Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

Beneath my palms, the wolf tattoo emblazoned across his pecs came to life. The ink flowed beneath his skin, crossing from him to...to...sinners, it flowed along my fingertips, spreading over my skin, flowing just like his smoke over the backs of my hands. A delicate little bird took shape on the inside of my right forearm. It stretched its wings and took flight, its tiny body flitting over my stomach as its wings beat a thousand times a minute.

“Magnificent,” Fisher rasped.

voice. “Gods and fucking martyrs. Holy fucking shit. That’s right. Come. Show me how pretty you are when you fall apart.”

“Apologies, my lady. I came because I heard a disturbance in Master Fisher’s rooms. When I arrived here, I found Onyx whining at the door, and I decided to wait until...well, until you were finished to see if you needed anything. Intimate relations can be very strenuous.”

“Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.”

“But you don’t need blood to survive?” “No, we don’t.” “Then why would they do it?” “Because...” He cast another wary look around, shifting awkwardly in his seat. “It’s a sex thing. If a male drinks from someone, it’ll make his dick harder than it’s ever been in his life. It makes you euphoric. Both of you. While you’re fucking.” “Oh.”

Fisher laughed. Really laughed. The sound was rich and deep, and made something inside me sit up straight. When I’d picked up a pitcher at the Winter Palace and filled a glass for myself for the first time, I’d thought the sound of that rushing, free water would be my favorite sound until the day I died. I was wrong. The sound of Fisher’s genuine laughter was rarer than water had ever been back in Zilvaren; it almost brought tears to my eyes to hear it.

I wanted him. More than I wanted to go home. Gods and martyrs, what kind of sister did that make me? Hayden needed me. Elroy did, too. But in the moment, with the smell of him drowning out the entire fucking world and robbing me of all common sense, I wasn’t capable of feeling bad about that.

Take me. Own me.

Fuck me with your fingers. Choke me. Hold me down and ride me until I scream.

I’ll make you beg, Little Osha. I’ll fill every one of those pretty little holes. I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll never want another male ever again.

Gods, he was so fucking deep. I... Every warrior in Innìr will smell me on you, Fisher’s voice rumbled in my mind. I’m going to make you hoarse from screaming my fucking name. I’m going to mark you in every way imaginable, so that everyone knows you’re fucking mine.

Bite me, Fisher. It came as a breathless thought. I can’t... Bite me. Do it. I want it! I can’t! BITE ME!

And then the world ended. Existence blinked out into a blank void. The stars tumbled from the heavens, and hell rose up to meet them. Everything and nothing, here and gone. It was every ecstatic moment I’d ever experienced, condensed and multiplied one millionfold.

“How long have you known I was here?” He smiled sadly. “I always know where you are, Little Osha.” Opening his eyes, he turned and looked at me. The smile developed a dangerous edge to it when he took me in.

“Is this the kind of thing you imagine me wearing often?” “When I imagine you, Little Osha, you’re very rarely wearing clothes.”

I glared at him, my annoyance levels rising fast. Not Carrion Swift. He would not be the reason why I figured out how to accomplish this task. He’d never let me live it down. It was infuriating that I hadn’t considered this for myself, though.

“Ask away.” “Have you got any experience of whittling? Y’know, carving things out of wood?” “As it happens, I have.” “Be more specific with your questioning, Sunshine. He probably whittles every spare moment of his life. He probably wins whittling competitions.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not trying to beat him in a bet, Carrion. I want him to be good at it.” Lorreth’s booming laughter rang out into the encroaching night. “In that case, then yes. I’m more than good. I’m fucking excellent.”

Lorreth brought in the wolf’s head he’d carved out of a piece of yew at around one in the morning. It was an impressive piece, highly detailed, its proportions perfect. Just as I had hoped it would, the snarling beast bore a striking resemblance to Fisher’s tattoo, as well as the animal embossed into the armor worn by the members of the Lupo Proelia.

By righteous hands, deliverance of the unrighteous dead.

