Quicksilver (The Fae & Alchemy Series Book 1)

The bedroom had been a level of luxury I’d never known before, but it served as no indication of the world beyond its door. I gaped as Everlayne guided me through the halls of the Winter Palace; the place made Madra’s royal seat in Zilvaren look like a rundown backwater hovel.

The walls were opalescent white marble, faceted with sections of shimmering metallic blues and greens, as were the floors. We had no stone like this back in Zilvaren, but Everlayne explained that it was a rare type of pale labradorite. High archways lined the corridors we moved through, giving view to stairways and other corridors on other levels. Plush tapestries and framed paintings hung from the walls, and gigantic sprays of real flowers overflowed from vases everywhere I looked. Sunlight poured in through wide windows, though the light itself was devoid of any warmth—nothing at all like the punishing glare of the Twins. Everlayne urged me past these windows quickly, the world beyond them a blur of white and grey.

Dipping, she pressed the tips of her index finger and middle finger to her forehead, bowing her head in reverence as we passed a series of statues. Down another hallway, she repeated the process when we passed another row of the same figures cast in stone, again set back in alcoves.

“Who are they?” I asked, eyeing the tall, menacing-looking crowned males and females, as she touched her fingers between her brows.

“The Gods, of course.” She looked a little surprised. “Don’t you worship the Corcoran in the Silver City anymore?”

I shook my head, staring up into the coldly handsome face of one of the male deities. “My mother told me once that the people used to pray to gods in Zilvaren, but their names and their temples were eaten by the desert a long time ago. We say ‘Gods’ to curse our luck or emphasize emotion. Other than that, Madra’s the closest thing we have to a god in Zilvaren. At least that’s how she fashions herself. The Undying Herald of the Northern Banner. Believers carry strands of her hair in leather pouches on their belts. They scrape ash from the funeral pyres of the living sacrifices that are burned in her honor and put that in them, too. It’s supposed to act as a ward against plague. They think doing that will give them never-ending life if they’re worthy enough.”

Everlayne scoffed. “Superstition and sacrilege. Your queen is human. And even though the sand and the wind swept away the names of the gods, I assure you Madra knows them. That she’s chosen to let them vanish from her people’s history speaks volumes of her corruption.” Everlayne pointed up at the male I was still staring at. “Styx, God of Shadows.” She moved along the line, inclining her head and touching her brow to each of her gods before she named them. “Kurin, god of secrets. Nicinnai, goddess of masks. Maleus, god of dawn and new beginnings. These two are often counted as one god,” Everlayne said, gesturing to the two beautiful females who stood arm in arm atop the same marble plinth. “Balmithin. Twin sisters. Goddesses of the sky. Legend says that they once were one god, but a mighty storm came, and Balmithin refused to take shelter as it raged across the land. The powerful spirit within the storm was furious that Balmithin didn’t cower before him, and so he lashed her with forks of lightning. Again and again, the lightning struck Balmithin, but she didn’t die. Instead, she cracked and split in two, becoming Bal and Mithin. Bal is the goddess of the sun, but goddess of the day in a looser sense. Mithin is the goddess of the moon, but again, she presides over all of the night.

Bal. Mithin.

Balea. Min.

The twins.

As I studied their faces closer, I realized that these two women did bear a startling similarity to faces I’d seen carved into the walls in the Hall of Mirrors. This was an undeniable link between this place and my home. One that made me feel strange.

I could have told Everlayne of the similarity between these goddesses’ names and the names of the suns that perpetually blazed over Zilvaren, but for some reason, the words stuck in the back of my throat. I had too many questions, chief amongst which was that the Fae here knew of Madra. Everlayne spoke as if she was familiar with the queen of the Silver City. She had said Madra was a human with undeniable certainty. I also had no idea what a moon was, but I set all of that aside for now.

The final statue was tucked much further into its alcove than the others. Unlike the others, it had been arranged so that its back was to the hall, its face pointing at the wall. I nodded to the male god with the broad shoulders and asked, “And him? What is he the god of?”

Everlayne eyed the statue warily, then gave me a chagrinned smile. “That’s Zareth, God of Chaos and Change.” She walked up to him and bowed, placing her fingers on her brow as she had done with all the others, but then she reached around and placed her hand on his foot. I saw that the stone was patinaed there, on Zareth’s right boot, as if thousands of hands had touched the god there.

