Quicksilver (The Fae & Alchemy Series Book 1)

The camp was in chaos when Fisher escorted me back to his tent. Nearly everyone had seen the column of angel’s breath illuminating the pre-dawn sky. Those who hadn’t fired questions at those who had, and all were gripped with an air of excitement. Fisher had advised Lorreth to go and sleep until he came to get him later in the evening. He’d still looked dumbstruck as he headed off in the direction of his tent, cradling Avisiéth like a baby in his arms. Carrion had decided that he couldn’t be bothered hiking back down the hill and announced that he was going to sleep at the forge.

Meanwhile, I had no idea what angel’s breath was or how it would be useful on a battlefield. I was so sore I couldn’t think straight, and frankly, I couldn’t even remember my own name. 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.”

I couldn’t be offended.

I’d spent fifteen hours slaving away in a sweltering forge and had the sweat and half of the dirt of Innìr beneath my fingernails to prove it. My hair was crisp from my perspiration—my fingers got stuck in it when I tried to run my hand through it. I wanted nothing more than to be clean, but when I tried to talk myself into crossing the tent toward the beautiful copper claw foot tub that Fisher conjured with his smoke, I found my legs uncooperative. I didn’t even have the energy to talk.

Fisher took one look at me and lifted me into his arms. He might have had a cutting comment for me once. See, Little Osha. Just like the butterfly I named you after. So weak. So vulnerable. But he said nothing as he carried me to the tub and carefully set me down. His eyes trailed fire over my skin as he helped me out of my clothes. I hissed, failing to raise my arms over my head, and he dispensed with the process entirely, tiny particles of midnight sand rushing over my body and helpfully dispatching my clothes.

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.

I sighed in instant relief. The water was the perfect temperature; the heat worked its way into my body, easing the tension in my joints and kneading out the knots in my muscles. It was nothing short of divine.

Fisher knelt on the floor, resting his forearms against the side of the copper tub. He watched me, his eyes so fierce that they stripped me even barer than I already was.

It took ridiculous effort, but I lifted my hand out of the water just enough so that I could touch his hand. He didn’t pull away. Lifting his fingers an inch, he repositioned, adjusting. It was a micro-movement, really. Subtle, but with meaningful results: his fingertips were left resting on top of mine.

We’d kissed, and licked, and fucked each other raw. He’d emptied himself inside me, roaring as he came, but this small, intentional contact between us was the most intimate we’d ever been. I marveled at the sight of our fingers touching, an array of emotions vying for my attention.

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.”

I woke to hands built for violence gently soaping my scalp. No one had ever washed my hair before. It was an experience I wanted again and again. But only from him. Only from Fisher.

The second time I woke, he was lifting me out of the tub. His magic hummed over my naked body, leaving me dry in his arms. I didn’t want clothes. I wanted to be naked, and I wanted him naked, too, but the slate blue shorts and camisole he magicked out of nowhere for me were butter-soft and very pretty and left my skin almost bare. The sounds of the war camp outside faded away, leaving the tent in blissful silence as Fisher placed me into his bed and climbed in right behind me.

The third time I woke, it was dark, and my stomach was growling loud enough to wake the dead. Fisher’s arm was thrown over my side, one of his legs tangled with mine, the weight and heat of his body curving around me deeply reassuring. I lay as still as I could for as long as I could, relishing the quiet dark and the soft sound of Kingfisher’s breathing. Half an hour passed. I’d need to get up and use the bathroom soon enough, but for the time being, I wanted to stay here and soak this in.

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. I tried to relax and savor it, but a thought crept in as I lay there. A thought that would not be ignored.

I had made an Alchimeran sword. Me. A pickpocket from Zilvaren. I’d learned how to reason with the quicksilver and had struck a bargain with it, and now Lorreth had a weapon that channeled vast amounts of energy. A few months ago, I’d never have thought that possible. But now, a lot of things felt like they might be possible. It had to be worth a shot, didn’t it?

Carefully, I reached out with my mind, searching for the buzzing hum of the quicksilver. I found it easily, and gods, it was loud. So loud. Too loud to think around. Was this what Fisher dealt with? Every waking hour?

Annorath mor!

Annorath mor!

I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer to the gods. Hello?

The chanting stopped.

Kingfisher stirred in his sleep, letting out a troubled sigh, but he didn’t wake. I bit my bottom lip, steeling myself. If I was quick, this could all be over in a matter of moments. Tentatively, I reached out again, extending the boundaries of my mind until I sensed the restless weight of the quicksilver. I should have prepared for this. Thought of what I wanted to say. I hadn’t planned for this, though, and how many opportunities would I get at this in the future?

