Quicksilver (The Fae & Alchemy Series Book 1)

We didn’t pass through the town at the foot of the Winter Palace. I’d hoped we would—more chance of us being spotted and stopped by Belikon’s men before we could get very far—but Kingfisher was smart. He could be an angry, arrogant, half-mad, outrageously handsome piece of shit and an intelligent tactician at the same time. Turned out the two weren’t mutually exclusive. I cursed the day I thought I’d get away with robbing a guardian as Fisher guided us around the outskirts of the town, down rocky, steep, uneven pathways that were buried in a thick layer of snow. It was a miracle that he knew where he was going. Even more astonishing that the horses didn’t trip and break their damn legs on the treacherous route Fisher picked out for us. One misstep and we’d find ourselves in big fucking trouble, but the horses plodded on, surefooted, unfazed by our hazardous evening adventure.

I watched Carrion’s head lolling against the flank of Fisher’s horse, fuming at the unconscious bastard the whole while. There was a cold sense of justice in watching his head being thrashed by the low boughs of the trees as we entered the dark forest. The fucker deserved every injury he got for what he’d done. He’d lied to Fisher. Why the hell would he say he was Hayden?

Had Fisher said, ‘What’s your name, stinking human wretch?’ Or had he said, “I’m here to transport Hayden Fane to a Fae realm, where he’ll have access to as much food and water as he can gorge himself on and a comfortable bed to sleep in?” Because I could totally see Carrion lying about his identity if the latter were the case.

The light and sound spilling from the Winter Palace soon faded. Kingfisher didn’t seem to mind our pitch-black surroundings, though, and neither did the horses. They plodded on, blowing down their noses, as if it weren’t freezing cold and terrifying out here. Haunting wails echoed across the forest, the sounds so human that my skin broke out into permanent goosebumps. In the bag I held in front of me, tucked against my stomach, half-wrapped in my cloak, Onyx whined, making himself as small as possible while also making so much noise that the annoyance radiating from Kingfisher could be felt from ten feet. He didn’t mention the hysterical fox. He simmered, not saying a word, which was infinitely worse.

The wailing that echoed throughout the forest drew closer and moved away at random intervals, making my breath come quick and shallow. Eventually, a wail came so close that it sounded as if a starving creature was lurking right beneath Aida’s feet. I screamed, jumping in the saddle, pulling my legs up, heart hammering in my chest.

Kingfisher halted his horse and looked back at me wearily. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“There’s—there’s—urgh, we’re going to die out here, asshole! Can’t you hear that screaming?”

He looked at me like I was the most tiresome thing he’d ever encountered. “They’re shades, human.”

“What do you mean, shades?”

“Y’know. Echoes. What remains of a creature after it dies in distress.”

My panic cranked up to an eleven. “Ghosts?”

Kingfisher’s mouth drew down thoughtfully. “I’m not familiar with that term. These beings are non-corporeal. They have no physical substance. They can’t hurt you. They don’t even know you’re here.”

Gods above, I couldn’t swallow. “Then why are they screaming?”

“They’re reliving their last moments. You’d scream, too, if you’d suffered the same death they had.”

“They died here? In this forest?” Don’t do it. Don’t ask him. Do not fucking ask. I had to know, though. “How did they die?”

Kingfisher cast sharp silver-flecked eyes around us into the dark. “Watch and you’ll see for yourself.”

“It’s pitch black out here! I can’t see anything. I can’t even see my own hand in front of my face!” At this, another piercing cry splintered the silence, so close that Onyx let out a yelp and tried to burrow a hole through the bottom of the burlap bag to safety.

“I keep forgetting how tragically inferior a human’s eyesight is,” Kingfisher remarked.

“Oh, and I suppose you can see every little detail of this place, then?” I jabbed a finger at the forest, intending the question to be ironic since we were surrounded by a wall of black, but Kingfisher shrugged a shoulder, pouting.

