Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

Two bedrooms. He was sleeping in his own room. I was to sleep in the other. I wasn’t surprised by that. Fisher might deign to fuck me, but I was under no illusions that he’d want to sleep in the same room as me.

“I’m not leaving you here like this, you idiot.” I climbed up onto the bed and lifted his head up. It took considerable effort to get my hands beneath his shoulders and to lift his torso enough for me to slide in behind him, but I managed. Resting my back against the headboard, I let him lean back into me so that his head was propped against my stomach, a leg on either side of his body. He didn’t protest when I held the glass to his lips and carefully poured some water into his mouth. It took a long time for him to drink, but sure enough, he drained the whole glass.

you use the oath you tricked me into to force me from this room right now, I will never forgive you. I will find a way to make your life absolutely fucking miserable. In fact, while we’re here and having such a lovely conversation about this, you’re never going to compel me against my will again. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” “I don’t need—” “I am not fucking around, Fisher. If you have any respect for me, if you care about me even the tiniest, most minuscule amount, you will never, ever compel me again. Do you understand?”

I ran my hands along his shoulders, working my thumbs into his taut muscles as I had been for the past hour. I wasn’t surprised when the ink beneath his skin drew closer to the places where our skin met. I watched it climb my fingers, forming shapes, and then runes and delicate designs as they inched upward. There was every chance they’d still be there in the morning, but I couldn’t bring myself to care right now.

“My father died when I was two. I don’t even remember him. My mother was four months pregnant with Hayden when it happened. A sand dune came down on a trader’s outpost on the glass flats. He was either crushed or suffocated to death, one of the two. And when we lost his income, my mother became a prostitute,” I said bluntly. This wasn’t a secret back in Zilvaren. Everybody had known Iris Fane, either from exchanging chits for her time or because the other mothers in our ward would bitch and complain as loud as the day was long about the fact that a woman of loose morals lived amongst them. “She sold her body for food and water mostly, but she made money, too. Her client list was mostly comprised of guardians. Madra’s men. Five days out of the week, she worked at this place near the market. The House of Kala. Kala’s employed security, so the women who worked there were safe for the most part. One shout from a bedroom and five huge bastards would kick the door down and beat the living shit out of whoever was causing trouble. But she worked from our home sometimes, too. To make ends meet. I used to watch through a crack in her bedroom door when the guardians would come, resplendent and proud, dripping in their golden armor.

“I watched them slit her throat,”

“Come here,” he said. “What?” “Don’t make me drag you down here.” There was a tired but playful catch in his voice. He wanted me to lie next to him. Hell. I was going to have to unpack that in the morning, honestly, because a wave of exhaustion like no other rolled over me as I scooted down the bed and straightened out my numb legs for the first time in hours. I made sure to arrange myself so that no part of my body was touching Fisher’s, but he made a vexed sound and wrapped his arm around my body. Placing his hand against my stomach, he drew me close so that my back was flush with his chest. The warmth from his body was divine. I could feel his heart beating against my back—slow and even, in time with the soft push and pull of his breath. Somewhere toward the foot of the small bed, Onyx groaned comfortably and nestled deeper into the blankets.

Fisher hooked his fingers underneath the hem of my shirt and rested his hand against my skin. The move wasn’t sexual. It was simple contact between one person and another. Grounding. Intimate. A connection.

“My mother was killed, too,” he whispered thickly. “We have that in ...

I could choose how I answered. If I rounded my shoulders and moved away from him, I knew he’d remove his hand and let me go. We’d both get up and get on with our day, and that would be it. A door between us would close. Or… Or. Fuck it. I didn’t want the door to close.

wanted him. More than I wanted to go home. Gods and martyrs, what kind of sister did that make me? Hayden needed me. Elroy did, too.

The way he stroked my clit, finding the perfect pressure and the perfect motion, spoke of many hours spent familiarizing himself with the female body. Time well spent as far as I was concerned. I was reaping the benefits of that experience now and then some.

Every

Bite me, Fisher. It came as a breathless thought. I can’t… Bite me. Do it. I want it! I can’t! BITE ME!

