“I could guide you out. I can feel you inside him. I can put you back with the other quicksilver at Cahlish? Or forge you into the most impressive blade that’s ever been—” “We were forged hundreds of years ago. We cannot be unmade.” “You’re hurting him.” Even in my head, my voice seemed to crack with emotion. “He’s suffering because of you.” The quicksilver was quiet. I could sense it, thinking about this. But not for long. “We are him. He is us. We all suffer, Alchemist. There is nothing to be done.”