“I’m Saeris. I’m an Alchemist. I—”

We know who she is, the quicksilver hissed. She is the dawn. She is the moon. She is the sky. She is oxygen in our lungs.

“I—” I didn’t know how to respond. Why would it say that? I was the dawn? The sky? Oxygen? I shook my head—there was no time to waste on puzzles. “I want you to leave Fisher,” I rushed out.

“Leave him?” the quicksilver asked in a quizzical voice.

“Yes. Leave him. His body. I want you to come out of him. I’ll strike a deal with you—”

“We cannot leave him. We are him.” A multitude of voices layered over each other—an echoing chorus of voices, delivering news that I didn’t want to hear.

“He is Fae. You are…you’re…” I didn’t have a clue what it was. Not really. What the hell was I supposed to tell it? I had to keep things simple. “You’re quicksilver. You’re not supposed to bind with living creatures.”

“We bind with all kinds of weapons.”

“Fisher isn’t a weapon! He’s…He’s a living, breathing…”

“Weapon,” the quicksilver said. “The best. We are him. He is us. We cannot leave. We will die.”

“You’ll die? Or Kingfisher?”

“All of us,” the quicksilver emphasized. “We are one thing. One weapon.”

It was being ridiculous or stubborn, one of the two. And I wasn’t in the mood. “I could guide you out. I can feel you inside him. I can put you back with the other quicksilver at Cahlish? Or forge you into the most impressive blade that’s ever been—”

“We were forged hundreds of years ago. We cannot be unmade.”

“You’re hurting him.” Even in my head, my voice seemed to crack with emotion. “He’s suffering because of you.”

The quicksilver was quiet. I could sense it, thinking about this. But not for long. “We are him. He is us. We all suffer, Alchemist. There is nothing to be done.”

“So you’re just going to keep pushing him until he cracks? Until he dies? If you kill him, what then?”

“Then we do as all dying things do. We return to the dirt, and the sea, and the sky. We sleep. We evolve. We change. We transcend.”

“You’re stealing his life from him,” I spat. “You have no right—”

“We gave him his life. A boy. Just a boy. He was young when he entered our pool. He should not have survived it. But he was strong, and the grand halls of the universe rang aloud with his purpose. We permitted him to live so that he might fulfill that purpose. We bound ourselves to him that he might survive.”

“And…there’s no other way? For him to live without…”

“This dye was cast centuries ago. We accepted our fate, Alchemist. All of us did.”

I heard the implication in the quicksilver’s words. It wanted me to understand that Fisher had agreed to this somehow. That he’d allowed the quicksilver to bind with him and had known what it would mean. But I couldn’t make my peace with that. Why would he have struck a bargain that would eventually cost him his mind?

My eyes stung behind my eyelids. I couldn’t accept it. Wouldn’t. There had to be a way to convince the quicksilver to willingly leave Fisher’s body. If I could talk the quicksilver in Danya’s sword into being reforged and to channel magic again, then surely I could find some deal or bargain that would entice the quicksilver out of the male sleeping next to me.

I started when something brushed my cheek. My eyes snapped open, and…oh. Fisher wasn’t asleep, after all. Great. Just what I needed. If I was going to try and negotiate with his quicksilver, I hadn’t wanted him knowing about it. A deep sadness radiated from him as he swept away the tear that had rolled over the bridge of my nose. “I assume that didn’t go how you thought it would,” he whispered.

I sniffed. “Did you hear it all?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “Only pieces of what it said to you. But it was pretty easy to work out what you were talking about, based on its responses.”

Damn. I should have kept my thoughts to myself. Now he knew I’d gone prying. That wasn’t the best feeling. I should have just minded my own business.

As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “I’ve been waiting to see if you’d try and yank it out of me.”

“You’re not angry?”

His mouth tugged up into the smallest, saddest smile. Closing his eyes, he sighed. “Of course not. How can I be angry? You wanted to help. But now you know. It’s not just inside of me. It’s a part of me. Without it, I’ll die anyway. So, it’s—”

Renfis burst into the tent, dressed in full armor. His expression was wild, his face smeared with dirt. I sat up, grabbing the sheets and clutching them to my chest, alert and ready. Conversation forgotten. Quicksilver forgotten. The fact that I wasn’t wearing much beneath the sheets was also forgotten. Ren cursed through his teeth in OId Fae, casting his eyes away when he saw me. “Gods. Apologies. I thought you were up at Cahlish, Saeris. I’m sorry, truly I am, but I need him.”