Easy. Quiet. Don’t… fucking move. The words were ragged. Desperate. They were inside my head, and I… I hadn’t got a hope in hell of obeying them. The moment Fisher slid into me again, drinking a little deeper, I lost any sense of pride I possessed and reached back, grabbing his head and pushing him down onto my neck as hard as I damn well could. Ruin me.

And then the world ended. Existence blinked out into a blank void. The stars tumbled from the heavens, and hell rose up to meet them. Everything and nothing, here and gone. It was every ecstatic moment I’d ever experienced, condensed and multiplied one millionfold. My body became a fiery torch, and there was Fisher, burning right alongside me. He mindlessly slammed himself into me, grunting, and then he ripped his mouth away from my skin and roared like he was dying. No. Not like he was dying. Like he was being reborn. The world came back into existence little by little, like snowflakes fluttering from the ceiling. It took a long time for my body to stop trembling. Just as he had done when I woke up, Fisher lay behind me, still as the dead, not breathing. Only this time, he was holding on to me for dear life. He didn’t let go.

Fisher and I were now randomly capable of speaking into each other’s minds.

“I always know where you are, Little Osha.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll happily correct my lapse in my manners.” With a flick of his wrist, Fisher conjured a wave of glimmering smoke. Spreading over the rug toward me, it circled around my ankles like a friendly cat seeking to be pet. It rose up my legs, making my skin prickle with warmth, leaving luxurious black silk in its wake. The pants were wide-legged and loose. The camisole top was pretty, long enough in the body to cover my stomach—though only just—and embellished with fine lace along the low-cut neckline. Fisher’s magic hadn’t graced me with any underwear, it seemed; my peaked nipples were very visible through the sheer material. I arched an eyebrow at him, then looked down at my chest. “Is this the kind of thing you imagine me wearing often?” “When I imagine you, Little Osha, you’re very rarely wearing clothes.”

The tattoos I hadn’t cared so much about last night were still all over my fingers and the backs of my hands. Except there were more of them now. Many more. Stacks of small runes ran up each one of my fingers. Delicate script wound around my wrists and up my forearms. I had no idea what the fuck any of it said. And the backs of my hands? I started to feel very lightheaded. The design on the back of my left hand was simple. Ish. The lines were fine and twisted together beautifully, forming a shape that almost resembled a flower if you squinted at it long enough. The one on my right, however… It was bigger and covered the whole span of my hand. The lines were bolder. They twisted around one another, forming a variety of knots that I had trouble even picking apart with my eyes. It wasn’t just one rune. It was many, interlocking, woven one on top of the other, on top of the other. One of the runes wasn’t even black, but a dark, iridescent blue-green color that flashed metallically when it caught the light.

Say something. Don’t just sit there, frowning like that. Speak! Fisher huffed softly. “I’m thinking,” he said. “Give me a moment.” “Oh, fuck. So that was real, then? You can read my thoughts?” A note of hysteria edged into my voice. “No, I can’t read your thoughts,” he said, eyes darting up to mine for a split second. “I can hear you when you speak to me directly, though. That’s all.” “That’s all? That’s all!” “Breathe, Little Osha,” Fisher chided. “Your heart’s racing.” “I’m fine,” I lied.

“The one on the left means blessed one,” he said, his tone light. “The fingers…” He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling far too casually. “They mean all kinds of things.” “Could you be any vaguer?” “I mean, probably…” “Fisher!” “Okay. All right. A lot of them are connected. Light. Dark. Silver. Steel. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. That kind of thing. Alchemist stuff.”

