Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

“How am I s’posed to tell you…anything if I…can’t…fucking…breathe?”

“Lissa Fossick. Twenty-four. Single.” I winked at him, and the bastard squeezed harder.

If you gave it enough time, the wind ate everything in this city, and it had been grinding its teeth against Zilvaren for thousands of years.

“You know I fought. I did, I fought the same way you want to fight now. I gave everything I had, sacrificed every last thing I held dear, but this city is a beast that feeds on misery, and pain, and death, and it's never full.

Everything I do is for him.”

Carrion leaned forward, propping his elbows against the table. He bounced his eyebrows in the most infuriating way. “I never met a rule I didn't wanna break, Sunshine.”

The gall. The nerve. The out-and-out audacity.

“You like whiskey, right? Double sound good?” He was getting to his feet. “Carrion! I am not drinking with you!”

“I suppose now that you come to mention it, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” “I'm shocked.”

“I'm going to fix it,” I snarled back. “Good. Oh, and Saeris?” The guy just didn't know when to quit. I spun around, scowling at him. “What!” “Even filthy and tired, you’re still beautiful.”

“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.”

I had known Death’s voice to be a howling hot wind across the parched desert. A wet, hacking cough in the night. The urgent cry of a starving baby. I had never for one moment imagined his voice might also be the stroke of velvet in the ever-encroaching darkness.

Of course Death was beautiful. How else would anyone choose to go with him without putting up a fight?

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.

“But...you're not real.” “I beg to differ,” she fired back.

The three Fae were passing one of the many sets of alcoves occupied by statues of the gods. Everlayne bowed and touched her head to them as she hurried by. Ren grumbled, giving them a cursory nod. Kingfisher stuck out a hand and flipped all seven of them off as he stormed by.

“Should we, uh...knock?” An arrogant smile curled up at the corner of his mouth. “Sure,” he said, as if this was a charming suggestion made by a single-brain-celled idiot. A second later, he slammed the sole of his boot against the wood, and then the door was on the ground in pieces. “Knock knock.” He stepped to one side, holding his hand out in a mockery of manners, gesturing for me to go ahead of him. “I don't think anyone's home.”

“I'm not going first. What if it's warded by, I don't know...by magic, or something?” Kingfisher waggled his fingers, his eyes going wide. “Oh no, not magic!” “Ass.” “Coward,” he volleyed back.

“What about you is magic?” “Everything,” he said, entering the room. “My looks. My sword skills. My personality—” “Your personality is trash.”

“I'm going to kick his teeth down his throat,” Kingfisher announced. “How about you help me instead of threatening violence?” I countered.

Kingfisher remained focused on his breakfast. He didn't say a word when Everlayne approached and stood next to him at the head of the table. He just growled. “And you wonder why Belikon calls you a dog,” she said.

“I can, actually. I spent the first three decades imagining it in great detail every day. After that, I did my best not to think about it—or him—at all. My heart couldn't take it. And now he's back, and I don't have to wonder what kind of hell he's enduring. Now, I get to watch.”

“Where should we begin? Hmm. I think, maybe, if you start by telling us what you know about alchemical practices and how they might be used—” “Uh, I don't even know what alchemical means.”

“According to most documents from around that time, the second order of the Alchemists lived very short lives. They often went mad and killed themselves.” “Oh, well, that's just great.”

When I opened my eyes, he was looking at the solid bead of matte, inert metal in my hands, a look of rye amusement on his irritatingly handsome face. “I have to say, I was expecting that to go differently,” he mused. And then I punched him square in the mouth.

“Can I please wear some pants?”

“We've been over this. You're too pretty to wear pants.

“You could at least tell me what he did to make you punch him like that.” “Just trust me. He deserved it.” “Well, I don't doubt that.”

Having Kingfisher as a brother was burden enough, I was sure.

Everlayne had been waiting for me when I returned to my room yesterday. She hadn't banked on Kingfisher kicking in my bedroom door, me thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and wailing like a banshee. Nor had she expected his ultra-foul temper, his split bottom lip, or the thin line of blood trickling down his chin. She'd squawked when he'd thrown me unceremoniously down onto my bed and snarled, “Bad human,” at me.

