Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

“You’re lucky he didn’t react any worse than he did,” she said. “Oh?” I scoffed. “I thought his reaction was a little over the top.” 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.

“You like it?” he purred. “I figured some extra protection was in order this morning since you’re now given to hurling yourself at me like some kind of rabid feline.” “Cats scratch,” I said flatly. “I came this close to knocking you on your ass.” “In your fucking dreams, human.”

“I don’t hate your kind. I’m just disappointed by how breakable you are. If I held you down and fucked you the way I’m imagining fucking you right now, I doubt that you’d survive it.”

I pulled a face at him. “Just do whatever it is you need to do already.” “I go and I try to get your brother. You help me and assist me in any way I ask you to, and you do as you’re told. You agree to this pact?” I nodded. “Yes.” “You understand that this is a blood oath? And you will be bound by this oath until death?” “Yes! Gods, I understand! I agree. Just get on with—” Kingfisher slapped his palm against mine and held on tight.

Oh. Oh no. I rocked back onto my heels, frowning at the figure lying on the ground. The hope that had soared through me came crashing down around my ears. Was this supposed to be some kind of joke? No. Fisher didn’t have a sense of humor, and this… this wasn’t funny. “It’ll take a while for him to… wake up. Humans are so…” Kingfisher groaned. “You’re all so fucking fragile.” I rounded on the warrior, the dull roar in my ears growing progressively louder, louder, louder… “This is not my brother, Fisher. This is Carrion fucking Swift!”

“Comfortable?” he asked. “No.” “Excellent. Don’t yank on the reins. Aida’s a good girl. She’ll follow without any input from you, so just leave her be.” Aida probably wasn’t a good girl. She was probably a hell bitch who was going to dump me on my ass at her earliest opportunity, but I held the reins loosely, obeying Fisher without a single objection.

“Feeling a little sore, human?” “Sore doesn’t come close,” I grumbled. “I’ll happily kiss all of your aches and pains better for you once we strike camp. I’ve been told my mouth has healing properties. Especially when administered between a pair of thighs.”

“What the hell have you been doing?” I demanded. “Why are you so dirty? And… wait, where did you even get those boots? Last time I saw you, you were walking around barefoot.” I laughed scornfully. “You looked stupid.”

“I can’t believe I actually have to say this out loud,” I hissed. “You shouldn’t do it because it’s wrong. You can’t go around forcing people to do things they don’t want to do.” At last, Fisher ate the cheese he’d been holding. “You can if they enter into a blood oath that puts them at your mercy.”

He crossed the tent so fast. Cupping my face in his hands, he kissed me again. Hard. Fast. His lips were on mine again, though they didn’t part. It only lasted a second, but it caused complete and utter fucking chaos inside my head. “Fisher—” He shook his head emphatically, his eyes begging me not to speak. Quickly, he took hold of my hand and placed it onto his chest, right in the center. Thum, thum, thum, thum, thum, thum.… His heart was racing, the space between beats negligible. Nothing like the slow, steady beat he’d shown me back in the forge at the palace. I tried to pull my hand away, startled by the thundering rhythm, but Fisher held me there tight. He didn’t say a word. He held my gaze, unblinking, and for once, the quicksilver that marked his eye was still. There was no arrogance in his features. No bravado. No smug smirk. The look he was giving me was deadly serious. Like it meant something.

My hand raised of its own accord. The shout of panic tore out of my mouth without any doing on my part. “STOP!” Danya’s body rocked sideways. She slammed into the table, her hip colliding with the wood. But that wasn’t what drew twenty pairs of stunned eyes toward me. It was her sword, splintering into a thousand shards, the quivering steel needles shooting through the air and hitting the wall above Ren’s head so hard that they drove an inch into the pitted stonework. Carrion toppled sideways, bracing against the side of the hearth, his mouth hanging slack. “Holy fuck,” he gasped.

Danya righted herself, slowly pivoting toward me—the first time she’d actually paid me any heed since I’d entered with Renfis. She looked like her head was going to explode. “We have a fucking Alchemist?” “She’s mine,” Fisher said.

“Please…” I reached for him like it was my right. His chest was warm and solid and perfect. Beneath my palms, the wolf tattoo emblazoned across his pecs came to life. The ink flowed beneath his skin, crossing from him to… to… sinners, it flowed along my fingertips, spreading over my skin, flowing just like his smoke over the backs of my hands. A delicate little bird took shape on the inside of my right forearm. It stretched its wings and took flight, its tiny body flitting over my stomach as its wings beat a thousand times a minute. “Shit,” Fisher breathed.

