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“Say it again,” he growled.
“That’s a neat trick, Little Osha. An affinity to a small magic, perhaps. I wonder how many others you have up your sleeve.”
Before, you smelled like fresh crushed leaves and the mountain air before a cold snap. A subtle hint of spices and citrus, and fire smoke.”
“Now, those scents are amplified a thousandfold. You smell like excitement. You smell like laughter. And peace. And love.”
“You forget that I’m a winter creature, Saeris,” Fisher murmured. “I don’t crave the attention of the sun. The snowcapped mountains, the forest, the frozen river… those places are my home. You are home.”
“I despise the gods, Saeris. I’m Oath Bound by this land and the blood of kings. I swore I would never offer up a word of gratitude to them again, but you have made a liar of me. You’re a gift that cannot be ignored.
“You taste like the end of the fucking world,” he purred. “Just kill me and be done with it. Nothing will ever be better than this.”
“Are you particularly attached to those clothes, Osha?”
“You possess the kind of magic that could undress me, I’m sure of it. Care to give it a shot?”
“Magic is all about intention, Little Osha.
“Come now, Osha. Where else would an acolyte kneel to worship but at the altar of his god?”
“I told you once that I was disappointed by how breakable humans were. Remember?” Oh, I remembered. “You’re not human anymore, Saeris. Think you can keep up with me now?” Martyrs. That cocky grin. The taunting glint in his eyes, oscillating between mischief and mayhem.
I had to have him, and he was not helping. Nope, he was laughing. “Feeling a little feral there, Osha?”
Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate, slayer of the last dragon and Lord of Cahlish, obeyed me.
And now she was here, my Little Osha, and she was more than I could have hoped for.
So, you and Saeris. In love. That’s exciting.” “Fuck off, Ren,” I grumbled.
Taladaius should have joined our brotherhood and foolishly chose death instead.
the layered voices of the quicksilver came out of Everlayne’s mouth.
I am Edina.” The name was so familiar to me. I’d heard someone speak it recently, hadn’t I?
“The library. Go to the library,” she said, her teeth chattering even harder. “There, you will fi-find a b-b-book.”
“What kind of book?” I demanded. “And why do I need it?” “Sm-small,” she wheezed. “But thick. Blue. There is a butterfly…”
“It’s hidden,” she rasped, “among the stars.”
“They told you. About the rot,” she said in a clear voice. “They told you it would come. It’s here, now. You must find the book in order to stop it. Without it, the decay will spread until it swallows this realm and millions more with it. I have seen it, Saeris. Find the book. Stop the spread. It’s the only way.”
Make sure he knows how much I loved him, Saeris,” she said. “At the end, make sure he knows that I’d do it all again.”
“An Alchemist must seal her runes,”
“Why were you calling my mother’s name?”
Carrion snorted, turning a page. “I’m only one thousand and ninety-six, thank you very much.”
“When my father took him through the quicksilver, something must have happened. My money’s on the gods, interfering again.”
When they took me at Ajun, I stood with Bal and Mithin in the middle of a field of swaying tall grass. I saw two figures up on a hill in the distance. The first was Zareth. The second… was you, Osha.”
Fisher had fought and nearly died at the Ajun Gate over a thousand years ago. I had been pulled through the quicksilver and into the gods’ realm only a few short weeks ago. “But… how? And how do you know it was me?” I didn’t know your name. I didn’t see your face. But I knew, Osha. My soul recognized a flicker of itself burning inside someone else and it knew.
“If it comes to that, nothing will help us,” he said. “We’ll have to leave Yvelia. And for a mass evacuation on that level, we’ll need far more than fifteen thousand relics.”
“Fine. But I swear to the gods, if you talk the entire time, I will kill you and leave your carcass for the crows, Carrion Swift.”
“Saeris. I’m going to let you off because you’re new to all of this, but a vampire can’t lie to its maker. A blue aura comes off you when you try. The stronger the aura, the bigger the lie, and right now, you’re lighting up my office like a torch. But even if you weren’t, I can feel that you’re in pain. A lot of pain. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Well. The way your runes smoldered would indicate that you have access to elemental fire magic. Once harnessed, that will be incredibly useful, no? And the fact that your hands are healed now, after the damage I just witnessed, implies that you also have regenerative magic. Physical magic. Power over the body. At some point, you might be able to heal others with your abilities.
The relationship between maker and made could be compared to that of parent and offspring, I suppose. So, yes,”
You’re God-Bound with Fisher. And right now, you’re bound to me, too. I don’t want to hurt Fisher by having any sort of power over his mate.
I was also babysitting a jackass who was struggling not to trip over his own fucking feet.
“Fisher? Fisher. Are we nearly at the door? Ow, what the hell was that? Something hit my arm really hard.” “It was my fist. Now shut. The fuck. Up.”
For whatever reason, my mate didn’t seem to want the smuggler dead, and I had no choice but to let him live as a result. Worse, I had to protect him now, and holy gods, wasn’t that just a kicker?
Lorreth had called his god sword Avisiéth. A fine, strong name for a sword. Carrion had called his Simon.
“Pick up your fucking feet, Your Highness,” I snarled. One. I threw him out of the window.
“Apologies, madam. We had a little argument with gravity. Looks like gravity won.”
“Hah. Looks like gravity won. That was almost funny,”
“Why am I not surprised that you have an account at a place called the Brigand’s Bank?” “Oh, I don’t have an account, Lord Cahlish.” He winked at me. “I own it.”
The next few minutes were very annoying. I had Swift’s ass in my face for at least thirty seconds, which were thirty seconds I would have to remember to blot from my memory once all of this was done.
Carrion sat on top of a low, crumbling wall, watching me with that telltale glimmer in his eyes that meant he was about to say something that would make my blood boil. And sure enough…
The writing desk in front of me disappeared. It was there, and then it was gone. Then the bookcase behind it, and all its leather-bound tomes. Gone. The leather couch by the window, gone. The wall, with its portrait of Malcolm smirking knowingly out of its frame… gone.
There was a twenty-foot hole in the side of Ammontraíeth. And I had put it there.
Carrion sprawled out on the floor and started screaming. The pain was total. No breath. No thought. No way out. The smuggler wasn’t used to it.
Gods, how was he still talking? I couldn’t even think.