“We Fae can also be a little superstitious sometimes,” Everlayne admitted. “To look upon Zareth’s face is to draw his focus. And very few people enjoy Zareth’s attention being focused on them. We respect and revere him, but we’d all rather he was paying attention to what other people were doing instead of us. We touch him on the foot to guide him away from us.” She patted his boot, stepping back. “We pray to each member of the Corcoran that they’ll return to Yvelia someday. But in secret, a lot of us pray that Zareth gets a little lost on his journey home.”

As Everlayne set off walking again, I paused by the tall god’s back, studying it. I don’t know why I did it. It seemed like the right thing to do, though. Reaching out, I placed my hand against the statue’s boot, then I hurried away.

On we went, passing too many open doorways to count. Bedrooms and studies. Rooms full of maps. Rooms full of books. Rooms with benches and glass vials of bubbling liquids suspended over fires. I should have been terrified of these strange new sights, but my curiosity won out over my fear.

The people we passed were interesting, too. Scores and scores of Fae, their clothes and visages so strange that I had to remind myself not to stare. Their ears were sloped to points, but that was where many of their similarities ended. Their hair was a veritable rainbow of colors, their eyes every natural and unnatural shade. Some of them were willowy and tall, some short and squat. The Fae who occupied the palace were a fascinating bunch, to be sure. They glared at me with open hostility as I struggled to keep pace with Everlayne’s graceful, long strides.

The cold was pervasive. Everlayne had given me a strange look when I’d requested another layer, but she’d provided me a silken shawl all the same. Not that it did much. The chill in the air crept into my bones and settled there, forming ice in my joints. My teeth chattered loudly as we hurried toward our destination.

“You’re being dramatic,” Everlayne said, giving me an arch look. “There are fires in every grate. And even if there weren’t, the palace is kept at a steady, comfortable temperature at all times.”

“How?” It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. But, well…I didn’t. I could still see my breath clouding in the air.

“Magic, of course,” Everlayne replied. “There are wards cast over all of Yvelia to keep the cold at bay.”

My mind balked at this. Magic. She said it so easily, as if the existence of such a thing were plain fact instead of straight-up impossible. But my definition of impossible needed revising, it seemed. If Everlayne existed, then so could magic, and I was fairly sure Everlayne was real. There was a chance that I was hallucinating, but the odds of that being true decreased with every passing moment that she guided me through the Yvelian Court. Hallucinations ended. This nightmare wouldn’t fucking quit.

Eventually, we turned down a hallway, taking a left. A long, straight walkway stretched ahead of us. At the end of the walkway stood a massive set of wooden doors, twenty feet high, looming and ostentatious. Armed sentries dressed for battle stood on either side it. As we hurried down the walkway, tiny birds with bright, colorful feathers flitted and chirped above us, engaged in aerial acrobatics. They were breathtaking. Under any other circumstances, I would have stopped to watch their impressive game of tag, but my heart had set to hammering and my palms were sweating, my attention drawn toward those ominous doors and what waited beyond them.

Up close, the guards were far more formidable than the ones outside my room. Everlayne didn’t even acknowledge the males. Her confident stride didn’t slow as she marched up to the doors. Wordlessly, the males snapped to attention and moved in concert, taking hold of the carved handles and pushing the doors open for us.

“Lady Everlayne De Barra,” a powerful voice announced, as we entered the hall. I was not announced. Like a dog nipping at its master’s heels, I rushed along behind Lady Everlayne, feeling like a complete idiot for ever thinking that she was some kind of maid.

If I’d thought the Hall of Mirrors back in Zilvaren was big, then the Grand Hall of the Yvelian Court was ridiculous. The abyssal space must have taken years to construct. To the left and the right, seating stretched back, fifty rows deep. Hundreds of Fae sat there, watching with silent judgment on their faces as we entered.

The corniced ceiling forty feet above us was adorned with sculptures, the stonework etched with figures and details too small for me to see. Lavish tapestries and embroidered banners hung from the walls. Ahead, a fire burned in a brazier at the foot of a dais made out of more labradorite, and oh! Oh, holy fuck! The skull of a giant beast loomed over the labradorite dais, the bone bleached white and ghostly. Its orbital sockets were six feet wide. Its horned brow plate jutted from the shadows like the mast of a sand skiff. And its teeth. Saints and martyrs, its teeth. They were stained and terrible, each one razor sharp and at least twelve feet long.

“What is it?” I breathed.

Everlayne responded quickly in a muted whisper. “A dragon. The last dragon,” she said meaningfully. “Its name was Omnamshacry. A legend amongst my people.”

“It must have been a hundred feet tall!” I craned my head back as we approached and still couldn’t quite grasp the beast’s size. “How did it die?”