“I mean, it’s not crystal clear. I could make out much finer detail in the daylight. But yes. I can see perfectly well. Bring Aida up alongside me and I’ll gift you with temporary sight.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No!”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I’d like to sleep again at some point in the future. I don’t need to see any tortured souls reliving their deaths, thank you very much. I’ll pass.”

Kingfisher huffed. “Suit yourself. But when you hear them scream, don’t feel too bad for them, human. This place is a prison. Only those guilty of the most heinous crimes are sent to The Wicker Wood. The trees entomb the evilest kinds of monsters.”

The minutes turned into an hour, which turned into three hours. Could have been more. It was hard to gauge the passing of time, sitting on the back of this lumpy, uncomfortable animal. Aida’s barrel of a ribcage was too wide, and every time I rocked forward against the front of the saddle, my hips complained bitterly. My ass, too, along with far more sensitive parts of my anatomy that felt like they were being rubbed raw and not in a fun way.

The screams grew to a fever pitch. Aida kept close to Kingfisher’s horse, her head tossing anxiously. Once or twice, she lunged for Carrion, snapping her teeth at him, unhappy that the weird unconscious creature was getting too close. It was sheer luck that I’d managed to keep her from biting Carrion’s face up until now; if we made it to our destination, wherever that was, without the black-market trader receiving any facial lacerations, then he was going to owe me big-time.

I bit my tongue for as long as I could, but eventually, the dark, the screaming shades, and the driving, endless cold took their toll. “How much longer do we have to do this?” I’d planned on calling out the words so that Kingfisher could hear me over the wind rustling through the tree boughs and the steady metal grinding of the horses nervously chewing against their bits, but my nerves got the better of me; the question came out in a cracked whisper. I was saved from having to repeat myself by Fisher’s Fae hearing.

His head angled to the right an inch—the only indication that he’d heard me. But then he said, “We’re nearly there. Only another half an hour. We’ll arrive even sooner if we trot.”

Trot? I laughed scathingly. “Nothing you can say or do will incentivize me to smash my genitals against this saddle any harder or faster than they’re already being smashed.”

“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.” The suggestion in Kingfisher’s voice was a promise made of dark silk. Seductive. A little thrilling, if I was being honest. I wasn’t in the mood to be honest, though. I was grouchy and officially sick of flinching every time a stray twig brushed my arm. I wanted this little midnight foray to come to an end already. “I’m surprised,” I snorted.

“Why?”

“Surprised that you’d offer to spend any amount of time between my legs. Not when I was able to steal something so precious from you the last time I tricked you into letting me close.”

I could just make out the outline of Fisher’s shoulders bouncing up as he chuckled. “You really think I didn’t notice you take the ring?”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Oh, please. I knew what you were up to the second you climbed up into my lap.”

I preferred the thick silence punctuated with death screams to the sound of Kingfisher’s smugness. “Gods, you hate it, don’t you? Being bested by a human. Why can’t you just admit that I had you fooled?”

“It’ll be a cold day in Sanasroth before you fool me.” He said this so matter-of-factly, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “I knew the second you walked into the forge that you were planning something. I admit, I was mildly interested to see what you’d come up with.”

“Wow. You’d rather keep lying and dig yourself an even bigger hole than admit the truth. That ego of yours is impressive, Fisher.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

“All right. Fine. Tell me, how did I give myself away, then, if I was so obviously up to no good?”

“You brought a bag with you into the forge. A bag packed with food and clothes. Otherwise known as supplies.”

“How did you know it was packed with food and clothes?”

“Because I peeked while you weren’t looking.”

My mouth dropped open. “Asshole! You can’t go rifling through people’s bags!”

“Says the thief who stole a piece of valuable jewelry right off of my body. While rubbing her body all over me to distract me.”

