Twisted is the crown, p.1
Twisted is the Crown, page 1
Twisted is the Crown
Kel Carpenter
Twisted is the Crown
Published by Kel Carpenter
Copyright © 2019, Kel Carpenter LLC
Contributions made by Lucinda Dark
Edited by Analisa Denny
Proofread by Dominique Laura
Cover Art by Trif
Map and Graphic designed by Zenta Brice
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Cold Welcome
2. N’skara
3. A Bitter Reunion
4. The Night is Home
5. Twisted Memories
6. The Dark Inside
7. Visions of Delirium
8. Crumbling Pedestals
9. An Invitation in Propriety
10. A Lesson in Tradition
11. Dinner Party
12. Restless Minds
13. Bastille in the Gateway
14. Unforgiving Waters
15. Mazzulah’s Temple
16. All for Risk
17. A Warning Unheeded
18. Whatever It Takes
19. Bad Memories and Brighter Days
20. Cold Fire Burning
21. Old Souls and Older Stories
22. In the Light of Day
23. Empty
24. Violent Justice
25. In the End
26. Nostalgia’s Price
27. An Oath of Return
28. A New Beginning
About Kel Carpenter
Acknowledgments
To those who don’t let the past define them, and instead create their own future.
These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume
* * *
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI
Cold Welcome
“If those you seek do not answer the door when you come calling, it is unwise to enter without invitation.”
— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister, white raksasa
* * *
A battle cry echoed amidst the fighting.
Quinn frowned when a fifteen-year-old waif of a girl came flying over the deck of the ship. Axe clung to the rope with one hand and brandished her hatchet in the other. Blood splatter covered her youthful face as she swung, dropping slightly as she extended her arm—the blade sliding across an enemy’s throat as she passed. She pumped the fisted weapon in the air, screaming “yahoooooooo” at the top of her lungs.
Quinn shook her head, pressing the notch on her staff for it to extend. The hidden compartment slid out, just as someone approached from behind. A hulking shadow loomed over her. She pivoted—swinging the blunt end up.
A masculine hand clamped down on the end as if anticipating her move.
“Myori’s wrath,” he cursed, stepping out of the shadows. Quinn quirked an eyebrow as Draeven said, “Watch what you’re doing with that thing.” Quinn rolled her eyes, swinging it back around to hit someone behind her without turning.
There was a grunt before a thump hit the deck.
“You were saying?” she replied, examining the newly pointed end of her staff, now gleaming with some fool’s blood. She rather liked the look.
“Yeah, yeah—duck!” he shouted. She dropped to her knees just as his sword came from the side, cutting directly where her neck had just been. Another thump followed and Quinn grimaced.
“They’re not going to stop,” she yelled up to him as the fighting continued. Silver-haired men and women had descended upon their ship with an intent to kill, but they hadn’t predicted the group that awaited them. She and Draeven worked in tandem cutting down soldiers. For everyone they managed to put down, another two took their place on deck. Axe swung back and forth, single-handedly decapitating the N’skari left and right. Quinn knew she was good with the hatchets, but she had to give it to her; Axe was better at protecting herself in a real fight than Quinn thought she would be. Still, the crew they’d brought was quickly dwindling and neither Lazarus, nor Vaughn or Dominicus were anywhere to be found.
“I don’t understand why they’re attacking us to begin with,” Draeven shouted back, over the wind. She came and spun around, her attention sliding to the group of ships that surrounded them.
“Because Lazarus is an idiot,” she muttered to herself. She glanced back at Draeven and the expression he was giving her said he heard it.
“What are you—” He broke off, side-stepping halfway around her to stab some other N’skari that had foolishly approached them with little to no stealth. The ship rocked harder, swaying dangerously in the icy waters, making it difficult to balance as the waves churned unnaturally fierce for the clear skies.
Quinn narrowed her gaze on the horizon. Could it be . . .
“He sent a letter, but he never got a reply. The N’skari are attacking because we haven’t been invited,” she told him as water splashed the deck from the rough seas below.
“What?” he bellowed back, spinning her around so that her back touched his. “You’ve got to be—”
“Kidding?” she offered helpfully, twirling the staff to conk one person on the head and break another’s neck with a hard blow. “We’re under attack and surrounded from all sides. Do you have a better explanation?”
The only response she got was a growl. Bodies dropped around them as they slowly made their way toward the helm. Quinn peered over the side at the ship directly to their right. On the edge of the dock two women stood, their hands moving in carefully calculated movements. The blue light they gave off was undeniable.
Water weavers.