“Later,” Everlayne hissed.

I was so mesmerized by the sheer horror of the skull that I barely noticed the six stately chairs positioned atop the dais below until we were standing in front of the crackling brazier.

“Daughter,” came a cold, rough voice.

The king was an imposing male. His hair was black as jet, tinged grey at either of his temples. His eyes were a deep, dark, murky brown, sharp, and unfriendly. Though he wasn’t thin by any means, he clearly wasn’t given to excess. He sat before us in state wearing a heavy green velvet cape with the heads of scaled, snarling beasts cast in gold affixed upon the crest of each shoulder. One hand rested on the arm of his ornate throne. The other, encased in a leather glove, clutched the grip of a sword, the point of which bit into the ground at his feet. It was the sword. The one I’d drawn in the Hall of Mirrors. The metal glinted, reflecting the firelight, as the king absentmindedly spun the blade.

Everlayne stooped into a low curtsey before the King. Her father. “Your Highness.”

Belikon’s cloudy eyes came down on me with the force of a sledgehammer. I tried my best to meet them, but the intensity of his gaze was weaponized and difficult to withstand. A male seated to his left spoke, his voice rasping. “Do you not bow before a king, Creature?”

He was gaunt. Sickly-looking, his skin as pale and thin as parchment. A network of blue veins snaked out across his cheeks like lashes of forked lightning. Eyes the color of dull pewter assessed me, simmering with distaste. Unlike the king, the male’s attire was simple—a plain black robe that swamped his thin frame.

“He isn’t my king,” I answered tartly.

Everlayne flinched, though her reaction was fleeting. “Forgive her, Majesty. Your guest is tired and unaccustomed to her new surroundings.”

Damn right, I wasn’t accustomed to my new surroundings. It would take a miracle from every single one of the gods Everlayne just introduced me to before I acclimatized myself to all of this, and from the way she’d spoken about them, Everlayne’s gods weren’t even around anymore.

“Ignorance is no excuse for disrespect,” the male spat.

“Quiet, Orious,” King Belikon rumbled. “I haven’t witnessed such open contempt in a long time. It’s refreshing. I’ll tolerate it until it grows tiresome. Step forward, girl.”

Only three of the six seats on the dais were occupied. An ancient woman with thick grey hair and gnarled hands, dressed in white, observed me with eyes like twin pits as I lifted my chin defiantly and did as the king bade me.

“You stand before me a guest of this court, girl. As such, you’re entitled to a certain amount of political leniency,” Belikon said. “When you leave this throne room, you’ll no longer be my guest. You’ll be my subject and, therefore, will no longer benefit from clemency.”

I opened my mouth, ready to argue against this declaration, but a swift kick to the ankle from Everlayne warned me to hold my tongue.

“There are rules to this kingdom. Rules that will be obeyed. You’re about to spend a great deal of time in the libraries, learning about our ways. Any willful infraction of our laws will be dealt with swiftly. Now. You were brought here to fulfill a specific task. You’ll complete that task quickly and efficient—”

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “I’m sorry, but…what do you mean, task?”

A cry went up amongst the Fae sitting in the gallery. I didn’t need to be told that interrupting a king was execution-worthy, but the question had slipped out before I could stop it. And anyway, if he wanted to behead me, then so be it. I’d had the snot kicked out of me by Harron. I’d come this close to dying, and yes, it had sucked, but I wasn’t afraid of death anymore. I was angry, and I wanted answers.

The king tipped his head an inch to the left, regarding me with the cruel intrigue of a hunter studying his quarry. “What do I mean?” he repeated.

Beside me, Everlayne whispered under her breath. Was she actually praying? I lifted my chin and said in a strong, clear voice, “No one’s said anything about a task. I was carried here against my will—”

“If you’d been left where you were found, it would have cost you your life.” Belikon’s voice rebounded around the hall so loudly that the walls themselves seemed to tremble. “Would you rather have been abandoned there to perish?”

“I need to get back to Zilvaren. My brother—”

“Is already dead.” The finality in Belikon’s words made my head spin. “The Bitch Queen put an end to your home and all who resided in it.”

“You don’t know that.”