moment later, a creeping cold ran over my skin. One by one, the runes faded from my skin until even the complex, multi-layered rune was gone. I stared at him, stunned. “But—” “They aren’t gone for good,” he said tightly. “I… you can change your mind about them later if you want to. You have a month or so. If you decide over the next few weeks that you want them back, I’ll return them to you.” “But what if I decide I want cool hand tattoos after the month has passed? Do I get to choose from different designs every time we sleep together or something?” Fisher laughed dryly, shaking his head. “No. The Marks are chosen for you. They won’t be there after a month. If you decide not to accept them, they’ll be gone for good.” I let that sit between us for a while, knowing that there was something he wasn’t telling me. Plenty of things. I didn’t have it in me to prod any further, though. I took a bite of my food, taking in all of the ink that still marked his skin. After a while, I said, “What do yours mean?” “Mine?” “Your tattoos. Yours haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Well. Our runes are complicated. But yes, they do have meanings. This one,” he said, holding up his left hand, “means vengeance.” He held up his other hand. “This one means justice.” “What about that one?” I asked, pointing at the large, swirling section of ink on his forearm. “Sacrifice,” he said, his voice hitching. “Why is it so much bigger than the rest?” Fisher took in the rune, then slowly drew down the sleeve of his shirt, covering it. “I think you can probably guess why,” he said softly.

I could. I’d regretted the question even as I’d asked it. The largest tattoo on Fisher’s arm meant sacrifice, because he had, ...

They were prophecies of a kind. They t...

I realized what had caused the mood in the kitchen to shift. Right there, only a couple of inches above the bird tattoo, were two small red welts. They were almost closed up already. They didn’t even hurt. No, I can’t take that back. And I’m sorry for that. He hadn’t been talking about the bird tattoo. He’d been talking about the bite mark at my throat.

Carrion nodded, pulling on the cigarillo, the bright cherry flaring at its end. “Have you considered the possibility that you might be mad?” “Yes, I have, actually,” I answered tartly. “But Fisher’s books back at Cahlish said it was common for Alchemists to report that they could hear the quicksilver.”

It was physically impossible for Carrion to keep his mouth shut and not get in the way.

It’s time for you to rest, too, Osha. That voice. Gods alive. It made me jump when I heard it in my mind, though I had been waiting for it. Not until I’m done, I answered. I’m nearly there. Fisher was close. I could inexplicably feel him, his presence near. Casting a quick glance toward the forge’s doorway, I thought I could make out the shape of him, merging with the shadows that danced and leaped around the fire. How long have you been out there? I asked. Only a few hours, came his reply. Why didn’t you come in? There was a long pause. And then he said, I didn’t know if you’d want me to. Come in from the cold, Kingfisher. I will. Soon. I’ll sit here a little longer, I think.

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. Words that would hopefully bode well for both the weapon and the warrior who bore it, and badly for those who found themselves at its sharp end. By righteous hands, deliverance of the unrighteous dead. “Incredible,” Fisher said breathlessly. His eyes found mine, and they shone with amazement.

“The aurora,” Fisher answered softly. “A blessing.” “Holy fuck.” Lorreth dropped to his knees in the snow, staring up at the sky, his mouth wide open. “It’s… beautiful. The aurora hasn’t been seen in… in…” “Well over a thousand years,” Fisher said. “It’s been there all night. I was going to tell you both to come and look, but I had a feeling it’d still be here when you were done.” Lorreth’s eyes shone brightly as he watched the green dancing lights shift to reds and pinks, undulating in waves in a broad band across the horizon. The warrior was on the verge of tears, and I had to admit, I was pretty close myself. I was drained. Wrung out, even. But I still had the energy to stand as I watched the sky, knowing that I was witnessing something rare and remarkable.

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 ’...

“It’s fucking outrageous that he can sing, too.” Carrion had woken up and was stood to my right, arms folded across his chest, balefully regarding Lorreth. “That was nice, though. Messed up, but nice.”

Carrion hahaha

Doubt was sketched in every line of Lorreth’s features, but his hand closed possessively around the hilt of the sword all the same. It looked right in his hand. As far as I was concerned, it was his sword. “You deserve it, Lorreth. You carved the wolf for the pommel. You helped to cast it. And it was your song that sealed the bargain with the quicksilver.”

We remember, so the Alchemist remembers. Huh. I didn’t know how to feel about that. Being the only person alive to remember the ballad Lorreth had written about Fisher felt like sacrilege.

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

The moment he finished speaking, a blue flame rippled down the sword’s blade, searing runes into the metal in its wake alongside the script I had etched there. And then a brilliant white light erupted from Avisiéth. Blinding and powerful, it shot straight up into the air—a pillar of energy that transformed night into day. The very ground beneath our feet quaked.

We’d kissed, and licked, and fucked each other raw. He’d emptied himself inside me, roaring as he came, but this small, intentional contact between us was the most intimate we’d ever been. I marveled at the sight of our fingers touching, an array of emotions vying for my attention. Fisher rested his chin on top of his forearms and sighed. “What?” I whispered. He thought for a moment, appearing to decide whether he’d answer the question. Then he said, “I was wrong, y’know. You are a good thief.”

“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.

I shook my head—there was no time to waste on puzzles. “I want you to leave Fisher,” I rushed out. “Leave him?” the quicksilver asked in a quizzical voice. “Yes. Leave him. His body. I want you to come out of him. I’ll strike a deal with you—” “We cannot leave him. We are him.” A multitude of voices layered over each other—an echoing chorus of voices, delivering news that I didn’t want to hear. “He is Fae. You are… you’re…” I didn’t have a clue what it was. Not really. What the hell was I supposed to tell it? I had to keep things simple. “You’re quicksilver. You’re not supposed to bind with living creatures.” “We bind with all kinds of weapons.” “Fisher isn’t a weapon! He’s… he’s a living, breathing…” “Weapon,” the quicksilver said. “The best. We are him. He is us. We cannot leave. We will die.” “You’ll die? Or Kingfisher?” “All of us,” the quicksilver emphasized. “We are one thing. One weapon.”

“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.”

“The only way I’m staying in this tent is if you force me to,” I said in a shaky voice. And here it was. The moment he officially won me or lost me. If he ordered me to stay and took away my will, it didn’t matter how much things had changed between us. Nor would it matter how much I needed him. I would never speak to him again. Never look at him again. This would all be over before it had even had a chance to begin. That would hurt, but nowhere near as much as his betrayal would. I waited, praying to gods I’d only recently learned the names of that he was about to make the right decision.

“If you come, will you stay right by me?” he asked. My knees wanted to buckle. I answered quickly, before he could rethink this. “Yes. Absolutely yes.” “And if I tell you to stay somewhere until danger passes?” “I’ll stay.” “And if I tell you to run?” “I’ll run.” He narrowed his beautiful eyes at me. “Swear it.” “A promise doesn’t bind me the way it binds you.” “I know. But humans still make promises to each other, even though they can be broken, don’t they? Because they trust the other to honor their word.” “Yes.” “Then swear, Little Osha, and I’ll trust you.” A wave of hot emotion knifed me in the center of my chest. This was the kind of male I wanted to be with. “I swear it.” Kingfisher nodded, accepting my promise. “All right, then. So be it.”

Fisher turned and held out the sword to me. “My father’s bones rest somewhere in Zilvaren. His sword spent the past millennia there, which…” He paused, considering the sword. “Which makes it more Zilvaren than Yvelian now, I think.” The air was on fire, too hot to breathe. Fisher unhooked a leather scabbard from the wall of the tent and took it down, sliding Solace into it. Speechless, I lifted my arms as he wound the scabbard’s belt around my waist. His hands worked deftly, adjusting the belt to fit my much narrower waist, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears. His father’s sword?

Ren’s expression was one of deep satisfaction. It seemed to say, “Good. At last. This is as it was always meant to be, Saeris Fane.”

“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.”

“We’re bound by the rules of war,” Fisher said. “We can’t use magic to attack or affect an enemy until that enemy has breached our border. And anyway, our magic doesn’t work on Sanasrothian soil. Fae magic needs light and life to survive. And there’s nothing on their side of the river but death, darkness, and decay. Our lands are divided directly down the centerline of the Darn. But the second these fuckers cross over…”

“This is where you keep your promise and stay right here, Osha,” Fisher said. In the blink of an eye, he had become something wild. His skin cast off an eerie pale glow, his dark waves blowing on an invisible wind. He had never seemed very human to me, but now, balancing on the precipice of danger, he was unspeakably Fae.