I pulled my hands away, afraid of more ink making its way over me, but Fisher just shook his head, grabbing one of my hands and putting it back on his flesh. He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t warn me if any more of his ink would come venturing over onto my body. He just drove himself deeper, slamming himself into me faster, relinquishing more of his control with each thrust.

When I’d first laid eyes on him, I’d called him Death. The likeness was even more pronounced now. This male possessed the power to end entire civilizations if he wanted to. I could feel it—a still, deep well inside him, its surface rippling as he grew harder and harder inside me. I would drown in that well. Sink down into the dark depths of it, never to break the surface again. And I would be glad.

“Hey!” I walked quickly, following after him. “Hey, asshole! What the hell? Get back here.” He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow. I upgraded to a jog, my breath forming a cloud of steam when I fell into step beside him. “Would you care to explain what the fuck this is?” I snapped, yanking down my shirt collar. A flicker of annoyance flashed in Fisher’s eyes, but he did not look at me. “Don’t worry. It’ll fade. Probably,” he said in a flat tone. Oh, so he knew what I was pissed about, then? Gods, he was a piece of work. “I did not ask for a tattoo, Fisher,” I hissed. “I definitely didn’t ask for a bird to be permanently inked right above my fucking boob. You need to take it back.” His gaze remained fixed straight ahead. “It doesn’t work like that.” “Bullshit, it doesn’t. It came from the ink on your body. You touched me. It slipped from your skin to mine. So, fuck, I don’t know, shake hands with me or something and take it back!” “I’m not shaking hands with you,” he said dismissively. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do with it?” Fisher looked like he was struggling not to roll his eyes. “It’s a tattoo, Osha. It won’t kill you. Just forget it’s even there.”

“What are you doing right now?” I asked him. “Aside from prodding this fire with a stick and reading this?” he asked, holding the book up again. “Nothing much. Why do you ask?” “Want to come and set fire to some far more exciting things?” He snapped his book closed with a flourish. “Absolutely, yes.”

Carrion’s grin faltered. “You are extra fucking miserable today. You should really get laid. Might help improve your mood. Tell him, Sunshine.” I choked. Loudly. Carrion couldn’t have made a more unfortunate suggestion if he’d tried. I thumped my chest, trying to get a breath down, and all the while, Fisher just looked at me. He wore no emotion. No expression at all. The quicksilver swirling in his iris was the only thing suggesting that he might not be as calm inside as he appeared on the outside. His eyes seemed to drink the light as he eventually turned a disdainful glare on Carrion. “Don’t call her Sunshine,” he commanded.

But Kingfisher didn’t respond to the taunting note in his question. He just cocked his head a little, nostrils flaring, and spoke in a low rumble. “Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.”

I’d noticed, all right. The sigil was on the plate Fisher wore at his throat. It was stamped into his chest protector, too. And I’d noticed his tattoo more than once. Last night, for example, when the head of the Lupo Proelia had plowed me like a godscursed field.

I wanted to reach out and take his hand, but the lines were so blurred now. Would he accept that small comfort, or would he laugh and spit in my face? I had my own defenses in play. My walls were just as tall as his and just as thick. I didn’t know if I’d survive that kind of rejection if he turned around and mocked me for thinking I could be any kind of support to him. Courage, I thought to myself. And also, fuck him. If he showed cruelty in the face of kindness, then he deserved to be miserable and alone. I drew in a deep breath, and was about to reach for him, when— “Why haven’t you said anything?” he demanded, twisting to face me. “I was about to! I just… I was thinking it through!” “Not about that.” He exhaled sharply down his nose. “About the other night. What happened. With us.”

When I’d picked up a pitcher at the Winter Palace and filled a glass for myself for the first time, I’d thought the sound of that rushing, free water would be my favorite sound until the day I died. I was wrong. The sound of Fisher’s genuine laughter was rarer than water had ever been back in Zilvaren; it almost brought tears to my eyes to hear it.

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.

“Then, have you thought about just asking it to meld with the pure silver?” “Psshhh! Don’t… don’t be ridiculous. Of course I haven’t!” “Why not?” “That’d be too simple, Carrion. I can’t just ask it to become a relic.” “Seems to me that if you can ask it to be a liquid or a solid, you could ask it to be all kinds of things,” he said, popping the collar of his coat. I glared at him, my annoyance levels rising fast. Not Carrion Swift. He would not be the reason why I figured out how to accomplish this task. He’d never let me live it down. It was infuriating that I hadn’t considered this for myself, though. “Are you gonna try it?” he asked, standing up a little straighter. “Can I watch?” Gods, this was going to be awful. “I can’t try again to make a relic. I haven’t refined the silver yet. I was taking a moment to do this.” To sulk. “But… there’s a way to half-test the theory,” I said. “And yes, you can come and watch. But only if you promise to keep your mouth shut and not get in the way.”

