Twisted is the Crown (Dark Maji Book 3) by Kel Carpenter & Lucinda Dark

Author:Kel Carpenter & Lucinda Dark [Carpenter, Kel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-29T18:30:00+00:00

All for Risk

“Sometimes blessings come in unlikely forms. The gods amuse themselves that way.”

— Quinn Darkova, vassal of House Fierté, fear twister, white raksasa, second daughter of the Darkova Household, repeated murderess

Cold, clammy fingers clenched around Quinn’s shoulders as she hefted Risk up closer to her chest. Without the information she’d gleaned from Edward or the dreams that had plagued her, Quinn knew she would have never found her sister. The accommodations she and the others had been given was as far away as possible from where Risk had been, without them being removed from the capital altogether.

Risk’s soft pants echoed in her ear as Quinn paused at a bend, glancing around the corner to ensure the streets were still empty. Thankfully, they were. Pushing off from the building, Quinn hurried across the pathway and down the next alley.

“Quinn . . .” Risk’s voice was weak, in pain.

“We’re almost there,” Quinn promised.

And they were. As soon as she cleared the next street, the house they were staying at came into view. She sped up toward it, keeping Risk’s body as close to her own as possible, hoping to alleviate any jostling movement that might cause her further pain or harm. Quinn pulled up short on the back porch, but before she could ask, Risk reached over and unlatched the door.

Shooting her sister a quick look of thanks, Quinn shoved the door open with her booted foot, moved inside, and closed it with a kick. She rushed up the stairs, noting that the first floor was empty, but the sound of voices echoing from somewhere else in the house told her that at least a few of the others were still awake. Quinn didn’t pause, but went immediately to her own chamber—she and Risk performing the same routine until they were securely inside the safety of the room.

Setting Risk down gently on her feet, Quinn reached for the ties on the cloak. Risk jerked sharply, shying away from the touch, and Quinn froze, cursing herself internally. Before her sister could apologize needlessly again, Quinn shook her head and nudged her with a light gesture toward the single bed against the wall.

“Can you make it to the bed on your own?” Quinn asked. “Or—”

“Yes,” Risk interrupted, shuffling forward on her bare feet. “I can make it.” And then, in a much quieter, but firmer voice, she whispered, “I will make it.”

Quinn stepped back and stood sentry as she moved across the floor, her feet sliding against the wood until she found the edge of the bed, turned and collapsed upon it. Once seated, Quinn went around the room, reaching for the water basin in the corner and pouring the once heated—now cold—water from the jug next to it into the bowl. Grabbing up the square cloth hanging over the side, Quinn dropped it into the water and turned, carrying the whole of it back across the room until she was at Risk’s side.

Quinn went to her knees before the parted folds of the cloak that still hung on Risk’s shoulders down to her calves.

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