Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

During reckoning, when the suns, Balea and Min, were at their closest and the afternoon air shivered with heat, being trapped belowground in the festering sore that passed as a prison beneath the Immortal Queen’s palace would not be fun.

“Lissa Fossick. Twenty-four. Single.”

The age I’d given him was real, as was my pathetic romantic status, but the name I’d provided wasn’t. My real name? No way I was handing that over without a fight. This bastard would shit himself if he realized he had the Saeris Fane in his grasp.

Carrion Swift: the most notorious gambler, cheat, and smuggler in the entire city.

Familiar, faded posters papered the alleyways, promising hefty rewards for any information leading to the capture of suspected magic users.

long-forgotten gods chiseled into the stonework of the walls. Amongst them, the only two I recognized were Balea and Min, the physical embodiment of Zilvaren’s suns—twin sisters, identical in appearance, beautiful and cruel.

“It was the Fae, wasn’t it?” she hissed. “They’ve found a way through. They’ve come for me at last?”

“Master Eskin said you’d wake up today,” a female voice said. The same voice that had sung to me.

“Yvelia! More specifically, the Winter Palace.

“He is Belikon De Barra,” Everlayne said evenly. “King of the Yvelian Fae.”

“You’re charged with awakening the quicksilver and reopening the pathways between this world and others. Your cooperation in that task will dictate how you spend your time in Yvelia. Rail against your purpose and life within the walls of this palace will become infinitely more uncomfortable for you. I have spoken.”

“Oh! So… so, this one’s an Alchemist, then?”

“She must have a drop of Fae blood,”

“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?”

“You’re my brother,” Everlayne hissed. “Though I sometimes wish you weren’t!”

“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?”

Everlayne had been kind to me. Taken care of me. Made sure I was comfortable here. Renfis was full of laughter and seemed solid and good. Kingfisher was a miserable, grouchy bastard without a kind word for anyone.

“My mother gave me this pendant, this relic,” he clarified, “when I was eleven. The night before we left for the Winter Palace. She knew I’d have need of it. Later, when I came of age and joined Belikon’s army, I was called upon to travel between Yvelia and the other realms because my pendant was one of the most powerful. To cut a very long and boring story short, I was forced to travel a pathway without it once. The quicksilver took me, just as it takes everyone. A healer managed to draw most of it from me once I made it back to the Winter Palace, but I was left with a few...lasting reminders. Most Fae only wore their relics when they traveled from one realm to the next. But wearing mine is the only thing that calms the noise in my head. Without it, the line between what’s real and what isn’t blurs very quickly.”

Before Madra drove that sword into her pool, stilling every pool in every realm, Belikon used the pathways for supplies. It was the only way to trade in many magical items. When the pathways closed, the door to our supply trains slammed closed, too. You shouldn’t have been able to touch that sword, let alone draw it. And the silver responded to you. You activated it. You did what only an Alchemist can do.

My mother was married to a Southern lord before she married my father. She had Fisher with her first husband. When Fisher was ten, the king sent his father on a mission to Zilvaren. He never returned. That’s when the gateways were stilled. The king said that Finran, Fisher’s father, was responsible for the quicksilver stilling and declared him a traitor to the Fae—”

“Careful, human. We Fae have an excellent sense of smell. You’d be amazed what we can

scent floating on the air.”

“I don’t hate your kind. I’m just disappointed by how breakable you are. If I held you down and fucked you the way I’m imagining fucking you right now, I doubt that you’d survive it.”

“That your body is betraying you in other ways. That I can smell you, Little Osha, and I’m thinking about drinking the sweet nectar you’re making for me straight from the fucking cup.”

“Archer helped raise me. After my parents, he was the first of the lesser Fae to hold me. He has a soft spot for me, I suppose.”

“There’s every way,” Fisher rumbled, his eyes darkening. “I’d know the smell of you anywhere. On anyone. I’d know it blind and in the dark. Across a fucking sea. I’d be able to scent you—”

“Sanasrothian foot soldiers,” he answered tightly. “Feeders. They are the reason why we need silver so badly. It’s the only thing that can kill them.

“Sanasroth. The enemy’s at the riverbank. The ice must be broken so that the dead cannot cross.”

“Vampires!”

“I’m going to make you pant for me, Little Osha. And when we’re done, I’ll close my eyes and replay the sound of you moaning in my head every time I stroke myself to completion.”

“I can’t have children, Fisher. I was cleansed when I was fourteen.”

“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,” he said, sighing. “There are eight of us, usually. Though our numbers have been reduced of late. We fight as a team, working together, just as wolves do. I’m sure you’ve noticed the wolf on some of our armor.”

“When we turn twenty-one, we kneel before the Firinn Stone and make our decision. Every one of us. We have a choice. Bleed on the stone and make our vow. To always be truthful. To always be bound by our word, no matter what it costs us.” “Or?” “Or we choose the Lawless path. A Lawless Fae may lie. They may cheat. They may steal. Useful tools in many situations, I’ll admit. But they come with a price that Kingfisher—and the rest of us, I might add—was not willing to pay.”

“Yes, our canines work just fine. The same as a vampire’s would. But blood drinking is very taboo. No, it’s worse than taboo. It’s scandalous.” “But the Fae still do it sometimes?” A pink tinge was developing on his cheeks. “Yes.” “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.”

“Something I’m sure I’ve given him innumerable reasons to regret since. He made me his brother. By blood. He gave me a part of his soul.”

Very slowly but with obvious intent, Fisher opened his hand against my skin again, pressing his palm against my rib cage. I fastened my lip between my teeth, suddenly panicked, my heart rate kicking up as he ran the tips of his fingers along the underside of my breast, barely making contact at all… It was a question. Is this something you want?

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 their courage ’fore the drake and the horde. Their ears rang aloud with the Kingfisher’s cry that those who stood with him might fall, but not die. For their sacrifice was great, and so was the cost. But those that they saved would e’er remember the lost. So they scaled the great drake, the last of his name. They did it for Ajun, Not glory, nor fame. And the drake knew his power. He started to gloat, but the King saw his chance and

drove steel down his throat. The drake he did tremble and started to choke, his evil, rank maw filling up with black smoke. He thrashed and he bellowed did old Omnamshacry, but the reaper had claimed him, and bidden, he died. The Ajun were safe. The horde abandoned the gate. And thus ends the ballad of the king and his eight.

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

“I was wrong, y’know. You are a good thief.” “What have I stolen?”

“I’m Saeris. I’m an Alchemist. I—” We know who she is, the quicksilver hissed. She is the dawn. She is the moon. She is the sky. She is oxygen in our lungs.

“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.”

“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.

“HUMAN” had come first. Then “Oshellith,” or “Osha,” said with a hefty amount of disdain. Then “Little Osha,” which had first been mocking but had then shifted to an endearment. But Fisher had said my name. Finally. And it was… weird.

“That seat is reserved for the lady of the house, you stupid girl. Etiquette dictates that only Fisher’s wife is permitted to sit there. It’s a position of high honor meant for a Fae female born into one of the old houses, and you’re just sprawled out there like you own the damn seat. It’s offensive that he even lets a human sit at the same table as him. But this…” She waved at me with her remaining hand. “This is just too much. Like I said. You should move.”