Page 42 of Brimstone

“What? What’ll happen if I don’t?” The pain was too much now. Acrid smoke rose from the runes on the back of my right hand; my flesh was burning. I watched in horror as the marks glowed like a brand, sinking deeper and deeper into my skin. Blisters rose, angry, spreading up my arm. This was worse than a sword in the stomach. It was agony. Tears welled in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. “Edina! What are youdoing?”

“Not me, not me. I did what I could.” She sighed regretfully. “Now the rest . . . is up to you.”

“Edina,helpme!”

“Find the book. The book . . .” The white of her eyes started to clear, like silt settling to the bottom of a canister, leaving behind clear water. She was fading.

“Edina?Edina!”

The bedroom door crashed open.

The pain vanished. My hand . . . it was fine. The runes no longer formed raw burns. The blisters were gone. My God Bindings looked normal.

“Osha?”

I dropped Layne’s lifeless hand, spinning to face my mate. