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For those who live their nightmares, so that others may have their dreams.
Sparkling blue eyes danced with amusement as Carrion met my gaze. His hair was copper and gold and burnished umber, as if each strand were a fine thread of the metals that were so precious to Queen Madra. He was always the tallest person in a room by at least a foot, broad across the shoulders, and held himself with a confidence that made girls all over Zilvaren swoon.
“Carrion.” The bastard sucked in a sharp breath, his attention snapping back to me. “She said my name.” He pretended to swoon. “You all heard it. She said my name.”
“I knew if I messed with Hayden, I’d get to see you. And maybe that was an opportunity too good to pass
“Just hang me already and be done with it,” I snapped. “If you don’t hurry up and get on with it, you’re gonna miss your opportunity.” He arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t bother trying to escape.” I rolled my eyes. “I meant that I was dying of boredom in here.”
“If I seem healthy to you, then that’s because I’ve been stealing from the Hub’s water reservoirs my entire life.”
Do you know much about metalwork, Captain? I do. It’s under the most unbearable conditions that the sharpest, most dangerous weapons are forged. And we are dangerous, Captain. She’s turned us all into weapons. That is why she won’t suffer my people to live.”
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.
A moment later, he withdrew his hand, a long silver chain hooked around his index finger. He unfastened it. “If you die before you can give this back, I’m not going to be happy,” he groused.
The only feather mattress I’d ever slept on in my whole life was Carrion Swift’s, and this bed didn’t belong to that asshole, either.
The individual who brought you to my court”—Belikon ran his tongue over his teeth like he was trying to sweep away a foul taste—“told my guards that you were the one who reopened the portal. It seems highly unlikely that a human woke the quicksilver.”
The name Kingfisher echoed throughout the hall, spoken with a mix of reverence and fear.
“This Kingfisher does not die by your hand. Not today,” Malwae droned. “The Kingfisher shall not die by your hand.”
Either way, I’d rather have him fighting for us, a little off-kilter and unpredictable, than not.”
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.
Kingfisher spared me the briefest of glances and then addressed the female. “Hello, Layne.” Everlayne let out a strangled sob, tears chasing down her cheeks, but she scowled at the warrior dressed in black. “Don’t ‘hello, Layne’ me after a hundred and ten years.
“Chastise me tomorrow, please. Right now, I need two things. Whiskey and a bed.”
Don’t you think you should have told me that your people are at war?” She frowned. “I didn’t mention that?” “No!” “Oh, well. We’ve been at war with Sanasroth for longer than I’ve been alive. It must have slipped my mind,”
“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.”
Aghast, Rusarius leaped, snatching the tome out of Kingfisher’s hands. “Give me that! What’s wrong with you? That book is a first edition.”
“If you’re trying to shock me by mentioning random parts of male anatomy, then you’re out of luck,” the blond-haired female snapped. “I’ve seen Ren’s balls. I’ve seen yours, too. I’ve seen everything,” she said, pointedly glowering at Kingfisher’s crotch, “so I know exactly where to aim my knee if you continue to test me. You don’t seem to appreciate the level of danger you’re in right now, Fisher.”
“It’s rude to stare at a male’s hardware,” he said stiffly.
Kingfisher didn’t pay him a lick of attention. He was still glaring at me. “This sword has slain thousands,” he seethed. “I wouldn’t have thought that was anything to brag about,” I replied. “You should probably get it looked at.”
“Humans are usually weak, fickle creatures, but I’ll admit, I admire this one’s loyalty. She values her family over everything else. There’s something to be said for that.”
“Fisher!” Everlayne had reached her breaking point. Tears streamed down her face, leaving wet tracks over her cheeks. She moved in front of Kingfisher and slammed her hands into his chest. “Why are you being like this?” she cried. Kingfisher shrugged. “I’m only telling her the truth.” “You’re being an asshole!” This elicited a scornful blast of laughter from the warrior. “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
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“Careful, little sister,” Kingfisher rumbled. “We don’t want to spill all of our secrets in one go now.”
Even with the cruel smirk playing across his mouth, Kingfisher was savagely handsome. “What can I say?” he purred. “Being completely cut off from civilization and summarily forgotten about has a way of changing you after a while.” Renfis was already walking backward. “We didn’t forget about you. You have no idea what we went through to try and get you back.” “Oh, yeah. I’m sure my suffering paled in comparison to yours.”
“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.
“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.”
The quicksilver pools are pathways that connect different realms.
The quicksilver will push any living creature beyond the boundaries of sanity.”
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.”
“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
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Every so often, I found myself watching him. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his cheek streaked with soot, he looked so normal. But then he’d snarl under his breath or meet my gaze with those silver-streaked eyes, and I’d be reminded that this male was not human.
“The male standing before you isn’t shy about using his gifts to complete mundane tasks.”
“Sorry, Rusarius. I don’t know what you think I can do about it. The day I manage to make Kingfisher do anything is the day the Corcoran return.” “Well, there’s no need for blasphemy!” the old librarian squawked.
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.
“He does deserve some grace, though. He has no rooms here. Nowhere to eat. Nowhere to sleep. No provisions. And a hundred and ten years, Layne. Can you imagine what a hundred and ten years would have been like in that place? Alone?” Sorrow dripped from each word. The princess and the soldier traded a long look. Eventually, the tension in Everlayne’s ticking jaw muscle eased. “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
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“If I have enough hope for him, then I’ve enough for you, too.”
“He was the very best thing in my entire life,” she said. “The only good thing. And he’s gone. I knew he would be, but it’s hard… to see, and… to accept, and…”
“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.”
“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,”
“Elroy swears that a man will lie about the size of his cock every time a woman asks him.” Kingfisher stilled. “Are you asking me how big my cock is, Osha?” “I don’t care how big it is. I care about the way you answer.” A slow, terrifying smirk spread across his face. “It’s big enough to make you scream and then some.”
“Ask a man how big his dick is, and he’ll show you that he’s full of shit.” “Maybe. But I’m not a man. I’m a Fae male.” He paused. “And maybe I’m just well-endowed.”
He towered over me, taking up so much room, invading my space, blotting out the damn light. He was all I could see. All I could smell. He was cold morning air, and smoke, and fresh-turned earth, and a thousand other complex scents I didn’t even have names for.
“I have to say, I was expecting that to go differently,” he mused. And then I punched him square in the mouth.
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.
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—”
“I’m hungover,” he announced. “The sun is trying to crack my skull open, which is making me very unfriendly. But please. Feel free to open the curtains.”
