Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

For those who live their nightmares, so that others may have their dreams.

This bastard would shit himself if he realized he had the Saeris Fane in his grasp.

Sometimes, objects shook around me. Objects made of iron, tin, or gold.

Carrion Swift: the most notorious gambler, cheat, and smuggler in the entire city. He was also uncommonly good in bed—the only man in Zilvaren who’d ever made me scream his name out of pleasure rather than frustration. His bright auburn hair was a signal flare in the dimly lit tavern.

Brynn had a surname, but no one knew it. When asked, she’d say she’d lost it as a child and had never bothered to locate it again. She said family names made you easier to find, and she was right. As proprietor of The House of Kala, folks who didn’t know any better tried to call her Kala, presuming she’d named the place after herself, but she’d glower at them and show them her teeth. Where she was from, Kala meant funeral, and Brynn didn’t appreciate being likened to death.

She swung the ladle in my direction, but it didn’t have the same effect on me, and she knew it. A weapon had to be considerably shinier and a whole lot sharper to make me blink.

It made my blood boil just thinking about it. The man was a thief and a liar, and he loved himself far too much. I mean, who in their right mind wore this kind of finery? To a tavern full of savages who’d cut your throat and steal the dirty boots off your feet as soon as look at you? He was mad.

The last time I’d seen him, I’d been scrambling out of his bed, clutching hold of my bundled clothes, swearing on the forgotten gods and all four winds that I’d rather die than stick around for a repeat performance of the show he’d just put on for me. He knew he’d won. The supercilious prick hadn’t been shy about it. He’d told me I’d be back for more, and I’d told him in very colorful language that I’d snap his cursed cock right off his body if he ever tried to come near me with it again. Or something to that effect, anyway.

“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?”

He was one of the most selfish, most arrogant men alive. He loved for the world to believe that he didn’t care about anyone or anything. But it seemed that he did care, and I had done something so selfish that he couldn’t stand by and watch it happen? Gods.

I had bigger things to worry about. When I stepped out into the brilliant evening, Hayden was gone. And so was the gauntlet.

If you’re gonna fight any of us, you’re gonna fight me.

“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.”

“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.”

My vision flickered red, a lifetime of rage and injustice finally demanding retribution. Hell had already been unleashed upon this place centuries ago. What was a little more suffering?

The sword was old. I felt its age on the air somehow—a prickle of energy that spoke of hidden, ancient places.

Death snapped his head to Harron, forgetting that he’d come to end my suffering. His hair hung in damp waves about his face, though the silver that he had risen from wasn’t coating his hair, his clothes, or his skin as it was Harron. The metallic fluid ran off of his boots and defied the laws of nature as it pooled back together, rolling up the steps and pouring back into the pool.

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.

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 wave of heat swept over me, making my mouth sweat. I hadn’t paid much attention, dying as I’d been at the time, but when the dark-haired stranger had picked me up, the tips of his ears had been strangely shaped, too. And his canines…

“You’re telling me that the Fae have become a bedtime story meant to scare children in Zilvaren?” “Yes!” “What else do they say about us?” “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember right now.”

“Ahh. Saeris. A pretty name. A Fae name. How are you feeling? You’re sore, I bet, but you must be feeling a lot better than when you first arrived.”

“You have beautiful hair,” she said, running a wide-toothed comb through the strands. I winced as she swept it back over my shoulders. “It’ll grow well here. Long hair is a sign of high-born status for Fae women. Others will be jealous of your dark coloring, too. Dark hair is a royal trait amongst the Yvelian Fae.”

“We pray to each member of the Corcoran that they’ll return to Yvelia someday. But in secret, a lot of us pray that Zareth gets a little lost on his journey home.”

“What is it?” I breathed. Everlayne responded quickly in a muted whisper. “A dragon. The last dragon,” she said meaningfully. “Its name was Omnamshacry. A legend amongst my people.”

“There are rules to this kingdom. Rules that will be obeyed. You’re about to spend a great deal of time in the libraries, learning about our ways. Any willful infraction of our laws will be dealt with swiftly. Now. You were brought here to fulfill a specific task. You’ll complete that task quickly and efficient—” I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “I’m sorry, but… what do you mean, task?”

“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.”

“The gods must be obeyed!” Her voice was a rasp a moment ago, but now it was all thunder and judgment. Her words boomed over the great hall. “The gods must be obeyed, lest House De Barra fall!”

“This Kingfisher does not die by your hand. Not today,” Malwae droned. “The Kingfisher shall not die by your hand.”

“The gods must be obeyed lest House De Barra fall!” Malwae cried. “The gods must be obeyed lest the Winter Palace fall!”

His jaw was defined, marked with dark stubble, his cheekbones high, his nose arrow straight and proud. There was a dark freckle just below his right eye. And… those eyes. Gods. Eyes were not that color. I’d never seen that shade of green before—a jade so bright and vibrant that it didn’t look real. I’d noticed the filaments of silver threaded through his right iris back in Madra’s Hall of Mirrors, but I’d assumed I’d imagined them, being so close to death and all. The silver shone there, though, definitely real, forming a reflective, metallic corona around the black well of his pupil. The sight of it made me feel strange and off-balance.

“Chastise me tomorrow, please. Right now, I need two things. Whiskey and a bed.”

Everlayne shot me a grateful smile. “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.” As I followed after her, rushing to keep up, I couldn’t help but wonder if she counted herself among that number.

