Quinn took a drink from the cup. Crisp water touched her dry throat. She swallowed three times and then clapped the wooden cup back on the table when she was finished.
The man narrowed his gaze.
“Tell me,” she started. “Where have all the highborn gone?”
She had a feeling. An inkling in her gut. Quinn was rarely wrong when it came to these things, but the game . . . playing it was just as important as who won in the end.
His eyes widened, not expecting that question. The moment of shock passed quickly.
“You speak N’skaran well,” he said, instead of answering her. “Draw back your hood.”
Quinn’s lips curved upward. She pushed the hood covering her, but in place of her lavender hair, it appeared silver—the same as all N’skari.
She looked up at him, and again surprise shone in his expression. He covered it faster this time.
“That’s because I am N’skari,” Quinn replied. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Forgive me,” he said, lowering his head once. “Your question is just odd, given the change in times. Surely, you know. There’s no way you couldn’t. Unless . . .”
Wheels were turning in his mind. He looked her over, indecision clouding his judgement. He didn’t understand the fear response he was eliciting by simply being in her presence. Men never did. While subconsciously they sensed what she was, it was hard for them to grasp what and who they were dealing with.
And yet, as that indecision slowly cleared, she could see that he was coming to the same conclusion as the soldiers last night.
“Darkova,” he spat the name.
It appeared that at least this N’skaran was better informed on the specifics of who and what she was. Quinn dropped her illusions and leaned back almost flippantly.
“Such a pity,” she sighed. “I was giving you the easy way out, old man.”
“This is all on you,” the man’s voice rose with his ire. Spittle flying from his thin lips. “You and your lord—you ruined us—you’ve destroyed our culture—”
The soldiers quieted, and Quinn sensed them listening in.
If the night before was anything to go on, they knew enough N’skaran to piece together who she was as well. In truth, she was already tired of her homeland. Quinn came back for multiple reasons, but none of them were these people.
No, the only reason she was still here was her own curiosity.
That and Lazarus. While she was no longer bound by an oath, she chose to serve him in life and held to her vows in death. A foreign country invading a land under his treaty . . . that meant war.
But first, Quinn needed the facts.
She lifted a hand and tendrils of fear shot forward. The old man dropped to his knees as she wormed her way into his mind.
“Now, let’s try this again. Where are all the highborn?”
The soldiers across the room all stood and unsheathed their swords. There were six in total. Quinn smiled.
“South,” the N’skaran called Isiah said. He clutched his head, his short nails digging into the skin. No matter how hard he tried, there was no way to break her hold unless she chose to break it. Or he died.
Every person that had been forced under it before preferred death.
She had that effect on people.
“Where south?” Quinn asked, a hint of announce entering her tone. “Norcasta? Ilvas? The Cisean Mountains—”
“Triene!” he declared, the single word a sobbing cry.
The soldiers crossed the room quickly. Efficient, given the way red tinged the whites of their eyes. Quinn could smell the liquor on them, and they were still feet away.
“Why?” she continued. Without losing her grip on Isiah’s mind, she sent a tendril of power at them. It hit the first square in his chest, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Fear fed on the negativity inside him. Black filled his veins and his eyes darkened.
Quinn was not a passion cleaver. She could not control all emotions on the spectrum.
Only one. But she only needed one.
“Kill them,” she commanded in Trienian—one of the few phrases she’d learned from Lazarus.
The soldier turned on his brothers. It was one against five, but they did not want to kill him, and he was her puppet.
Steel met bone as he beheaded the first who did not raise his sword when he should have.
When the real fighting began, Quinn focused once more on the server at her feet.
“As I was saying, why did the highborn go to Triene?”
“Magic,” Isiah answered through gritted teeth. “Revenge,” he spat.
“Revenge?” she prompted, tightening her hold around his mind. If she had claws, the feeling would have been akin to her running them over his skin.
“The southern lord took everything from us. You took everything from us. The Council pledged its loyalty, and as soon as you were all gone, they ordered us to execute them so that he wouldn’t sense their treason. He wasn’t the only lord looking for allies, though.” He started to laugh, and it had an unhinged, painful sound. “Triene came to us, but we accepted them because of what you did. The emperor needs Maji in his war. The armada needs ports. You and your king crippled us, but we found a new king.”
Quinn wanted to be surprised, but in truth, she should have expected this. The only thing she felt was disappointment in herself for not ensuring Lazarus set stricter binds on the councillors. Then again, no matter how hard you bind a snake, they always find a way free. She’d wiped out half the Council in a night. The other half chose death, and then the people chose revenge.
Perhaps she and her people were not so different after all.
Either way, they made a mistake.
Before she had been questioning if Triene took them by force. Now . . . she knew it was treason.
Which meant that she wouldn’t be returning to her king just yet.
However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t send him a message.
“Stop,” she commanded her soldier.
Quinn didn’t even stand. She simply vanished. Her body entered the spirit realm, turning to black smoke in the mortal one. The strips of fabric fell onto the empty chair and the metal chain around her waist clanged as it slid over the side and hit the ground.
With only a thought, she reappeared in the middle of the four soldiers still standing.
Wisps drifted off her skin, drawn to them.
And just like with the first, they slipped past the armor and beneath the skin, burrowing inside as Neiss burrowed in her.
They staggered, arms jerking at their sides as their bodies tried and failed to fight off her magic.
They wouldn’t have had any hope of surviving her power before she died. Now?
She might not be a god, but she was the closest to one that walked this realm.
When the fear had settled in each of their hearts, they parted for her, obedient soldiers awaiting commands.
“Go back to your ships and gather your brothers,” she said in N’skari. “Bring them to me.”
One by one they turned and walked out the door.
While they were gone, she turned back to the server who was still lost in his own mind where she’d left him—and the young serving girl that stayed huddled behind the bar throughout the entire encounter.
Quinn chose to walk, letting her bare feet slap against the floor as she strode around the side. A girl no more than ten crouched beneath the counter. She wore torn gray robes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in months.