“Are you saying that he's so feral that one small right hook is enough to send him on an explosive killing rampage?” She thought about this while folding a blanket. It took her a while to make up her mind. “Yes,” she decided. “Then your brother isn't a warrior, Everlayne. He's a mindless savage with a shitty temper. But I think I could have already told you that.”

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

After seeing how nice your rooms were yesterday, I figured I'd come and eat breakfast here. Don't worry. I brought you some cheese.”

Kingfisher's gaze snapped up, singling in on mine. “Careful, human. We Fae have an excellent sense of smell. You'd be amazed what we can scent floating on the air.” “I—I wasn't doing anything. I didn't—” Oh, gods.

“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.” “What in the five hells is going on here? Are you trying to kill the poor girl?”

“For the love of every god that has ever been or ever will be, could you please lower your voice?” he groaned.

She demonstrated breathing in through her nose. “And—and why does it smell like a brothel in here? If you're going to spend the night out whoring and drinking, the least you could do is wash the smell of sex off you before showing up for breakfast.” Kingfisher looked like he was about to explode with laughter.

I jerked when he snapped his fingers in front of my face. “You could at least say hello before you start eye-fucking me.”

I turned around, ready to lecture him about manners and how it was polite to call a person by their given name and not some shitty name they’d come up for them, but— “Holy gods and martyrs!” My heart leaped up into my throat. Less than an inch away, Kingfisher smiled down at me. How the hell had he gotten this close? His eyes danced with mirth.

“You are temporary,” he said, looming over me, his huge frame just...everywhere. “And you are rude,” I shot back.

“There are these other words, too. Please and thank you? I haven't heard you use either yet, but I'm sure they're a part of your vocabulary—” “They're not,” he said brightly.

“What am I looking at?” “Bone,” Fisher said. “Human?” He shook his head. “I didn't have any. Though, if you were willing to contribute—” “Stop.”

Fisher stood up straight, half-closing one eye as he studied me. “Are your kind supposed to nap in the afternoons? You're really grumpy. I'm the one with the hangover, y'know.” “What did you even do last night?” “Wouldn't you like to know.” “Actually, forget it. I've changed my mind. I don't want to know.” “Ren and I went to The Blind Pig. We gambled away half his savings and drank the bar dry. I'll invite you next time.” I pulled a face. “Please don't.”

“Just so you know,” the warrior growled, “transporting like that when you have a headache is the worst.” He brought the blade swinging down. “NO! STOP! What are you doing?” He drew the weapon to one side just in the nick of time. “Graceless fucking gods, human! Stop fucking yelling!”

“Ow! It's almost down to the bone, Fisher. Help me!” Kingfisher pushed away from the sword, standing up straight. He looked up at the rafters overhead, squinting. “This...is a learning experience, I think. There are always consequences to our actions. Your new furry bracelet is a consequence of human weakness. Wear it with pride.”

“Hey! I don't want to wear this,” I snapped, plucking at the dress. “What was I wearing when you found me?” “A whole lot of blood.” Fisher pondered. Frowned. “Wait. I seem to recall that your intestines might have been a part of your ensemble.”

I hadn't seen many beautiful things in my short life. But, of all the beautiful things I had seen, Fisher was the most beautiful of all.

“I want two.” He tossed his head back and let out a bark of laughter. “What?” “My brother Hayden and Elroy.” Looking a little hysterical, he threw his arms wide, Nimerelle casting off wisps of black smoke. “Who the fuck is Elroy?”

“Blood, Little Osha. It's the only way to seal this between us.” I balked, backing away from the sword. “I'm not touching that thing again. Can't you just take my word for it?” He snorted humorlessly. “Cute. And no.

I moved my leg back. Snow drifted down, landing in his thick waves, settling on his eyelashes and dusting the tops of his shoulders white. “Comfortable?” he asked. “No.” “Excellent.