“This is the Winter Palace,” Everlayne reminded me, trying to coerce me away from the window. “It snows year-round here. At least once a day. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“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.” “Why are you calling me that? Oshellith?” I snapped. “What does it mean?”

“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

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. The quickest way out of this nightmare was through Kingfisher.

“So, these Alchemists. They inherited their abilities? It’s about blood?” “Everything is about blood, human. Now, do you want to know about the pendant, or do you want to harry me by continually interrupting?” I made a show of sealing my mouth shut. “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.” His eye. That was his lasting reminder? It had to be. The filaments that marked his jade iris were actually remnants of quicksilver. Gods. It was inside him, always there, always whispering in his ear, pushing him toward madness. The relic really was the only thing keeping him sane.

“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.” His eye. That was his lasting reminder? It had to be. The filaments that marked his jade iris were actually remnants of quicksilver. Gods. It was inside him, always there, always whispering in his ear, pushing him toward madness. The relic really was the only thing keeping him sane.

“If I hadn’t given you the relic, you’d have died.” “And why didn’t you? Just let me die? You could have left me there.” Kingfisher dumped the armful of faded, dog-eared papers he was carrying onto the workbench, his expression blank. “You haven’t been paying attention, human. Yvelia is at war, and war machines are hungry beasts. They require constant feeding. Food. Clothes. Gold. Building supplies. Weaponry. 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. So, no. Human or not, I could not have just left you there to die.” “Great. So, you brought me back so you could save your people and win the war.”

“You! We broke our backs cleaning this place! What’s wrong with you? What happened to, ‘our abilities are sacred gifts to be used for righteous purposes,’ or whatever the hell it was you said?” “Him? Righteous purposes?” Renfis stifled a cough that sounded a lot like laughter. “The male standing before you isn’t shy about using his gifts to complete mundane tasks.” I glowered at Kingfisher. “You monster.”

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. Everlayne and Rusarius thought I was somehow like the second type of Alchemist—the kind that transmuted metals. At the beginning of our first library session, I had no idea what the word “transmute” even meant, and by the end I still wasn’t sure I understood. Thousands of years ago, the Alchemists used their magical gifts to alter the state of compounds and transform them into precious metals. There was no record of which compounds were used, or what was done to them, but the Alchemists were successful. They found a way to transform elements into vast amounts of gold and silver, which was reportedly used to fill the royal coffers. At some point, the quicksilver was discovered along with the other realms its pathways connected, and all manner of chaos ensued afterward.

“Right. Well, now that we’ve established that,” she said, grinning. “Let me start out by asking you how old you think I am?” “If you were a human, I’d say you were a little older than me. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight, perhaps?” “Gods.” Her eyes went wide. “This will come as a bit of a shock, then.” She took a deep breath. “I was born at the very beginning of the tenth age. I’ve been alive for one thousand four hundred and eighty-six years.”

“And Kingfisher? How old is he?” Everlayne regarded me, a small smile playing over her lips. She took a long second to answer, during which time I internally berated myself for giving in to my infernal curiosity, but then she said, “I’d say that you needed to ask him. It’s not really my place to share information like that. Often, we don’t even know how old other members of our court are. But I do know how old Kingfisher is and telling you to ask him directly is just cruel. He’d never tell you, and he’d mock you for asking besides. Kingfisher was born at the end of the ninth age. Does that help you form some sort of a guess?” “I don’t know. I’m not sure. He looks like he’s about thirty. So, maybe I’d say he was…” Gods, convincing the words to come out of my mouth was impossible. This was madness. “Go on,” Everlayne prompted. “I don’t know, eighteen hundred years old?” “Not bad. He’s one thousand seven hundred and thirty years old.” “One thousand seven hundred and thirty-three,” came a deep voice.

“Next time you’re curious about me, feel free to ask me,” Kingfisher said as he laid his hand on the forge’s brand-new door. This was the first time he’d spoken since we left the library, preferring to march through the Winter Palace in stony silence.

“If I’d asked you something, you wouldn’t have answered me. And if you had, it wouldn’t have been the truth.” “Incorrect. If you asked me something worthy of a reply, then I’d answer. If I answered, then it would be the truth.” Just as he’d done yesterday, he began stripping out of his armor, again starting by removing his sword. This time I was prepared and didn’t flinch when he drew the weapon. “Right. Sure.” Humans and Fae were different in many ways, but sarcasm was universal. His hands worked deftly on the strap that went around his side, unfastening his chest protector. “Try me, human.” “All right. Fine.”

“Because, illegitimate or not, no father would hate their own blood the way Belikon hates Fisher.”

“Careful, human. We Fae have an excellent sense of smell. You’d be amazed what we can scent floating on the air.”

“I like being surprised,” Fisher said, spinning his fork over in his hand. “I’m also a fan of aggressive foreplay. It’ll be a fun reminder.” I breathed in sharply, inhaling cheese. Choking and spluttering, I tried desperately to get rid of it, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Kingfisher leaned forward, his tongue running over his teeth again. He smiled suggestively as he said, “Swallow.”

“You could at least say hello before you start eye-fucking me.”

“It’s Saeris. My name. Call me that or nothing at all.” He cast an amused look over his shoulder, his lips parted a fraction, exposing the briefest glimpse of teeth. “Nothing at all? I like the sound of that. Come here and look at this, Nothing At All.” I suppose I walked right into that one.