Quinn?”
She held Lazarus’ stare as she said, “Dreamwalk.”
“Come again?” Draeven said, his eyebrows drawing together in her periphery.
“What she does in the dreamstate happens in the living realm,” Lorraine said, picking it up faster. “She plans to assassinate the emperor in his sleep.”
Quinn inclined her head.
“No,” Lazarus growled.
“It’s not your decision to make,” Quinn replied.
“Not that it matters what I think here, but I feel like this plan is rash. Borderline insane,” Draeven said.
“Exactly,” Lazarus started, but Draeven continued, cutting him off.
“However, I also think it’s the best shot we have and the only thing that might work.”
Lazarus scowled at his left-hand, who shrugged and then winced at the movement. Quinn frowned, only then noticing the bandages around his right shoulder and chest.
“I agree,” Dominicus said. He sat stiffly in his chair, staring at the map in the center of the table.
“And you?” Lazarus said to Lorraine. “Are you going to convince her to do something that might kill her for good this time as well?”
The stewardess gave Lazarus a steady look, and said, “It doesn’t matter what I think. She’s already made up her mind for herself.”
Quinn’s lips curled slightly at the corners. Lazarus’ scowl deepened.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“You don’t have to,” Quinn replied. “There’s a reason you picked me for your right-hand. I do what needs to be done. What no one else can or will do.”
“You’re not my hand anymore,” Lazarus told her. His voice was like gravel. Deep and dark. Her blood heated a fraction.
“No,” Quinn said with a wicked grin. “I’m not. Which means there’s no contract that will let you stop me from doing this.”
The look he gave her was nothing short of menacing, but Quinn wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t.
“We’ll see about that.”
Chapter 42
Ramiel’s Gift
“We all have good and evil inside of us, but to give either too much power is just another form of slavery.”
— Quinn Darkova, fear twister, walker of realms, willful assassin
Quinn had barely settled into her bath when Lazarus joined her. He cleaned her skin and then took her twice before pulling her from the tub. That was when the knock came.
The carriages were ready. They were departing for Dumas immediately.
Quinn narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue it.
She knew the game he played at. Lazarus couldn’t physically stop her, so he was going to distract her from entering the dream state as long as possible. He should have known it wouldn’t work. Nothing and no one could stop Quinn when she set her mind to something.
Not the gods. Not death. Certainly, not a man.
But she played along, for now.
They sat opposite of each other in the carriage. It would take a full day minimum for them to reach the city walls. With nowhere to go and nothing but road, she smiled into the dark carriage as he started to drift.
Lazarus, for all his intelligence, either didn’t consider that he’d eventually need to sleep or simply chose to ignore that he was inevitably putting her off but unable to stop her. Either way, Quinn waited as Leviathan’s eye moved across the night sky. Lazarus’ eyes grew hooded and then closed. She gave it a few more minutes, letting him fall deeper before she leaned back against the shuddering windowpane. She turned to the side and kicked her feet up on top of the low bench and crossed her arms over her chest.
Slipping into the dream realm was as easy as cutting a string. She didn’t so much as feel her body leave the physical realm, but instead felt the sleeping minds of hundreds, thousands, pulling her in different directions. Without Lazarus and his own connection to Nero, she might have found it impossible to actually pull this off. Finding one sleeping mind among many was difficult, but she knew enough to let herself be tugged further away from the carriage. She drifted through the remainders of their army. Most of the Maji had gone, and none carried in them the distinct tint of darkness that she sought. She drifted further, traveling to the very edge of the country where she felt the pull strongest.
There were so many sleeping souls.
So many Maji.
Quinn had to steel herself as she started to walk through them, one by one, drifting through their dreams like a wraith did the land. Most of them were either dreamless or nightmares. Very few had good dreams, and even then, good was subjective. She passed by them with little more than a thought, drawing closer to the