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It was common knowledge in Zilvaren City that to lie to a guardian meant death.
This bastard would shit himself if he realized he had the Saeris Fane in his grasp.
There was no punishment for leaving the Third; no one had ever done it before. Those unlucky enough to find themselves scraping out a living in the dirty back alleys and stinking side streets of my home usually died before they could even think about escape.
If I wanted to live, there was nothing left for it. I’d have to drop the gauntlet. But that was a preposterous thought. The gauntlet weighed at least four pounds. Four pounds of metal. I couldn’t just walk away from that.
A huff of laughter escaped me. “The forgotten gods and all four fucking winds know that I’m not. Not after everything I went through to get it. I nearly broke my damned neck—”
know that struggling to scratch out a life here is better than bleeding out in the fucking sand! Is that what you want? To die in the street in front of Hayden? For your body to rot in the gutter like your mother’s, stinking and picked over by the crows?”
“Yes, I want to die and ruin Hayden’s life. Your life. I want to be made a spectacle of. I want everyone in the ward to know me as the glassmaker’s apprentice who was stupid enough to steal from Madra’s guard and got herself killed for it. That’s exactly what I want!”
Sometimes, objects shook around me. Objects made of iron, tin, or gold.
“If they track me down, they’ll kill me for a slew of other reasons before they kill me for that.”
He huffed. “I’m not asking for you. I’m not asking for me, either. I’m asking for Hayden. He’s not like us yet. The lad still laughs. I only want him to keep that innocence a little longer. And how’s he gonna do that if he watches his sister hang?”
“I’m not beautiful. I’m filthy, and I’m tired, and my voice is full of sarcasm and annoyance, so let’s just get on with this, shall we?”
“I don’t think the girl’s stupid. If anything, I think she’s brave,” I said through gritted teeth. “I think it was more likely that the guardian tried to arrest her, and he dropped his gods-cursed armor in the sand. I think—”
“I don’t want it for myself, idiot. I just want it out of the Third.” He murmured as if he were whispering sweet nothings to me, but his words were laced with venom. “Our people suffer enough without a hundred guardians storming the ward, tearing the place apart and killing anyone who gets in their way. Take it to the warehouse. Take it anywhere. It doesn’t matter where you take it, so long as it’s far away from here. You hear me?”
Do you know much about metalwork, Captain? I do. It’s under the most unbearable conditions that the sharpest, most dangerous weapons are forged. And we are dangerous, Captain. She’s turned us all into weapons. That is why she won’t suffer my people to live.”
“I’m not fond of rumors, Saeris Fane. Rumors are next-door neighbors to gossip, and gossip always breaks bread with lies. It’s just the way these things go.”
“You took something of mine, girl, and I am not in the business of letting theft slide. So, I will take from you. First, your life. Then, I’ll make a column of greasy smoke out of those who matter to you, and when they’re gone, I will tear the Third Ward to the ground. For the next one hundred years, anyone foolish enough to think twice about stealing from me will remember the black day Saeris Fane offended the Zilvaren crown and a hundred thousand people paid the price.”
“Saeris, no! Do not touch the sword. Do not… turn the key!” he panted. “Do not open the gate! You—you’ve no idea the hell you will unleash on this place!”
Of course Death was beautiful. How else would anyone choose to go with him without putting up a fight? Even though he scowled at me, his dark brows tugging together to form a dark, unhappy line, he was still the most savagely beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“If you die before you can give this back, I’m not going to be happy,” he groused.
The Fae were warmongers. Cannibals. Beastly creatures with no temperance, sense of morality, nor any notion of mercy. The eldest Immortals visited their wrath upon the land with an iron fist, leaving a path of chaos and destruction in their wake. The seven cities rejoiced when—
Death had come for me, with wavy black hair and wicked green eyes. He’d carried me away from that place. He had brought me here.
“A male. He came because the sword called to him…” She trailed off, throwing her hands in the air. “Gods, I still don’t know your name. Unless you don’t have a name.”
“My mother told me once that the people used to pray to gods in Zilvaren, but their names and their temples were eaten by the desert a long time ago. We say ‘gods’ to curse our luck or emphasize emotion. Other than that, Madra’s the closest thing we have to a god in Zilvaren. At least that’s how she fashions herself. The Undying Herald of the Northern Banner. Believers carry strands of her hair in leather pouches on their belts. They scrape ash from the funeral pyres of the living sacrifices that are burned in her honor and put that in them, too. It’s supposed to act as a ward against plague.
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“A dragon. The last dragon,” she said meaningfully. “Its name was Omnamshacry. A legend amongst my people.”
“This? You came here for this? You’re telling me that this traitorous, lying, ravening dog is the only thing standing between us and complete annihilation? You’re as mad as he is, General.”
“You can take him back with you in a week. Since he knows so much about the quicksilver, he’ll stay here and help Rusarius deal with the girl first. The second she’s capable of waking the pool by herself, Kingfisher will once again be banished from this court.”