“Incredible,” Fisher said breathlessly. His eyes found mine, and they shone with amazement. “Can I hold it?” Lorreth asked hopefully. “Go ahead.” He lifted it, eyes lit with reverence. Inexplicably, my throat closed up at the sight of him holding the weapon. He ran his finger along its edge, barely touching his fingertips to the steel before hissing, pulling his hand back again. “Gods, you only need to look at the damned thing and it cuts.” He popped his index finger into his mouth, sucking on it. For the first time since we left the map room, the quicksilver spoke, and its voice was no longer fractured. It was one voice, strong and clear. It is time. Give us our song.

Lorreth’s eyes shone brightly as he watched the green dancing lights shift to reds and pinks, undulating in waves in a broad band across the horizon. The warrior was on the verge of tears, and I had to admit, I was pretty close myself.

To all those who’ll listen or haven’t been told, of the day the last drake woke and rose from the cold. Of the young warrior who came veiled in shadows and blood to defeat the foul creature and save those he could. Of the Fisher King, and the wolves at his back, who came howling in the night, together, a pack. The frost blessed the morning. The warriors faced their fate. And thus begins our tale, The Ballad of Ajun Gate.

The drake, he did stir, Old Omnamshacry observing the world through ink-black, mad eyes. The drinkers of night pledged him death and decay. That he’d feast on his foes and the flesh he did flay. So long as he rose and he joined them in war, against the Fae who protected the sacred, blessed ore. With glittering sharp scales of gold and of red, the drake, he consented, and bidden, he fed. The Fae in their towers stood mighty. Stood proud. But soon they were scattered, their fear shouted loud. Dark wings shaded mountain and blotted the sun. And mad old ’Shacry, he watched them all run. The wolves scaled the summit with blades in their hands. The drake saw them coming, and knew where they’d stand So there he did meet them, and there they did clash. And Old Mad ’Shacry dressed the mountain in ash. His fire ran in rivers. It melted the snow. There was no escaping the glowing hot flow. With teeth bared and dripping, the drake trapped the Fae, laughing with cruelty above the warriors he’d slay. But the wolves held their ground, all dauntless and brave, determined to send Old ’Shacry to his grave. Swift came the chant, then, so all close could hear. A war cry of old that strengthened those near. The wolves ran the charge and at the head of the swell came the proud Fisher King bearing Nimerelle. The drake saw his courage and was filled with a rage the likes of which unseen in more than an age. But the king held his nerve and raised up his sword, and the wolves showed...

Not Danya’s sword, the quicksilver hissed. We are reforged. New unto this place. You do not claim us, Lorreth of the Broken Spires. We claim you.

Resolve settled over the warrior’s features. His hesitancy still shone through, but he placed both hands on the hilt and raised the blade aloft, speaking in a clear, loud voice. “I name you Avisiéth. The Unsung Song. Redemption’s Dawn.” The moment he finished speaking, a blue flame rippled down the sword’s blade, searing runes into the metal in its wake alongside the script I had etched there. And then a brilliant white light erupted from Avisiéth. Blinding and powerful, it shot straight up into the air—a pillar of energy that transformed night into day. The very ground beneath our feet quaked. Fisher let out a surprising whoop, joy shining from his face as he followed the column of energy upward into the heavens. “Angel’s breath, brother!” he hollered. “Fucking angel’s breath!”

“Then swear, Little Osha, and I’ll trust you.” A wave of hot emotion knifed me in the center of my chest. This was the kind of male I wanted to be with. “I swear it.”

“Be unrelenting and unmerciful in the face of the wicked dead,” Fisher said. Ren laid a steadying hand on my shoulder. “And if you should find soul sundered from flesh, order a drink for us at the first tavern you come across in the afterlife. We’ll settle the tab when we get there.”

Why not do it now?” “We’re bound by the rules of war,” Fisher said. “We can’t use magic to attack or affect an enemy until that enemy has breached our border. And anyway, our magic doesn’t work on Sanasrothian soil. Fae magic needs light and life to survive. And there’s nothing on their side of the river but death, darkness, and decay. Our lands are divided directly down the centerline of the Darn. But the second these fuckers cross over...”

“Don’t you dare die on my watch, Saeris Fane! Fisher will never forgive me if his sole reason for living is torn to pieces on her first fucking battlefield.”

He just stared at me, a sea of green and silver locked onto my face, the muscles in his throat working. To be the subject of such intense focus was disconcerting at first, but I’d gotten used to it over the past hour and had resorted to staring back at him, nudging him inside my head, trying to cajole him into saying something. Come on. Talk to me. Tell me something. Anything, I said silently. You can’t just shut down. But still not a word. Clearly, he thought sinking into a catatonic state was a perfectly acceptable coping mechanism in light of the situation.