He had me there. I’d done a lot of unconscionable things in the past to get what I needed. I’d never needed to kiss anyone the way I’d kissed Kingfisher, mind you. I hadn’t meant to kiss him like that. That had been an accident. One I didn’t feel inclined to investigate too closely at this specific moment in time. “So, you’re saying I did distract you, then,” I fired at him.

He just laughed. “And here I was, rankled at the thought of having to drag around a helpless, useless human who’d be nothing but a burden. But it turns out you’ve got jokes! At least I can count on you for some entertainment.”

Honestly. He was such a piece of work. Where did he get off, treating me like this? I’d been there back in the forge. I’d felt his hands on my body. In my hair. How urgently he explored my mouth with his tongue. He’d been distracted, all right. “You’re so full of shit. I felt how hard your—” I slammed my mouth shut. Heat nipped at my cheeks, very close to becoming embarrassment.

Kingfisher halted his horse, forcing Aida to stop, too. Carrion wobbled on the horse’s haunches, almost toppling off, though Kingfisher didn’t seem to notice or care. He twisted around in his saddle, a ruinous smirk dancing at the corners of his mouth. “How hard my what, human?”

“Nothing!” I answered far too quickly to come across as casual. “All I mean to say is that—that—you were distracted, okay? You were all over me. Your hands—”

“My hands have a mind of their own. My mind was fixed on what yours were doing, and let me tell you, human. You are nowhere near as light-fingered as you seem to think you are. You nearly dislocated my finger, tugging at that damned ring—”

“How dare you!” Aida had pulled up alongside Fisher’s horse, crab-walking, keen to get moving again, which brought me too close to the Fae warrior for comfort. I used our close proximity to lash out at him with my foot, but he nudged his stallion out of the way, sidestepping the blow.

“Easy there, human. Kick Bill and he’ll bolt. You want to find yourself alone in this forest? In the dark?”

I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of answering that. Instead, I pulled a childish face while retracting my foot and shoving the toe of my boot back into the stirrup. “Bill? Who calls their horse Bill?”

“I do. Now. Would you like to lead the way?” He gestured with a gloved hand toward a path that I had to assume was there since I couldn’t see it.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

We came across a road soon after. Though it was deserted, as far as I could tell, a fair amount of traffic clearly used the road because the snow hadn’t stuck here. Deep gouges cut into the churned mud, along with hoof prints, paw prints, and footprints so massive that I shivered to think what might have created them. Our horse’s hooves sucked at the stinking black ground as they plodded onward.

Our destination was a rundown two-story stone building situated right on the banks of a wide, frozen river. Its roof was covered in a layer of straw two feet thick, atop which rested only a fine dusting of snow. Light poured out of small windows. When the door to the front of the building opened, laughter and chatter and half a stanza of an off-key song spilled out into the night, along with a tall, broad figure who took five lurching steps and collapsed face-first into a snowbank.

Kingfisher had slowed his horse when the building had come into view. He sat staring at it for a moment, lips slightly parted, an unfamiliar, wistful expression on his face. I frowned at the building, trying to see whatever it was that he was seeing. You’d think he was taking stock of one of Yvelia’s finest architectural wonders, but from where my aching ass was sitting, it looked a hell of a lot like a pub.

“We’re sleeping there?” I asked, jerking my chin toward the place. The figure who’d stumbled out of the pub was on his hands and knees, now, vomiting into the snow.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Kingfisher kicked his horse on, gesturing for me to follow. “We’ll see how long it takes Ren to catch up.”

A scruffy stable hand took the horses when we dismounted. I attempted not to stare at the curved ram’s horns poking out of the holes torn in the top of his woolen hat but did a piss poor job. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how they connected to his skull. The stable hand didn’t seem to mind. He was all toothy smiles until I opened my bag up and tipped a sleepy Onyx out into the snow at my feet.

“Oooh, that’s a good one! Rare. Never see the black tips on the ears and tail like that anymore. I’ll gi’ yer two cröna for it.”

“What?”