The king’s mouth twisted sourly. “She declared that she would. At least that is what I was told. We know your queen. A power-hungry despot with a black and shriveled heart. Violence is her creed. If she swore to kill them, then everyone you once knew is now long dead, along with thousands more. You, on the other hand, are still alive and, as far as I am concerned, owe the Fae of Yvelia a debt of gratitude. Your task will ensure that you repay that debt. I’ve only just learned the details of how you came to find yourself in Yvelia. The individual who brought you to my court—” Belikon ran his tongue over his teeth like he was trying to sweep away a foul taste, “—told my guards that you were the one who re-opened the portal. It seems highly unlikely that a human woke the quicksilver.” He grunted, displeased. “But after a thousand years of waiting, we can’t afford to dismiss this as heresy without checking first. Believe me when I say that we’re all praying such a holy position hasn’t fallen to such unholy blood.” He inhaled sharply. “But the fates are strange. And one way or another, I will have the portals restored.”

“I—”

The king lifted the sword in his hand and brought it swiftly down. The tip of the weapon crashed against the dais, and a shower of bright blue sparks exploded into the air. “You will not interrupt me a second time!” he roared. In the space of a heartbeat, his expression had gone from consternation to bitter outrage. “You’re charged with awakening the quicksilver and reopening the pathways between this world and others. Your cooperation in that task will dictate how you spend your time in Yvelia. Rail against your purpose and life within the walls of this palace will become infinitely more uncomfortable for you. I have spoken.”

I waited for him to give me leave to speak; a litany of objections and choice curse words burned hot on the tip of my tongue, but Belikon didn’t extend me the courtesy. With a bored flick of his wrist, he gestured me away, like I was of no further interest to him. Anger ate a hole in my stomach. Refusing to be dismissed so rudely, I stood my ground. I anchored my feet to the floor, but Everlayne took me by the top of the arm, pushing me off to the right. Apparently, my audience with the king was at an end.

“Go.” Everlayne shoved me harder, forcing me to move. I complied numbly, letting her lead me away from the dais toward the unoccupied bench at the front of the gallery to our left. Once I was sitting, she hissed, “Is your life really worth so little to you?”

“If Hayden really is dead…then yes,” I whispered. “It’s worth nothing.”

Everlayne observed me with pensive eyes, but I didn’t look at her. My focus was locked onto the bastard up on the dais. The king already seemed to have forgotten about me. His cruel features had grown impassive again. “I have other matters to attend to,” he called. “Bring in the dog and let’s be done with this.”

The dog?

A susurrus of chatter spread through the gathered Fae. On the other side of the dais, a tall Fae male with flowing red hair brought down the butt of a heavy, gilded staff, and the resulting Boom! Boom! Boom! made the crowd fall silent. The doors at the end of the throne room groaned loudly, and chaos erupted as a group of warriors dressed in full armor entered the hall. There were six or seven of them, maybe. Amongst them, thrashing like a rabid animal, they dragged a male up the walkway toward the dais.

The male kicked and raged. The guards did their best to keep a hold of him, but despite their best efforts, he took two of them down, sending them crashing to the floor. Eventually, the guards managed to wrangle the straining figure to the front of the throne room, where they forced him to his knees.

Dark waves tumbled into the Fae male’s face.

Dressed all in black, his shoulders were drawn up around his pointed ears. His chest rose and fell with the sawing of his breath. Tattoos writhed and shifted like smoke across every patch of visible skin, creeping up the back of his neck and swirling over the backs of his hands.

It was Death.

In such a feral state, he bore little resemblance to the male that had scooped me off the floor in the Hall of Mirrors. It wasn’t until he threw his head back, baring his teeth, that I allowed myself to believe that it was him.

Beside me, Everlayne sucked in a sharp breath, pushing forward to the edge of her seat. “Shit.”

When the rest of the crowd got a clear view of the male’s face, they began to swear, too.

“Living Curse.”

“Bane of Gillethrye.”

“Black knight.”

“Kingfisher.”

“Kingfisher.”

“Kingfisher.”

The name Kingfisher echoed throughout the hall, spoken with a mix of reverence and fear.

“He lives!”

“He’s returned!”

Beside me, Everlayne’s eyes bore down on this Kingfisher as he gnashed and snarled, straining against the guards. “It’s worse,” she whispered. “So much worse.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I hissed.

Everlayne didn’t say a word. She stared at the male on his knees in front of Belikon, her fingers trembling as she held them to her lips.

“Behold!” Belikon stood. Pacing toward Kingfisher, he dragged the sword behind him rather than sheathing it, and the tip of the blade sent sparks flying in its wake. A terrible, multi-layered scream ignited inside my head as the metal scraped across the dais this time. The sound of it was deafening. It set my stomach churning, bile bubbling up the back of my throat. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound, but the nauseating pitch intensified as Belikon drew the weapon closer.

