to keep them. Before he learned that there were ways to perfect their imperfections.
In the portrait, he and his brother stood. Their scars nearly matched, but it was only Nero’s left eye that was blind. Shoulder to shoulder, Lazarus was half a foot taller. His expression as menacing as it had ever been before he left. They both wore the purple and gold of Triene, but it was Nero who wore the crown. Nero, whose guiding hand rested on his little brother’s shoulder. Nero that was the master to the monster.
They would get back to that.
When the game was won and his brother had nothing and no one, he would return to him. And Nero would welcome him with open arms.
The musician slipped.
Exhaustion had finally caught up and his posture had fallen, merely an inch, but an inch was all it took and the guide of the bow over strings was a single octave too high.
That note resonated. Thrumming in the air as the musician stopped playing.
He knew the rules, after all.
When the emperor invited you to play, you couldn’t say no.
You couldn’t fumble.
Because if you did . . . the emperor did love collecting things.
Nero picked up his teacup again and smiled into the hot liquid.
Then he brought it down upon the table. The cup broke, half of it fracturing and falling away, leaving behind jagged edges.
Nero stood from the gold-lined table. His bad leg locking in place. He leaned forward, and a scuffle drew his attention. The musician was trying to run.
Using his good foot, he kicked back the chair, and it blocked the path just long enough for him to turn and swing. The razor-sharp edges of the cup broke the flesh of the man’s neck. His lifeblood poured down his white linen shirt that had been otherwise soaked with sweat. His thin lips opened and closed as he began to drown in his own blood. The gurgling sound was sweet music to Nero’s ears.
“Will this be enough blood for the incantation?” Nero asked.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the apothecary said. Neither he nor the vassal had moved.
“Then do it and bring me his body when you’re done. I have plans for this one.”
Chapter 19
Cheap Thrills
“Death is only an adventure if you choose to live. Without purpose, existence is also meaningless.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, walker of realms, in desperate need of a bath
Quinn groaned in delight.
Her head fell back against the rock ledge as the hot water of the springs eased the tension in her muscles. While she might not need food or water or even sleep like the rest of them, a hot bath was always something to cherish. Her life as a slave had taught her that. Having gone so long without the luxury, to have an endless supply of hot water and a chunk of juniper soap to scrub her skin clean—it was as close to perfection as could be found in the human realm.
The cold from the dark realm never truly left her. While she wasn’t freezing, it was in the hot spring that she felt warm for the first time since coming back. And she reveled in it.
As far as things to revel in, Quinn thought she was doing pretty good.
In the time since she had returned, she’d already tortured a few men, burned a city down, destroyed a good portion of the Trienian armada, saved six N’skari children, and had a hot bath. It was the bath that most excited her. The rest of it were just things that needed to be done.
But she was good at that. Better than most at doing the hard thing. Making the difficult choice. Truth be told, she took a certain pride in that trait even though it was one most people would find horrible. Once upon a time her family had hated her for it. They hated the honesty. The bluntness. The brutal side of her that both Mazzulah and Lazarus seemed to find beautiful. That was one of the things she rather liked about being back. In the dark realm, Quinn was simply allowed to exist, and if she wanted to, wreak havoc. There was no urgency. No real chessboard. She got a little thrill out of playing games with the dark god, but overall, the stakes were low when you were already dead and didn’t have the ability to fear.
But here . . . there were games to be had, even more so with war on the horizon.
The game to end all games,