Onyx darted behind me, hackles up, as if he understood the stable hand and would take a finger if the stranger tried anything funny.

The stable hand eyed me shrewdly. “All right. Four cröna. That’s all I can do, though. My wife’ll kill me if—”

My hand reached for the hilt of the dagger at my thigh. “He’s not for sale.”

“The human’s gotten it into her head that the flea-ridden thing is a pet,” Fisher said, collecting one of the bags from his saddle. He moved quickly, retrieving the long, wrapped object he’d tucked under my saddle flap.

Onyx jumped into my arms, nestling into the crook of my elbow and hiding his face. “He does not have fleas.”

“That you know of,” Kingfisher said.

“What about this one, then? Is this one for sale?” The stable hand thumbed a hand in the direction of Carrion.

“What’s your best offer?” Fisher asked.

“No!”

Kingfisher had the audacity to look bored when I slapped his arm. “No, the human isn’t for sale either,” he said in a flat, annoyed tone. “Put him in a stall with some hay and cover him with a blanket. If I find out he’s been harmed in any way…” Kingfisher’s hand rested suggestively on Nimerelle’s hilt, drawing the stable hand’s attention to the menacing black sword. The fawn paled beneath his auburn beard. He recognized the action for what it was—a promise of pain—and acted accordingly.

“Of course, sir. Don’t you worry. No harm will come to him under my watchful eye. He’ll sleep like a baby, just see if he doesn’t.”

A wall of heat and sound hit me as we entered the tavern. A good deal of nerves, too. This wasn’t The House of Kala. I was known there. Safe. Well, as safe as any person could be in a house of ill repute, where shady deals went down in dark corners. This tavern was a completely new environment for me. I was a stranger here. I had no idea what to expect. It turned out it was a lot like every other tavern I’d stepped foot inside.

Every rickety seat in the place was occupied, every table cluttered with a variety of chipped and mismatched tankards that were mostly empty. Fae males and females sat in groups, engaged in their own quiet conversations. I’d seen plenty of other creatures back at the Winter Palace, but the sheer variety of the other creatures here nearly knocked me off my feet.

Tall, reedy, thin-limbed beings with bark-like skin and wisps of thin, flowing white hair.

Small, hairless things with charcoal-colored skin and slitted amber eyes, teeth as sharp as needles.

Two males with shaggy, furred legs and cloven feet sat at the bar, long, ridged horns protruding from their brows and sweeping down their backs.

Creatures with bulbous noses and green skin, and creatures with flowing, thick auburn hair that streamed out around their heads caught on an invisible breeze.

Everywhere I looked, an array of creatures so wild and wonderful and strange and frightening that I could barely catch my breath.

Kingfisher drew up the hood of his cloak and ducked his head, throwing his face into shadow as we approached the bar. A swarm of tiny faeries with gossamer wings flitted around our heads, tugging on my hair, snatching up the loose strands that had worked loose from my braid, giving them sharp, vicious little pulls.

“Ow!” I tried to swat them away, but Kingfisher caught me by the wrist.

“I wouldn’t. They’re drunk. They get mean when they’re drunk.”

“I’m a thousand times bigger than them. I could crush—Ahh!” I hissed, pulling my hand away from the cloud of fluttering menaces. There, right on the heel of my palm, was a perfect oval welt. A bead of blood rose up from the tiny wound, shining like a tiny ruby. “A bite? Is that a bite mark?” I held out my hand for Fisher to see, but he didn’t even look.

“Not only do they get mad when you try to smash them out of the air, but they speak Common Fae and take offense when you imply that you’re going to crush them to death. Beer, please. Two. And a pour of your strongest spirit as well.”

The bartender was a short, rotund male with wiry grey hair, a hooked nose, and the bushiest eyebrows I’d ever seen. He grunted at Fisher’s request, paying neither of us any heed as he went to fetch our drinks.

