Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

“No, of course not. Like I said. Ask a question, and you’ll get sent to the Third. It isn’t disease that’s contagious in my ward, Captain. It’s dissent. Anarchy and rebellion spread like a wildfire. And what do you do with a fire? You blockade it. Trap it behind a wall. Give it nowhere else to go until it burns itself out and dies a quiet death. That’s what Madra’s doing with my people. Except our fire hasn’t burned out the way she’d hoped it would. We’ve been reduced to embers, yes, but the coals that lie beneath the ash of my ward are still hot enough to burn. 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.”

Balea and Min, the physical embodiment of Zilvaren’s suns—twin sisters, identical in appearance, beautiful and cruel.

“Death is an open doorway that’s meant to be walked through. On the other side of it lies peace. Count yourself lucky that you get to make the journey at all.”

“Balmithin. Twin sisters. Goddesses of the sky. Legend says that they once were one god, but a mighty storm came, and Balmithin refused to take shelter as it raged across the land. The powerful spirit within the storm was furious that Balmithin didn’t cower before him, and so he lashed her with forks of lightning. Again and again, the lightning struck Balmithin, but she didn’t die. Instead, she cracked and split in two, becoming Bal and Mithin. Bal is the goddess of the sun, but goddess of the day in a looser sense. Mithin is the goddess of the moon, but again, she presides over all of the night.” Bal. Mithin. Balea. Min. The Twins.

“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.”

“Lupo Proelia. Kingfisher’s wolves,”

This place was a home. The residents of Ballard weren’t oppressed. No one was looming over them, threatening them with death if they didn’t fall into line. The food and water they needed to survive weren’t rationed to the point that they didn’t know if they would make it from one day to the next. And there was no war here.

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.

As I bound the broad, beveled blade to its hilt and cross guard, and wrapped the hilt with a glittering black and gold cord, a breathless tension clung to the air. Then, at last, it was done. I nearly collapsed on the spot. The sword was a thing of beauty. Undeniably so. Aside from the impressive wolf’s head pommel, the hilt was also decorated in trailing vines that wound around the hilt and guard, which I’d managed to fire myself without any help from Lorreth. The blade itself bore a rippled wave that ran from end to end thanks to the countless times it had been folded. I had spent the past hour painstakingly engraving words down the very center of the blade.

By righteous hands, deliverance of the unrighteous dead.

“I name you Avisiéth. The Unsung Song. Redemption’s Dawn.”

Solace’s hilt flashed in the firelight, bright silver now, the tarnish of age that had dulled its edge nowhere to be seen. It was a breathtaking weapon. The kind songs are written about. Its pommel was embellished with a crescent moon, the horns of the crescent so close that they almost touched to form a whole circle. Script writing flowed around the hilt, down over the cross guard, and spilled along the edge of the blade, written in Old Fae.

“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.”

“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.”