“Why is Malcolm’s bite so different from the other vampires?” I demanded, glowering at Ren, daring him to try and brush off the question. Thankfully, he answered. “Malcolm was the first to be affected by the blood curse. The very first. When Rurik Daianthus, the last Yvelian king, discovered the cure, Malcolm was one of the few who chose to remain vampires. Over the centuries, the others who had accepted their curse were systematically killed off until only Malcolm remained. There were whispers that Malcolm ingested their power somehow. He is millennia old, undying, never aging. Every year he survives, he grows in strength and capability. His venom is potent beyond imagination. When one of his lords bites a victim, they can drink and sate their thirst without killing. If they bite the same human a number of times, eventually they become enthralled—”

“You can’t be serious, Fisher. We all know you’ve fucked her. The whole camp can smell it on the two of you. But she’s a human—” “And?” Ren dumped everything he was carrying down onto the ground with a snarl. “She’s honorable and brave, not to mention the most powerful Alchemist ever documented. She disarmed you in half a fucking second if you recall. Who the fuck are you to say she and Fisher don’t belong together?”

Fisher reached for me. I lifted my hand, just enough so that he could hook the tip of his index finger around mine for a second.

“Did you hear that?” he said. “What?” “That smoking hot blonde said I was pretty.” “Gods alive, Carrion. Do not tell me you have a thing for Danya. She’s fucking awful.” “Eh.” He shot me a rakish grin. “I love a girl with a sharp tongue and a bad attitude. Kinda makes my dick hard.”

That’s what Oshellith means in Old Fae, Saeris. Most Sacred.”

MY HEART

“That female is feral,” Lorreth growled. “Next time she tries to hit me, I’m gonna put her over my knee and spank her. And not in a fun way.

“Everyone, this is Iseabail.” Fisher pronounced it Ee-sha-bhal, the name flowing nicely off his tongue, like he’d known twenty other females with the same name. “She’s the granddaughter of the Balquhidder High Witch, Malina.

“You really think I’m going to let you sleep out here again?” he asked. “I didn’t know if you’d want me in your bed,” I told him. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t spend another night without each other again.”

Gods, I wanted him. I wanted all of him. My soul was on fire, and I didn’t care if I burned for all eternity. So long as I was burning with him, then so be it.

“When I get you out of these clothes, you’re in trouble,” he snarled in my head. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able sit down for a week.”

badly that I could have screamed. God-bound. We were God-bound. Mates.

Your scent drives me crazy, Fisher rumbled. You’re like a fucking drug. You light me up.

“Nobody will ever fuck you the way I’m about to fuck you, Saeris Fane. I’m about to introduce you to all seven gods. When you meet them, don’t forget to tell them I’m the one you worship on your knees.”

“I thought you were hiding these from me,” I said. “Maybe I was. But I’ll be damned all the way to hell and back if you use that sweet mouth on me and I don’t get to watch.” He gazed at the ink staining my skin, taking it all in. When his eyes met mine again, they were full of fire.

“Gods alive, you’re so pretty with your mouth wrapped around me like that.” Fisher traced the line of my cheek, my jawbone, then rubbed the pad of his thumb over my lips, stretched around him. He sucked his own bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it as he growled possessively. “My lips to kiss. My mouth to fuck.”

“That was just the beginning, Saeris.” He bumped my nose with the end of his. “Didn’t think I’d be done with you that easily, did you?”

I wished I could sketch him, so I could save the sight of him like this forever. Unlike his mother, I was no artist, though. And sometimes, that’s just how things were supposed to be. There were moments that were gifts, meant to be cherished only for as long as you could remember them. Luckily for me, I had an excellent memory.

he slowly stroked his fingers through my hair and spoke again. “I’ll be grateful for every second that I can say that I belong to you, Saeris Fane. Eighty years or eighteen hours. It doesn’t matter to me. It’ll still be the highest honor of my life.

“I’m in love with you, Saeris Fane,” he whispered quietly into my hair. “And I’m already half-mad, anyway. What’s a little complicated thrown into the mix?”