When he came back, he dumped two tankards down, sloshing a good amount of our beer onto the bar, and then slid a small glass of noxious-looking green liquid to Kingfisher. Kingfisher paid wordlessly, scooped up our tankards and the shot, then ducked off into the crowd to find us somewhere to sit.

We were lucky. Two Fae women in royal blue dresses and thick traveling cloaks were rising from a table in the corner by the fire just as we were passing. Kingfisher hung his head, eyes on his boots while he waited for them to go, then he jerked his chin, indicating that I should sit down first. Onyx, who had stuck to my side like he was my shadow since we’d entered the tavern, shot under the table.

I hissed when my behind met the wooden seat. Gods, that hurt. I was never going to be able to sit down without drawing in a sharp breath again. Fisher’s infuriating grin was the only part of his face visible beneath the dark cowl of his hood. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” I groused, accepting the beer he handed to me.

“I think it’s hilarious,” he countered. “You’ve been a persistent pain in my ass since we met. Now the universe has seen fit to make your ass smart. I’d call that justice.”

“I’d call it highly fucking annoying. Wait, what are you doing?”

He’d reached across the table and grabbed hold of my wrist. I tried to yank it back, but his grip was like a vice. Hissing between his teeth, Fisher gave my arm a non-too-gentle tug. “Listen. In the last twelve hours, you’ve been bitten by that mangy fox, scorched by a sword you had no business touching, and now bitten by a Faerie as well. You aren’t from here. There are probably countless germs and illnesses floating around in the air that could put you in the ground. Your body is weak and slow to heal as it is. I need to disinfect all of these cuts and scrapes before you develop a fever and die.”

I begrudgingly stopped straining against his hold. “Careful, Kingfisher. I’ll start to think you actually care about my well-being if you keep—ahh! Ahh, ahh, ahh! Ow, that fucking hurts!”

He didn’t give me any warning. He dumped the bright green liquor in the shot glass all over my hand and held my wrist even tighter as my fingers spasmed. Underneath the table, Onyx let out a nervous whine, scratching at my legs.

“Breathe,” Fisher ordered. “It’ll pass in a second.”

The pain did begin to subside after a moment, but my anger…that was another story. “You’re sick,” I hissed. “You enjoyed that. What kind of male likes hurting people?”

His face was a blank mask when he let me go. “I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t like it at all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary. To avoid far more serious pain, sometimes we have to endure a little sting. Sometimes, some of us have to inflict it. You say it so mockingly, but I do care about your well-being. You’re important. Without you, I can’t end this war or protect my people. I have to keep you safe so I can accomplish my goals. So yes, I’ll hurt you if it means I keep you safe. I’ll force you to follow me to the ends of this realm, because that is the only way I can make sure you stay alive. Now drink your beer.”

He made it all sound so reasonable. That he was doing what was right and just for the greater good, but there were other ways of going about it. Softer, kinder ways. He clearly knew nothing about that. The world had been cruel to him, so he was cruel back. I didn’t need babying. I was used to dealing in harsh facts. I’d lost track of the number of times I’d been manhandled or had the shit kicked out of me, but that didn’t mean that Fisher needed to be such an asshole about all of this.

I took a swig of my beer, already knowing that one drink wouldn’t be enough to improve my mood. I’d expected it to be bad, but the beer tasted nutty and rich and was actually quite pleasant. Very pleasant. “Go slow with that,” Fisher warned when I took another huge gulp. “It’s strong.”

This idiot really did think I was weak. He knew nothing about the drinking games I’d played and won back in Zilvaren. And that was drinking whiskey, not beer, for fuck’s sake. Still, I wasn’t idiot enough to go downing my whole tankard just to prove a point. These were unchartered lands, and I didn’t have a map, both literally and figuratively.

I narrowed my eyes at Kingfisher. “When will Carrion wake up?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Fisher drank from his own beer, green eyes glinting at me over the top of his tankard. From within the dark shadows of his hood, they seemed to flash in the most remarkable way.