Fisher was up and out of bed a second later, a shadowy blur streaking across the tent. When he stilled by the bookcase, he was already dressed in his black leather armor, plate at his throat and murder in his eyes. “What is it?” demanded.

“The horde. They’re at the banks again,” Ren clipped out. “All hell’s breaking loose out there.”

“Fuck.” Out of nowhere, the wall of silence that had fallen over the tent as Fisher had put me to bed shattered, and the sound of chaos crashed down upon us. Screams and shouts. The thunder of hundreds of boots running through the sucking mud. Commands being bellowed from one side of the camp to the other. And underpinning it all, the steady pounding rhythm of hammers striking thick ice.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

“Fuck!” Fisher repeated. A length of curling black shadow extended in his hand, becoming Nimerelle. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t. There’s no need for apologies. No one’s been hurt. It’s a token showing. Barely a thousand of them. Still, you should come,” Ren rushed out. “I’ll see you at the river. Saeris, it’d be best if you stayed here—”

“No. I’m coming.” That was it. Final. I was sick of being told to wait, told to stay, told to hide where it was safe. I wasn’t hanging back here, pacing in a tent while Fisher, my friends, and the rest of the entire fucking war camp faced down Malcolm’s monsters. It just wasn’t happening. I got out of bed, not caring that I was still only wearing the shorts and the camisole. Fisher saw to that, anyway. By the time my bare feet hit the rug, I was dressed in black fighting leathers and a long-sleeved black shirt to match them.

Ren looked for a response from his friend. “Fisher?”

Fisher stared into me. The hard arrogance he would have worn a week or two ago was gone, replaced by caution.

“The only way I’m staying in this tent is if you force me to,” I said in a shaky voice. And here it was. The moment he officially won me or lost me. If he ordered me to stay and took away my will, it didn’t matter how much things had changed between us. Nor would it matter how much I needed him. I would never speak to him again. Never look at him again. This would all be over before it had even had a chance to begin. That would hurt, but nowhere near as much as his betrayal would. I waited, praying to gods I’d only recently learned the names of that he was about to make the right decision.

Fisher swallowed hard. “You won’t go to Cahlish?” he asked quietly.

“I will not.” Being banished to Cahlish would be even worse. So far removed that a whole mountain range stood between me and the fight? I’d never forgive him. I wouldn’t be able to, even if I tried.

Don’t do it, Fisher. Please. Do not fucking send me away.

He’d set his jaw. He’d come to a decision. I braced, waiting for a shadow gate to coalesce, but… “If you come, will you stay right by me?” he asked.

My knees wanted to buckle. I answered quickly, before he could rethink this. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

“And if I tell you to stay somewhere until danger passes?”

“I’ll stay.”

“And if I tell you to run?”

“I’ll run.”

He narrowed his beautiful eyes at me. “Swear it.”

“A promise doesn’t bind me the way it binds you.”

“I know. But humans still make promises to each other, even though they can be broken, don’t they? Because they trust the other to honor their word.”

“Yes.”

“Then swear, Little Osha, and I’ll trust you.”

A wave of hot emotion knifed me in the center of my chest. This was the kind of male I wanted to be with. “I swear it.”

Kingfisher nodded, accepting my promise. “All right then. So be it.” Quickly, he went to the trunk at the foot of his bed and opened the lid, taking out a long bolt of fabric. I recognized it immediately. It was the bundle Fisher had fastened to Aida’s saddle when we’d fled the Winter Palace. Ren’s eyes went wide as Fisher placed it on the bed and unraveled the swathes of material, revealing the sword within.

Not just any sword. The sword that had started all of this. The one I’d pulled from the pool of frozen quicksilver in Madra’s palace. Solace’s hilt flashed in the firelight, bright silver now, the tarnish of age that had dulled its edge nowhere to be seen. It was a breathtaking weapon. The kind songs are written about. Its pommel was embellished with a crescent moon, the horns of the crescent so close that they almost touched to form a whole circle. Script writing flowed around the hilt, down over the cross guard, and spilled along the edge of the blade, written in Old Fae.

Fisher turned and held out the sword to me. “My father’s bones rest somewhere in Zilvaren. His sword spent the past millennia there, which…” He paused, considering the sword. “Which makes it more Zilvaren than Yvelian now, I think.”

The air was on fire, too hot to breathe. Fisher unhooked a leather scabbard from the wall of the tent and took it down, sliding Solace into it. Speechless, I lifted my arms as he wound the scabbard’s belt around my waist. His hands worked deftly, adjusting the belt to fit my much narrower waist, and it was all I could do not to burst into tears.

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.”