“This…is the price of folly!” Belikon boomed. “Madness. Madness and death!”

Kingfisher lunged, trying to free himself, desperate to reach the king, but the guards wrestled him down, pinning him to the floor. One of them laid a knee into the back of his neck, but Kingfisher bucked, trying to be free of his captors. King Belikon sucked on his teeth, shaking his head with disdain.

Throwing his arms wide in a theatrical gesture, he shouted, “The scourge of Yvelia! The male that stalks your children’s nightmares. The male who torched a city on a whim. The male who’d cut your throat as soon as look at you. Does this pathetic creature strike such an imposing figure now?”

A rumble traveled across the hall, but it was impossible to decipher what the true consensus was amongst the Fae. Those who thought Kingfisher was a terrifying monster were scrambling over each other to put some distance between him and their families. Others wore stony, hard expressions and looked at each other with clenched jaws, nostrils flaring, obviously not enjoying the display one bit.

“His exile was not at an end, but he’s returned anyway. Just over a century has passed since Gillethrye. Our losses have dulled. The pain stings a little less brightly. But does that mean we should forgive?”

A roar surged up around us, the wall of sound battering at my eardrums so loud that they felt as if they would burst.

“Mercy!”

“Kill him!”

“Banish him!”

“Protect Yvelia from the Scourge!”

“Kingfisher!”

“Kingfisher!”

“Kingfisher!”

“Send him to his grave!”

Anxiety radiated from Everlayne as she surveyed her father’s subjects over her shoulder. Shaking, she clasped and unclasped her hands, wringing them fitfully. “He’ll murder him,” she whispered. “He’ll work them into a frenzy until they demand his death.” She seemed to consider a moment, whipping around to look back up at the dais—not to Belikon, who loomed over Kingfisher, but to the old female sitting on the dais with the gnarled hands and the milk-white eyes.

“Malwae.” She spoke the name only a shade louder than a whisper, but the old woman slowly turned away from Belikon, who was gesticulating rudely over Kingfisher, to the beautiful female beside me.

“Do something. Please!” she begged.

Malwae went rigid in her seat. Sitting up a little straighter, she gave Everlayne a look that seemed to say, ‘What do you expect me to do?’ Everlayne whimpered, letting out an even louder cry of alarm when King Belikon raised the sword he’d dragged over to Kingfisher and held it aloft over the dark-haired male’s torso.

“What say you, Fae of Yvelia? Should we stab this bastard in the back, just as he drove his blade into our backs and stabbed us?”

“Mercy! Please! Mercy!”

“End him!”

“Protect Yvelia!”

It sounded like this Kingfisher had killed a lot of people. The king made out as though he’d done it on a whim, out of spite. If that was true, then it could be argued that the male deserved to be punished. But the pageantry of this felt off. Belikon’s behavior was too showy and cavalier, and Everlayne’s reaction was affecting me, too. I barely knew her, but she seemed, well…good. Would she be this concerned if her father was threatening to execute a cold-hearted murderer? Wouldn’t she be demanding justice along with the rest of the mob?

My nerves got the better of me. “He isn’t actually going to kill him, is he?”

The question fell on deaf ears. Staring up at the dais, Everlayne focused on the grey-haired woman, her eyes burning into her ferociously. “Malwae, now! If you bore my mother any love at all, you’ll do something to save him,” she hissed.

A look of resignation claimed Malwae’s wrinkled features. She groaned as, reluctantly, she drew herself to her feet. The crowd’s shouts grew frantic as King Belikon caught the stooped crone’s approach in his peripherals.

“What’s this? Support for the traitor?” Belikon laughed coldly. “Sit down, Malwae. Rest your old bones. We’ll be done here soon enough, and you can return to your scrying.”

“Alas, I wish I could, Highness,” Malwae croaked. “But the sword calls to me. I feel it. The last vestiges of the weapon’s power echo with prophecy. I’m half deaf with the blasted thing ringing in my ears.”

“A prophecy?”

“The sword still retains some power?”

Questions rose up around us. Too many to count. The Fae sitting on the benches seemed perturbed by the crone’s declaration.

“In order to hear the prophecy in full, I must hold the sword, Highness,” Malwae said. She held out her hand expectantly.

“The Oracle Sees!” a young female cried a few rows back. “A blessing! It’s a blessing!”

Belikon assessed the crowd, his murky eyes narrowing. Turning to Malwae, he said, “An audience in private, I think. An Oracle’s prophecies are for a king alone to decipher. But don’t worry, you may hold the sword once my work here is done.”