“I was unconscious for ten days. Are you planning on carting him around on the back of your horse for days on end?”

“No,” he said simply.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, I’m not planning on doing that. You were on the verge of death. That’s why you took so long to wake up. And we won’t have to ride any further to get where we’re going, so your friend’s career as a saddle bag has already come to an end.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

“And where is home?” I pressed, my frustration levels rising.

He took a deep pull from his beer, the muscles beneath the tattooed skin of his neck working. “The place where I was born.”

“Urgh! Do you have to be so difficult?”

His eyes danced. “It isn’t mandatory, but I do enjoy it.”

“Kingfisher!”

“I’m taking you to the borderlands, Osha. A small fiefdom at the very edge of Yvelian territory. A place called Cahlish.”

Cahlish? I’d heard the name mentioned multiple times. Everlayne had wanted Ren to take Fisher back there before he could be discovered in the Winter Palace. Belikon had said Fisher could stay in the palace for a week before he had to go back there.

“Is that wise? The King was sending you there, anyway. Won’t he just show up there, looking for us?”

Fisher shook his head. “My father and Belikon had a long history. He saw what Belikon was planning long before he murdered the royal family and stole the crown for himself. He took precautions and warded his lands so that neither Belikon nor any of his supporters could cross into them. He was powerful, and his wards were strong. They remain as solid as ever. Belikon can travel to the borders of Cahlish, but he can’t enter. As long as I live and carry on my father’s line, he never will.”

Well, that was great news. But there were other things to worry about. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that Cahlish was a battlefront,” I said.

“It is.”

“No. But. An actual war zone.”

Fisher fished a fleck of floating debris out of his beer. “That’s right.”

“So you make a big speech about keeping me safe in order to save your friends,” I said slowly, “and then you tell me you’re dragging me right into the middle of an open conflict?”

“Sound like fun?”

“How the hell am I supposed to stay alive in the middle of a war zone, Fisher?”

When he laughed this time, the sound was hollow. “By sticking close, Osha. Really close.”

I drank three beers and fed Onyx most of the meal Fisher ordered for us under the table. The smoked meat stew made my mouth water, but I could barely swallow it down. Carrion Swift was in the barn outside. Carrion fucking Swift, when I had wanted Hayden. I was locked into a blood oath, and I hadn’t gotten what I’d bargained for in the slightest. Best case scenario, my brother was still trapped back in Zilvaren, hungry, thirsty, and looking over his shoulder every other second for Madra’s guardians. Worst case scenario, he was already dead because of me, and there was nothing I could do to make it right. So yes. My appetite was non-existent.

Ren showed up two hours after our bowls of stew were cleared away. I saw him enter, his tall frame filling the tavern doorway, his long sandy hair wet from the snow. A wave of relief slammed into me. At last, a voice of reason.

Belikon’s general saw me first, still tucked away in the corner by the fire, and the tension between his brows instantly lifted. When he saw Kingfisher’s back, the cowl of his cloak still concealing his features, he broke out into a smile so full of relief that it made my chest ache. My expression must have matched Ren’s when I’d thought for those few moments that Fisher had brought Hayden back with him. Those few blissful moments when I’d thought my brother was alive and safe…

Gods.

Kingfisher turned to meet his friend right as he arrived at our table, a broad, genuine smile on his face. He stood, and Ren pulled him into a tight hug, clapping him on the back. When the general let him go, holding him at arm’s length, he huffed sharply down his nose and patted Fisher’s cheek. “You, my friend, are officially fucked.”

“Everlayne’s spitting mad. She’s never going to talk to you again. What were you thinking?” Ren had his own beer now, which meant I had a fourth sitting in front of me, too. I didn’t feel remotely drunk. I was tired, and sore, and irritated beyond comprehension, and I wanted my bed back in the Silver City. Wanting was a fool’s game, though, and Ren had come with news, so I pulled myself together and leaned in close to listen to the hushed argument that was taking place between the two males.