“You’re making a weird face,” Carrion whispered loudly. “Are you talking to it?” “Yes, I’m talking to it. What do you think I’m doing?” “I don’t know. You look constipated.” “Shh!” I closed my eyes so I could block him out.

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. “Can I hold it?” Lorreth asked hopefully. “Go ahead.” He lifted it, eyes lit with reverence. Inexplicably, my throat closed up at the sight of him holding the weapon. He ran his finger along its edge, barely touching his fingertips to the steel before hissing, pulling his hand back again. “Gods, you only need to look at the damned thing and it cuts.” He popped his index finger into his mouth, sucking on it.

“You only need to look at the damned thing and it cuts,” I whispered. The words Lorreth had said, right after he’d run his fingers along the sword and cut himself on it. He had been the first to bleed on the newly forged weapon. The sword had judged his blood. Lorreth’s face went ash white. “I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I’m happy with my daggers, I swear. I did not mean to claim Danya’s sword.” Not Danya’s sword, the quicksilver hissed. We are reforged. New unto this place. You do not claim us, Lorreth of the Broken Spires. We claim you. “This is going to be hilarious,” Fisher said. But he wasn’t laughing. Neither was Lorreth. “Danya’s going to lose her mind.” “She’ll have to get over it. She doesn’t have a choice. You’ve been a member of the Lupo Proelia without a god sword for four hundred years. It’ll be her turn for a while.”

Hold me with both hands and name me, Lorreth of the Broken Spires, the quicksilver said. Lorreth looked a little bewildered. “Me?” he said aloud. It is your privilege.

“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. Fisher let out a surprising whoop, joy shining from his face as he followed the column of energy upward into the heavens. “Angel’s breath, Brother!” he hollered. “Fucking angel’s breath!”

I collapsed into a chair as soon as Fisher got me into the tent, but he shook his head, hauling me out of it again by my wrists. “I don’t think so, Little Osha. Come on. Here. You’re sleeping in the bed.” “With you?” It was a challenge. I was done tiptoeing around this now. Fisher’s brow dipped for a second. He seemed frustrated, but he nodded. “I need to go and talk to Ren first. But yes. I’ll be sleeping here. With you.” “All right, then.” “But first”—he pulled a face—“you need a bath.”

Even after a long day’s work at Elroy’s forge, I’d never felt this gross. Kingfisher looked at me like I was the most astonishing thing he’d ever seen. As if he didn’t see the grime and the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. Midnight hair. Jade green eyes. That strong jaw. The full mouth that softened the powerfully masculine lines of his other features. The runes at his throat pulsed like a heartbeat as he lifted me again and lowered me gently into the bathtub.

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.” “What have I stolen?” But he smiled a small, sad smile, slowly shaking his head. “Sleep a little. The water will stay warm. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve spoken to Ren.”

War was at the doorstep. Tomorrow was uncertain. Hell, today was uncertain, but this tiny moment was real. It was, godsdamnit, and I didn’t want to let it go.

His father’s sword? Ren stood, arms folded over his chest, watching. Our eyes met, and worry swelled behind my ribs. Would I find judgment on his face? Anger over a valuable Fae heirloom being passed into the hands of a human? Of course not. 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.”

Fisher straightened and took me in. “Okay. Are you ready?” “Yes.” My heart kicked like a mule against my ribs, and yet I felt steady with the weight of the sword at my hip. “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.”

“Ready yourself,” Ren said tightly. “Let’s greet the fuckers with steel.” And us… an excited voice whispered. Us too! And us! Solace. The blade with the crescent moon pommel was a god sword, after all. Of course it held quicksilver. And it was awake. Alive. Listening. Talking. Talking to me.

“Saeris! Find Lorreth! Head back up to the forge!” Renfis bellowed. “No!” I drew Solace, and a ripple of heat charged up my arm. The sensation took me by surprise.

Ren looked at me like I was madness personified. “You promised him!” he shouted. Nodding, I raised the sword. “I promised I’d stay here. If I run off into the dark by myself, I’ll definitely die. He knew I’d have better odds if I was with you.” There was nothing he could do. Gritting his teeth, Ren twisted, jamming his sword up through the skull of a vampire so disfigured that I couldn’t even tell if it had been male or female. “Stubborn girl,” he growled. “Don’t you dare die on my watch, Saeris Fane! Fisher will never forgive me if his sole reason for living is torn to pieces on her first fucking battlefield.”