Malwae’s hand shot out and closed around Belikon’s wrist. In an instant, her cloudy eyes burned brilliant white, light spilling out of them and illuminating the dais. “The gods must be obeyed!” Her voice was a rasp a moment ago, but now it was all thunder and judgment. Her words boomed over the great hall. “The gods must be obeyed, lest House De Barra fall!”

Belikon’s mouth fell open, but before he could speak, Malwae grabbed the sword and closed her bony hand around its edge. A river of blood—bright blue—spilled down the steel.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. Only the male in black, Kingfisher, broke it. He roared, scrambling, still trying to get loose.

“This Kingfisher does not die by your hand. Not today,” Malwae droned. “The Kingfisher shall not die by your hand.”

“What the hell is happening?” I whispered.

“Wait.” Everlayne clutched hold of my hand. “Just…wait.”

“What should a king who loves his people do then?” Belikon bit out. “Allow mad criminals to walk amongst them?”

The light leaking from Malwae’s eyes dimmed and then flared bright anew. “Return to him that which you have taken from him,” she intoned.

“The sword is mine—”

“The pendant,” Malwae interrupted. “It must be returned.”

“That pendant contains powerful magic. It doesn’t belong around the neck of a treacherous dog. It belongs to me. I’ll be cold in the ground before I give it back to this…this…”

“The gods must be obeyed lest House De Barra fall!” Malwae cried. “The gods must be obeyed lest the Winter Palace fall!”

The king fought to master his obvious rage. “And who am I to argue with the gods?” He grinned at Malwae—a quick flash of brilliant white teeth, sharp as daggers—and then turned ruefully back to the crowd. The Fae in the gallery were up out of their seats, arguing with one another over Kingfisher’s fate. “Peace. Peace, my friends. Malwae has reminded me that issues such as these must be handled correctly. The Bane will be granted his sanity for a time.”

“Lock him away!” a woman screamed, her voice tinged with hysteria.

“Keep him in the dungeons!”

“Set him free!”

“SEND HIM BACK TO THE FRONT!” a deep voice boomed. “Make him fight! Make him finish what he started!” From wall to wall, floor to towering ceiling, the thunderous voice commanded silence from the other Fae, who all ceased their shouting.

I’d been staring at the male still pinned to the floor, watching him thrash. I tore my gaze from him, looking over my shoulder, trying to locate the owner of the ringing demand. Everlayne did the same; I could see her pulse fluttering frantically in the hollow of her throat.

Belikon smiled thinly as he, too, searched for the source of this disruption amongst his subjects. “It would be ill-advised, unleashing a dangerous threat upon a war camp. Come forward and defend your suggestion, speaker. Explain yourself.”

A shockwave of tension rippled through the cavern. Malwae and Everlayne shared a cautious look, but both held their tongues as the Fae parted and the huge male who visited my room earlier came into view.

Seven feet tall and heavily tattooed, Renfis emerged from the crowd, making himself known. His sandy brown hair fell past his shoulders. Since I’d seen him last, he’d landed himself a black eye and a split lip. He had also developed a slight limp when he walked, which led me to believe the past few hours had not been fun for him. Whispers followed on his heels as he made his way toward Belikon and the restrained Kingfisher.

“General Renfis?” Belikon cast around, frowning as if confused. “You’re supposed to be at the front. Didn’t I charge you with winning my war? And here you are, entering my palace? And armed to the teeth no less? I have to say, this is very confusing.”

Gods, this bastard lived to put on a show.

“Aye, Your Highness,” Renfis answered. “I was at the front, but when I heard he had returned, I came here immediately.”

He.

Kingfisher.

Even the general wouldn’t speak his name.

“Against my orders, then?” Belikon’s newly minted smile had a dangerous edge to it.

“I was following your orders directly, Highness.”

“Oh? I don’t recall telling you to abandon your post.”

While others shied away from Belikon’s wrath, the general was stoic, hands resting easily at his sides. “The situation at Cahlish is grave. Our men die in droves every day. The beasts that patrol the enemy’s borders range further afield, claiming our sentries and outposts. Supply routes are closed to us. We’re surviving on what we can hunt and gather. Within six months, the war will be over, and Yvelia will find itself on the wrong side of victory. So yes, Your Highness. I’m doing what you commanded of me. You told me to win the war by any means necessary, so I came to claim the only tool that’ll win us back our advantage. I came for him.”