“We had a plan,” Ren hissed.

“Don’t look at me. Our little friend here forced my hand. She tried to commit suicide.”

“Liar! I did not!”

“When I found her, she was two seconds away from taking a dip without a relic,” Fisher said.

“I had your ring, smart ass. I thought I did have a relic.”

He eyed me over the top of his tankard, the silver around his iris shimmering as he gave me an open-mouthed smile. “Oh? You had my ring, did you? Care to recount the tale of how that came to be in your possession, Human?”

“That’s irrelevant.” I glowered at him hatefully.

“I don’t care what Saeris took,” Ren said tightly. “You took Belikon’s Alchemist. And not just that. You took the sword, too.”

Kingfisher’s hand closed around his tankard so tight that his fingers turned white. “The last time he laid his hands on a sword of note, he used it to murder the true king and the whole fucking Daianthus line. If Rurik Daianthus—”

“As you just pointed out, Rurik Daianthus is gone. There’s no point playing a game of ‘if only’ where he’s concerned. Belikon is the king. And like it or not, as king, he can claim whatever the hell he wants to claim. The god swords are all dead. They’re paperweights now. Belikon couldn’t do any more damage with it than he could do with an ordinary sword. You should have just let him add it to his collection. What harm would it have done?”

“Harm?” Fisher barked. “You’re joking, right? Harm. Hah!” He shook his head. “That sword is a holy fucking relic, Renfis. That bastard isn’t fit to look upon it let alone wield it. I’ll die before I allow Belikon to wear it on his hip. And you’re wrong. Not all of the swords are dormant. Nimerelle—”

“So, taking it had nothing to do with the fact that Solace was your father’s blade? No. No, forget I even asked. I already know that’s the truth of it. As for your sword, Nimerelle has been corrupted for years,” Ren seethed.

Kingfisher slammed his hands against the table, the cowl of his hood falling down. “Nimerelle is the only thing that’s stood between Yvelia and ever-lasting darkness for the past four hundred fucking years!” He was too loud. Too angry. His fury erupted out of him, and the tables around us fell quiet. Conversations stumbled, drinks were set aside, and a hundred pairs of eyes turned toward us.

Fisher shook as he stared at Ren. He didn’t notice when whispers of “Renfis Orithian, Renfis Blood Sworn, Renfis of the Silver Lake,” began to spread throughout the room. Nor did he notice when the whispers turned to him. Not until it was too late.

Kingfisher.

No. It can’t be.

It’s true!

He’s returned.

He’s here.

Kingfisher.

Kingfisher.

Kingfisher.

Fisher’s ire dried up like so much smoke. He hung his head, his cheeks turning white as ash despite the heat from the roaring fire. The muted, “Fuck,” he murmured was just a shape on his lips. It made no sound.

“Time to go,” Ren ground out.

“What? What’s the problem?” I looked around, trying to gauge the emotions on the faces that surrounded us, but all I could see was shock. Reluctantly, Fisher had spent some time explaining what types of creatures they were to me. Where they had all come from. And now the Fae, and the tiny little faeries that hovered in the air, and the satyrs at the bar, and the goblins, and the selkies, and everyone else—they were all speechless. Everywhere I looked, I found wide eyes and open mouths. Even the bartender, who hadn’t spared us more than a glance when we ordered our drinks, was frozen, halfway through polishing a thick gla—

Never mind.

The glass dropped from his hands, shattering loudly on the floor.

Renfis rose from his chair, head bowed. He held his hand out to me and helped me up. Slowly, Kingfisher followed. His shoulders drew up around his ears, his vibrant green eyes unreadable; he kept them trained on the floor.