“Potes,” she cursed. “Draeven, they’re going to put us under. We need to find—” Her words broke off as she stared down the length of the ship. Lazarus stood there among the chaos, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, the dark swirls of his tattoos branded into his skin—beneath his flesh—becoming visible. Their gazes clashed, and in his expression she saw that he knew what the consequences of his impending actions would have.
Any chance of an alliance was already scarce, if he revealed what he was . . . Quinn shook her head and Lazarus stilled, paying more attention to her than to two approaching behind him. She made a snap decision.
“Quinn, what are you—” Draeven started, struggling to keep the horde at bay from taking command of the ship.
“Grab the helm,” she told him.
“What? I’m a little busy—”
“I said grab the godsdamned helm!” she shouted, and in a quieter voice, she added, “I’m going to try something.” Draeven dove out of the way to catch the spinning wood. He stopped it at the same moment she pivoted and pointed.
A wave of fear erupted from her veins, blasting through the line of attackers trying to make their way toward her. Screams echoed into the early morning as the sun started to rise. Quinn didn’t block the light because she wanted them to see. All of them.
The group she’d attacked dropped to the floor, their gazes unfocused, their bodies frozen in a catatonic state. It bought Quinn time to do the only thing she thought might be able to stop this before it was too late.
She lifted her staff in the air and shouted in N’skaran, “Silence!”
The soldiers on deck stilled. All heads twisted in her direction as Quinn grabbed onto their fear and held them fast. Even if they wanted to move, they wouldn’t be able to.
“Who are you—” One of the men started in N’skaran.
“Quinn?” a woman called out in their language. “Quinn Darkova?” Several heads turned, including her own comrades. Quinn glanced down at her face, recalling a girl not much older than herself at the time. A girl born to a lower family and without any magical talent of her own. Quinn searched her memories for a name and murmured, “Isa LaFeirnn?”
The woman didn’t smile, but a small amount of tension drained away. “It is you. We were told you’d been taken by slave traders. Your parents have been searching—”
“I’ve returned,” she answered, cutting her off. “These people brought me back.” She motioned to Draeven, who was half-collapsed on the helm—then to Axe, who teetered on the edge of the railing, still gripping the rope in one hand. Her eyes were narrowed, shooting back and forth over all her potential targets. Lazarus stood with the guards behind him rooted to the ground by her own power. She didn’t know where Vaughn or Dominicus were, but she hoped they’d made it their job to protect Lorraine.
The untrusting N’skari surveyed the area as they considered her words. Quinn remembered Isa being a kind girl. One that stood up for what was right, even if she was beaten into submission for it e very time. She tried to walk the path true to the lighter gods. Quinn wondered if that was still the case. “If that is true, then we should welcome them for bringing you home.”
“LaFeirnn.” It was a single command, and Isa lowered her head in submission. Quinn grit her teeth because this voice was in her memory, too, and she didn’t miss it. One of the men stepped forward. His long hair had been pulled back, and while over a decade had passed, Quinn recognized the thin, reedy-faced boy who had grown into a man that would make his family proud. The breath hissed between her teeth as he said, “Even if this is indeed the Darkova’s missing child, how do we know it is the light that has guided her home?”
“I believe,” Quinn started, “that while much time has gone by, it hasn’t been long enough for N’skara to have changed so drastically.” He frowned at her words and Quinn strode forward, stepping over the fallen soldiers on her way down the stairs. “My return would be a matter for the Council to discuss, as I am highborn by birthright.” A murmur trickled over the deck, and in a voice only a shade lower, Quinn added, “If my parents have been searching for me, I am certain they would have prayed to Ramiel for justice. Now here I am, in the flesh, returned to them after all these years.” Quinn shook her head, biting back the wicked grin threatening to break through. “If that’s not the work of a god, I don’t know what is, Edward.”
“Yes, well,” he paused, swallowing down whatever bitter words he knew he could not deliver. His eyes locked on hers and she met the coldness in kind. “It would seem that your return would be a miracle indeed if a god of the light has brought you here.”
“Yes,” she answered through a serpentine smile. “It would.”
He shivered.
Quinn hadn’t missed his underlying jabs. The prick was also higher born, but not so high as her. Even after ten years she outranked him in power, and he clearly despised it.
“If your desire is to return home, then we should take you ourselves and leave these” —he scrunched his nose in distaste— “people here.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “You’ve attacked their ship and killed half the crew manning it. I’m doubtful that neither Ramiel nor the goddess Telerah would show favor on that.” She quirked an eyebrow and the glower he gave her could have burned holes through her skin were he capable of any real power. As it stood, she knew Edward to be a passion cleaver of little talent. While a strong one could have ripped away one’s emotions or sense of self even, he would be capable of little more than dulling any particular feeling. Unlike the water weavers currently on standby to sink this ship should she let them take her and leave it. That wasn’t an option.
