Brimstone (Fae & Alchemy, #2)

by Callie Hart

“If you exhaust all of your magic, you’ll be as powerless as me, then?” I scoffed at that. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll still know how to hold a fucking sword.”

“It’s very simple, Fisher. If you treat me like I’m the court jester, I’ll be the court jester. If I’m the laughingstock, or the drunk, or the idiot, then you’re not thinking about who I really am, are you. I survived here for over a thousand years. Do you really think I’d have been able to do that if I couldn’t pull myself out of a fucking hole? If at any point, you underestimate me…” He smirked, arching a dark copper eyebrow. “Then I’d say that was your mistake rather than mine.

“What about you? Are you ticklish?” Fisher sniffed, his hair tumbling into his eyes. He lowered himself so that his face was only a couple of inches from mine and butted the end of my nose gently with his own. “I’m afraid I’m not going to answer that question.” “Because you can’t lie!” I squealed, laughing, trying to wrestle free from his grip so I could test my theory, but Fisher held on tight. “A warrior never reveals his weaknesses.”

“Every part. I love all of you.” He blew a dark curl out of his eyes. “I’d spend the fortunes of the universe to protect you. I’d drain the seas dry. Fell every tree. I would sacrifice the sun from the fucking sky and surrender the stars, too, if I could. But those things aren’t mine to give. All I have is my life. It isn’t much, but I’d spend it and consider the price small if it meant keeping you safe.”

I have no regrets. I love you. I am proud of you. Now give her back the book.

“But now?” A crooked, heartbroken smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. “How can I consign myself to another endless dark when I’ve been given back the light?”

“My name is Carrion,” he said. “Nice to meet you all. I really like your horns.” There were historians among the crowd. Someone would record this moment—the day the satyr community received the Daianthus heir—and when they documented the first thing their Forgotten King had said to them, it would be this: I really like your horns.

“It feels like trying to make sand flow backward in an hourglass. It feels like being surrounded by people and being the only one who can’t find the air in the room. It’s drowning on dry land. It’s the hollow ache of something that you know, from that moment on, will always be missing. It is a pain so acute and incurable that poets, pirates, and politicians alike die from it. And it never ends.”