Belikon let out a bark of stunned laughter. He pointed down at Kingfisher’s twitching form. “This? You came here for this? You’re telling me that this traitorous, lying, ravening dog is the only thing standing between us and complete annihilation? You’re as mad as he is, General.”

Scattered, nervous laughter broke out amongst the Fae. Again, General Renfis maintained his composure. “As Malwae implied, Your Majesty, all he needs is the pendant, and he’ll be fine. Either way, I’d rather have him fighting for us, a little off-kilter and unpredictable, than not.”

“If things are as bad as you say they are, he’ll be killed in a matter of days,” Belikon said dismissively.

“Likely, yes, Majesty. But, with all due respect, wouldn’t that likelihood save you the trouble of a trial for what occurred at Gillethrye?”

The King hesitated, on the verge of saying something, but then reconsidered. For all his pomp and show, he wasn’t a very good actor. “Now that you mention it, yes. Perhaps you’re right, Renfis. Maybe a return to the front would be a just punishment. Why shouldn’t he aid the war effort?”

Mere seconds ago, Belikon had been readying to punish Renfis for showing up at the Winter Palace, but the beatific smile he turned on him now felt like forgiveness of a sort.

“A week then, ” Belikon announced, his mind made up. “You can take him back with you in a week. Since he knows so much about the quicksilver, he’ll stay here and help Rusarius deal with the girl first. The second she’s capable of waking the pool by herself, Kingfisher will once again be banished from this court.”

Renfis bent into a deep bow. His relief was palpable.

The king slid a hand inside his embroidered robes and took out the very same pendant Kingfisher had fastened around my neck back in Zilvaren. He didn’t even look at the male when he tossed it down at Renfis’s feet.

“Get him out of my sight, General. Before my benevolent nature takes its leave.”

Renfis swooped to pick up the pendant from the floor; the shining silver chain looked fragile in his huge hands. He winced as he carried it quickly over to Kingfisher, snarling at the guards who were still fighting to hold him down. Belikon’s men seemed relieved to let go of their ward. Kingfisher snapped his teeth at Renfis, an animal growl building in the back of his throat. It looked like he would attack, but behind the madness that lurked in his brilliant green eyes, there came the faintest flash of recognition.

“Please. Please. Gods, just…,” Everlayne whispered. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes locked on the two males at the foot of the dais. I had no idea what she was begging for, but she was coiled like a spring, ready to leap to her feet. A ragged breath escaped her when Kingfisher stilled, lowering his head, his halo of black hair hiding his face.

Renfis acted fast, looping the chain around the other male’s neck. He fastened it in a flash and stepped back, waiting. It took a moment, but…yes. There. On his hands and knees, Kingfisher began to shudder. He only shook a little at first, but soon his whole body was trembling. Renfis was there to catch him when his arms gave out.

“You have five seconds,” Belikon warned.

“Go, go, go,” Everlayne urged under her breath.

Renfis grabbed Kingfisher and hauled him to his feet. He threw the disheveled male’s arm over his own shoulder and then began to walk. Kingfisher’s head lolled a little, but he didn’t put up a fight. With Renfis’s help, he was able to put one foot in front of another until they reached the doors at the end of the hall.

Everlayne watched with wide eyes as the males paused there. She covered her mouth with her hands, her anxiety eating her alive. “Go!” she hissed into her hands.

Renfis spoke to Kingfisher, his mouth moving close to his ear, and for the first time, Kingfisher seemed to understand his surroundings. He shook his head and then slowly turned to look back over his shoulder at the gathered court.

All was still.

All was silent.

My heart hammered in my throat when I saw the look on Kingfisher’s face.

Gods, he looked so young. Way younger than he’d looked back in the Hall of Mirrors, when he had seemed made of shadow and smoke.

His haunted expression promised pain, and blood, and death.

And he was looking right at the king. Or perhaps it was the dead dragon’s skull that elicited his hate. I couldn’t tell.

“Come on. We need to get out of here.” Everlayne grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me up from the bench. A second later, we were standing in front of the dais, and she was dragging me down into a low bow next to her. “We beg your leave, Highness,” Everlayne said loudly. “Saeris is keen to get to work.”

The only thing I was keen to do was escape, but I kept my mouth shut. The sooner we got out of this hall, the better.

“You may go,” Belikon said. When we were halfway to the doors, the king called after her again. “Keep an eye on her, Everlayne. She’s your responsibility now.”

Everlayne’s pace didn’t falter. She hurried out of the throne room, dragging me along behind her. We found Renfis in the hallway beyond the doors, his face grey as ash. Six feet away, Kingfisher stood with his hands braced against the wall, bending forward as he spat on the floor. There was a pool of vomit at his feet.