“If you want me to walk anywhere, then just ask me to go with you,” I snapped. “I’m sick to death of being dragged around like an animal on a leash.”
“There is one thing I can tell you right now,” she said, striding out in front of me to guide the way. “Even in times of peace, the Fae are always at war. There are those among our ranks that might pretend to be your friend, but often they’re hiding knives behind their smiles, ready to sink them into your back. You’d do well to remember that.”
Wherever I looked, beautiful Fae females regarded me with cold disdain. Males watched me pass, sneers on their mouths, eyes flashing with hate. I was not welcome here, that much was obvious, and yet they needed me for something. I was supposed to repeat whatever I’d done in the Hall of Mirrors to that silver pool. While I figured out how to do that, I enjoyed the king’s protection. But protection did not mean kindness, and it certainly didn’t mean respect.
“If I’d wanted the bastard dead, he’d already be in the ground. I only wanted to punish him for his bad manners. He’ll knock before battering down someone’s bedroom door in the future. Now…” He trailed off, his attention slipping back to me. “This is a most fascinating turn of events. Yes, most fascinating. A human, walking the hallowed halls of the Winter Palace for the first time in an age. I never thought I’d live to see the day. I am Rusarius, librarian, newly reappointed master of this domain. Who are you, and what name do you go by? I wasn’t told much before I was ordered back to work.”
“I’m Saeris Fane, apprentice to the Undying Queen’s master glass worker. I hail from the third spoke in the blessed wheel of the sacred Silver City.”
“Humans are usually weak, fickle creatures, but I’ll admit, I admire this one’s loyalty. She values her family over everything else. There’s something to be said for that.”
I couldn’t stop staring at the silver plate he wore at his neck. It was beautifully engraved with elaborate lines, but it was the snarling wolf head at its center that captured my attention. The insignia was fierce and eye-catching.
“Only a human to teach and a queen to put in the ground. Once that’s out of the way, we can all get on with our lives. The girl can go back to her city and what’s left of her people, and Belikon can chew his way through yet another realm for all I care. My work will be done.”
You have the distinct pleasure of being the only living human in all of Yvelia. You are not safe here.”
“Our ancestors were cursed millennia ago. As a result, we ended up with these,” he said, gesturing to his canines. “We used them to drink your kind dry. We drained you by the millions before the blood curse was lifted. This was long before our time, of course, but the Fae line still bears the marks of its past. We might not need blood to maintain our immortality anymore, but by the gods, do we still have the teeth for it. Our dirty little secret. Our awful, horrible shame—”
“You should be used to that by now, Layne. Or did you spend the last century forgetting what a shit I am? I’m the Bane of Gillethrye, remember? The Black Knight?”
And you? Everlayne’s right. You are being an asshole. The Kingfisher we used to know cared about his family and his friends.”
“Oh, come on. She’s not going with you,” Kingfisher drawled. “She’s coming with me, aren’t you, Oshellith? She wants to know secrets, and I’m the only one willing to give them to her.”
ears. “An Oshellith is a type of butterfly,” he called as he went. “Osha for short. They hatch, live, and die all in one day. The cold kills them very fast. Isn’t that right, Renfis?”
Kingfisher was a miserable, grouchy bastard without a kind word for anyone. The way he called me that—Oshellith—like it was a dirty word, made me want to smash my fist right through his gorgeous face. But he was offering me the truth, even if it was frightening.
“I don’t do spells. I’m not a witch. Fae magic isn’t some kind of cheap conjuring trick, human. Our abilities are sacred gifts to be used discerningly, for righteous purposes.”
“The quicksilver itself is volatile. Some of our elders believe it possesses a low level of sentience. Whether this is true or not doesn’t really matter. The stuff is dangerous. If the quicksilver comes into contact with bare skin…” Kingfisher trailed off.
“Oh, he saw things all right. The quicksilver will push any living creature beyond the boundries of sanity.”
“If I hadn’t given you the relic, you’d have died.”
“You think very highly of me, human. In a way, I suppose what you say is true. But don’t mistake me for some kind of saint. I don’t give a shit about Yvelia, and I don’t give a shit about Belikon’s war. You are a bargaining chip. I saw my only avenue to freedom, and I took it. Ask me what I would have done had I found you in that condition under any other circumstances.”
“I just wanted to see if you knew what hard work was. I told you I was magic,” he whispered.
“He does deserve some grace, though. He has no rooms here. Nowhere to eat. Nowhere to sleep. No provisions. And a hundred and ten years, Layne. Can you imagine what a hundred and ten years would have been like in that place? Alone?”
Alchemy, it turned out, was a form of magic. Forgotten, long-dead, old magic that was as much a myth to the Fae of Yvelia as they were to the people of Zilvaren. There had once been three branches of Alchemists—Fae who sought to discover the path to immortality, Fae who sought to create and invent by transmuting various metals and ores, and lastly, Fae who sought to cure illness and disease.