Raw, unfiltered threads of power probed across the edge of The Darn, seeking multiple marks at once, and surprised shouts went up all along the bank as warriors locked in battle watched their opponents burst into flames like torches. It was Lorreth—Lorreth, and the angel’s breath Avisiéth had granted him—and the sight of it set my soul on fucking fire.

Yes, a good secret. Very good. You want to stay. You want to save him. You must. You must. I frowned, watching the quicksilver closely as it vibrated next to the ring in the bowl of the crucible. Save him? I thought. Hayden? Yes, I want to bring him here. Not the brother. The Kingggfisshhherrrr, the quicksilver buzzed. Save him. Save the gates. Save Yvelia. “I just love it when you disappear into tense conversations with creepy portal metal,” Carrion quipped, hoisting himself up to sit on the bench. “It’s fascinating watching you do all of those facial gymnastics.”

Then to the quicksilver, I said, What do you mean, save Kingfisher? He’s here. He’s okay. I watched the quicksilver roll over the ring, enveloping its surface, coating it, sinking inside it. It said, We are token. Key. Relic. Shield. The words overlapped like layers of cloth, one on top of the other, but I still heard each one perfectly. Seal us with blood, Alchemist, the relic demanded.

The Oshellith mate and lay their eggs, but once that’s done, they fill the air, and they dance. Protecting them while they live is considered a sacred rite that many die in order to perform. That’s what Oshellith means in Old Fae, Saeris. Most Sacred.”

“She said, when I needed you most, you’d come blazing into my life like a meteorite, riding on a wave of chaos that would turn my whole world upside down. That you’d shine so brilliantly that you’d light up hell itself and guide me out of the darkness. She had no idea what your name would be. Just that you’d have dark hair, and a beautiful smile. And that I’d love you with a fierceness despite myself.”

I couldn’t walk away from him when he looked like that. I just fucking couldn’t. I dropped the duvet there in the doorway. Fisher closed his eyes when he realized that I was coming back to him. All of the nerves and trepidation I used to feel over touching him were gone. He leaned into me, resting his head against my stomach, wrapping his arms around my legs, placing his hands lightly on the backs of my thighs, and I held him. Seconds passed. Long minutes. I rubbed a hand between his shoulder blades in circles, hurting, and aching and wishing. Eventually, he sat upright and sank back into the chair, his cheeks flushed. He refused to look at me, but he nodded, as if to say, “It’s okay. I’m okay.” And so I left.

I bit back the burn in my throat and spun around, wrapping my arms around his neck. Make me forget that I’ve ever suffered, I commanded. Make me forget that I will again. He fell upon me like a tidal wave.

Gods, I wanted him. I wanted all of him. My soul was on fire, and I didn’t care if I burned for all eternity. So long as I was burning with him, then so be it.

He would be my end, this male. He would claim my better days and carry me during my worst. He would show me the meaning of ecstasy and drown me in it until I fucking died.

I found the note underneath the clothes he’d left for me. This may seem dramatic now, but it’ll make sense in time, Saeris. Go through the gate. It’ll take you back to Cahlish. Wait there with the others. I’ll send Layne back as soon as I can. Tell Iseabail to sedate her the second she comes through the gate. She’ll be close to transitioning. There won’t be much time. She’ll want to go back through the gate before I close it, so you’ll have to be ready for that. You have to stop her. This will all be for nothing if she jumps back through. Tell Lorreth to live his life. Tell him not to worry about me. I have endless patience and no interest in having martyrs for friends. Tell Renfis that I’m sorry. That he was the standard that I always held myself to, and Yvelia would have been a better place if I was half as good as him. And you, Osha. I release you from your oath. You know how to make the relics now. A selfish part of me wants to beg you to make as many as you can so that my friends and their families can escape Yvelia before this realm falls. But I understand if you need to go. Find Hayden and Elroy. Help your friends. Then go exploring. There are countless realms out there, waiting to be found. Make one of them yours. I’ve never been one to trust in the gods, but I choose to believe that all things come from the same place when life begins. I have hope that they return to the same place when it ends. I’ll be waiting for you there, Saeris Fane. F

Carrion was deathly pale, but he grinned up at Malcolm like a lunatic. “You really should have let me finish introducing myself earlier. It’s rude to interrupt people.” Malcolm let go of him, shoving him away. Miraculously, Carrion managed to stay on his feet. “My name is Carrion Swift. But there was a time when I was known as Carrion Daianthus. Firstborn son to Rurik and Amelia Daianthus.”

“I love him,” I said. “I can’t bear for him to die.” The Kingfisherrrrr, the whisper buzzed. Yes. Your mate. I stared into the dark, feeling hopeless. “Yes,” I said. “My mate.”