Everlayne locked eyes with Renfis. “You’re fucking insane!”

“What was I supposed to do? He was going to string him up, for fuck’s sake.”

“You were supposed to get the pendant back to him and get him the hell out of here hours ago!”

The bruise beneath Renfis’s right eye was darkening right in front of us. The split in his lip had started bleeding. He gestured pointedly to his injuries. “Eight of the bastards jumped me right before I entered his room. They must have followed me. They knocked me out, Layne. By the time I regained consciousness—”

“Yes, all right. All right. It’s done now. The dye is cast. We’ll just have to deal with the consequences—”

“Stop bickering.”

A thrill of energy rocketed up my spine at these two words. Kingfisher’s voice was rough and pained, but it was also electricity. It made every hair on my body stand to attention.

Renfis and Everlayne faced him, the first hanging his head, the second on the verge of tears. “You went through the pool? Of all the reckless, idiotic, stupid things you could have done…” Everlayne’s voice cracked as she spoke. Kingfisher scrubbed a hand over his face, then swept his hair back out of his eyes. It had been dark in the Hall of Mirrors, not to mention the fact that I’d been bleeding out. He’d thrashed so much that I hadn’t been able to make out much of him back in the throne room behind us. Now, I saw him properly for the first time, and a wave of shock rippled through me, down to the roots of my soul.

His jaw was defined, marked with dark stubble, his cheekbones high, his nose arrow straight and proud. There was a dark freckle just below his right eye. And…those eyes. Gods. Eyes were not that color. I’d never seen that shade of green before—a jade so bright and vibrant that it didn’t look real. I’d noticed the filaments of silver threaded through his right iris back in Madra’s Hall of Mirrors, but I’d assumed I’d imagined them, being so close to death and all. The silver shone there, though, definitely real, forming a reflective, metallic corona around the black well of his pupil. The sight of it made me feel strange and off-balance.

Kingfisher spared me the briefest of glances and then addressed the female. “Hello, Layne.”

Everlayne let out a strangled sob, tears chasing down her cheeks, but she scowled at the warrior dressed in black. “Don’t ‘hello, Layne’ me after a hundred and ten years. Answer the question. Why the hell did you go into that pool?”

He sighed wearily. “I had two seconds to decide. The pathway was already closing. What was I supposed to do?”

“You should have just let it close!” Her voice was hard as stone.

Kingfisher groaned, then craned his head forward and spat again. “Chastise me tomorrow, please. Right now, I need two things. Whiskey and a bed.”

Everlayne didn’t seem inclined to allow him these things. She huffed, folding her arms across her chest. Renfis stepped in between them, shaking his head. “How about we all get some rest? We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“You can sleep in my room. Both of you,” Everlayne commanded. “You’ll be safest there. Go now before he dismisses the whole court. I’ll be along shortly.”

I was invisible. Inconsequential. Neither Renfis nor Kingfisher said a word to me as they turned and left. Kingfisher stumbled a little as he went, batting away Renfis’s hand when he tried to help.

“Come on. We need to get you back to your room, too.” Everlayne tried to grab my wrist again, but I jerked back before she could get a hold of me. “If you want me to walk anywhere, then just ask me to go with you,” I snapped. “I’m sick to death of being dragged around like an animal on a leash.”

“You’re not safe here, Saeris.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t sound like I am. Don’t you think you should have told me that your people are at war?”

She frowned. “I didn’t mention that?”

“No!”

“Oh, well. We’ve been at war with Sanasroth for longer than I’ve been alive. It must have slipped my mind,” she said impatiently. “Will you please come back to your rooms with me, Saeris? I’ll answer all of your questions in due time, but not here and not now.”

Elroy always said I was as stubborn as an ass. I wanted to dig my heels in and refuse to budge an inch, but I got the feeling that I’d regret it. And the promise of answers was enticing. I had too many questions to count, so many that my head was fit to split open, and no one else seemed likely to cough up any information about the hot water I’d found myself in.

I scowled as I set off walking.

Everlayne shot me a grateful smile. “There is one thing I can tell you right now,” she said, striding out in front of me to guide the way. “Even in times of peace, the Fae are always at war. There are those among our ranks that might pretend to be your friend, but often they’re hiding knives behind their smiles, ready to sink them into your back. You’d do well to remember that.”

As I followed after her, rushing to keep up, I couldn’t help but wonder if she counted herself among that number.