“Ramiel would also understand that we attacked because an unknown vessel sailed into our territory. We had no idea if they intended harm,” he replied icily.
“Perhaps.” She nodded slowly. “But then I don’t make assumptions for what the gods do or don’t believe. It would be unwise, should you assume wrong that is.” She peered at the sky, holding for a moment before slowly letting her attention drift back to him. A dark gleam entered his gaze and a vicious thrill filled her. She did so love to play with her prey before she killed it.
“Very well,” he answered after a moment. “If you wish to be given safe passage into Liph, I can arrange that. Your future, and theirs, will be in the hands of the Council once we reach the shores. I’m sure your parents will be anxious to see you after all this time.”
“I’m sure they will,” she agreed.
Very anxious, indeed.
N’skara
“Nothing is ever so simple as it seems. For it is the things left unspoken, unsaid, that illuminate the truth and its secrets.”
— Lazarus Fierté, soul eater, heir to Norcasta, observant warlord
* * *
As fast as it had started, the fighting stopped.
Lazarus wasn’t quite sure what to think of it. The way she cut men down and then spoke in that strange, terrible language as if she were one of them. He shook his head, his eyes raking down her form. While she might appear similar to them and talk like them, inside she was not like these people.
She was dark and twisted and cruel.
She was saevyana, whether he wanted her to be or not.
And right now, she was saving him his only chance at an alliance.
He’d been so close to removing his shirt and letting the N’skari suffer their fate. The ships around them would yield to the creatures beneath his skin, if he so willed it. But the people . . . they would not give him what he wanted if he forced it. No, an alliance would be out of the question as soon as he let his beasts loose upon the world. It wasn’t his first choice, and if Quinn hadn’t interceded, it would have been his only if he wanted them to make it out alive.
Lazarus glanced over. She spoke to the young male who’d defied her flippantly, condescension clearly coloring her voice, even if he didn’t understand the words. The boy seemed to consider something, a darker shade entering his demeanor. Lazarus was only a second from stepping forward when he spoke. She smiled back, and it was all teeth.
The boy rounded and yelled something out to the ships beyond. The response that came back was again one that he couldn’t understand. The silver-haired, pale-skinned people that had attacked now jumped from the deck. The N’skari entered the frigid waters without a thought or care, and moments later, all that remained was the boy and the girl that had spoken Quinn’s name.
Her full name; the one he’d never heard before.
“Quinn,” he said quietly. “A word?”
She stepped aside, murmuring something to the two in that language he didn’t comprehend. Lazarus clenched his fists but didn’t say anything to hurry her as he walked below deck. Dead bodies littered the planks, and fortunately for him, most of them weren’t that of his crew.
He didn’t hear her as she walked down the steps, following behind him, but he scented damp petals and fresh snow. Her soul was a lovely beacon of darkness amongst the light. It called to him, and he pivoted as she approached.
“Explain what’s happening.”
She quirked an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the wooden wall. “You didn’t listen to me and we were attacked for your misstep,” she started, and he let out a growl.
“Right now, Quinn. I’m not a patient man, nor do I need to be scolded—”
She laughed derisively, the sound stopping him cold. “That’s where you’re wrong. What you did was stupid. Foolish. You like to scold me for recklessness but were I not a native, this would have ended poorly. You owe me for this, Lazarus.”
He stood there, stunned by the frigidness in her voice.
“You are my v—”
“Vassal,” she inserted. “Yes, I’m well aware of the terms of our contract. You dragged me over half the continent, blind to your plans, and now we’re here—in a land where you don’t know the language, you don’t know the people, and I’d be shocked if you knew much about N’skara at all given your foolish attempt at an alliance.” She raised both eyebrows, and the muscle in his jaw twitched.
He’d plucked her from the hovel she called a home and gave her a purpose; freedom beyond measure. He paid her well and he overlooked her violent outbursts. He gave her more than any other vassal in her place, because she was the key to everything. His kingdom. His crown.
Had he stolen her from her life? Yes. Had he manipulated and at times lied? Yes.
But he had a reason that outweighed anything.
It mattered more than any of her faults.
But she could also be his destruction. The end to it all—should she not fall in line. He’d told himself that it would take time. That he would earn her loyalty. Her trust. Her respect.
