Quinn didn’t crumble. Vaughn still held her foot, and she used that to rock him forward, attempting to either force him down towards her or to throw him over her head.
The warrior was smart enough to let go, but not before he lost balance and control of the staff. She swept her other leg under him, and he went crashing onto the ground beside her. She rolled, bringing the staff back up as she straddled his prone form—and then widened her grip to bring it down on his throat—holding it there to block his airway.
Vaughn rasped something between his lips that sounded suspiciously like, “mercy—my she-wolf.” Quinn smiled, sitting back and lifting the rod away. She laid it to one side of her and pulled the blindfold from her eyes. Those crystalline gems glimmered with amusement and the thrill of the fight.
“You alright there, Laz?” Draeven asked lightly. Lazarus turned his eyes away from Quinn and towards his best friend who watched him with delight.
“I’m fine.”
“Mhmmm.” His second nodded, though from his tone it was obvious he didn’t believe it. Draeven looked him up and down, from the incline of his neck to the taut muscles of his arms, and finally the white-knuckled grip of his fists. “I hate to tell you this, but you brought this on yourself. Quinn isn’t like your little passing fancies. You brought her with you, intending to make her a weapon—and while she might be one—she’s different. You see her differently.”
“Draeven, I am not in the mood for your—”
“I’m well aware,” his second replied with an edge to his voice. “She woke up in a fragile state and you pushed her—right to him—so whatever you do, don’t kill the boy. Not only will Thorne be pissed, but even worse, she will be too.” Lazarus gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his mouth shut. Quinn hadn’t been the only one stewing in her thoughts as they traversed the expansive region of the Cisean mountains down into Ilvas—but Draeven, unlike her, had the control for when and where to choose his battles. “If you kill him, I am not cleaning up the mess. You get to deal with her if she loses her shit and sends the basilisk after someone.”
Lazarus sighed. “I’m not going to kill him.”
“Good,” Draeven said, “because I haven’t seen you like this before, and when you’re unpredictable, people tend to die.” They held eye contact for a stretch of a moment before Lazarus nodded and Draeven turned his head back to the session. The tension between them dissipated as Quinn climbed off Vaughn and reached for the blindfold that now dangled around her neck, pulling it back up.
“Again,” she commanded the Cisean and the boy fell in line.
He and Draeven stood there as the sun dipped low, disappearing under the horizon. When the sky turned from cerulean to gray, and to the midnight blue with only Leviathan’s eye for light, Quinn finally called an end to the training session and started back for camp. The boy— Vaughn—simply stood there and then turned, looking at both Draeven and Lazarus with knowing eyes. He strode forward, his halberd leisurely at