The three of us headed for the door, Kingfisher leading the way. I came after him, Onyx clutched tight in my arms, Renfis following behind me. We were halfway to the door when a massive Fae warrior with long, braided blond hair, shorn at the sides of his head, stepped in front of Kingfisher, blocking his path. He was huge. Easily just as tall as Kingfisher or Ren. His features were fine, though there was nothing gentle about him. The hard look in his pewter-colored eyes spoke of bloodshed. I gasped when he dropped to one knee at Kingfisher’s feet. “It’s an honor to kneel at the feet of the Dragon’s Bane. Please. A blessing, Commander? Only…only if you see fit to, of course,” he stammered.

“I’m sorry.” Kingfisher placed a hand on the warrior’s shoulder. “You have me mistaken for someone else.”

The blond warrior donned a rueful smile. “My cousin fought with you and your wolves at Ajun-Sky. The way he described you…” He shook his head apologetically. “You’re The Fisher King. You can’t be anyone else.”

Fisher’s throat bobbed. I saw him struggle for words, fighting to force them out of his mouth. “I might fit your cousin’s description…on the outside. I’m honored that he remembered me to you. But…I’m not the male who he fought with at Ajun. I’m sorry, brother. I—”

“You saved the rippling banner of the proud western Annachreich,” the blond warrior interrupted. “At dawn, on the fifth day, you cried against the rising sun and roused our people’s hearts so that even those who were ready to pass through the black door turned away from death and found the strength to find their feet. And their bows. And their swords. And their friends. You led the charge on the blood-red mountain—” The warrior’s voice cracked.

A tall Fae female stepped to his side, dressed in leather ranger’s armor. Her face bore a jagged scar that twisted her lower lip. “At Sinder’s Reach, you quelled the horde that threatened to burn everything my people had built. Fifty thousand people. Fifty thousand lives. Temples. Libraries. Schools. Homes. They all still exist today. Because of you.”

A muscle ticked in Kingfisher’s jaw. He couldn’t meet the female’s eyes.

At the bar, one of the Satyrs with the impressive sweeping horns and the shaggy goat-like legs stepped forward. His eyes shone bright, reflecting the flames of the fire roaring in the hearth as he raised his glass to Kingfisher. “Innishtar,” he declared in a deep, gravelly voice. “It wasn’t as grand as these others. Just a small town. We weren’t kind to you when you came. Then, the Fae and my lot weren’t the allies we are now. But five of you stood against the dark that night. You saved four hundred. You were there, too, Renfis of the Orithian.”

Ren inclined his head, his dark eyes sad. “I remember,” he said softly.

The satyr lifted his glass a little higher, first to Ren and then to Kingfisher. “A lifetime of thanks to you both for what you did. Though it’ll never be enough. Sarrush.” He pressed the glass to his lips and tossed back the amber liquid inside.

“Sarrush!”

“Sarrush!”

Around the bar, a cup or a glass went up in every single patron’s hand. They all cried out the word. They all drank.

“You saved the bridge at Lothbrock.”

“You held Turrordan Pass until the snows came.”

“You fought Malcolm on the banks of the Darn until the river flowed black with their blood.”

Again and again, the tavern’s patrons stood and spoke. It seemed all of them had a story. Kingfisher stood mute, his throat working. Eventually, he couldn’t maintain his silence anymore. “I’m not…I’m just…” His eyes were distant. “That was a long time ago. That person doesn’t exist anymore.” He charged past the Fae warrior still kneeling at his feet, flung open the tavern door, and disappeared into the night.

I stared after him, unable to comprehend what I’d just seen and heard. All of this, for Kingfisher. Kingfisher and Ren. So many stories of valiant battles and impossible odds. From the way the two males had reacted when they’d first realized they’d been recognized, I’d thought we were about to be attacked. But that couldn’t have been any further from the truth. To me, Kingfisher was a surly, foul-mouthed bastard who I wouldn’t piss on even if he was on fire.

To everyone inside this tavern, he was a living fucking god.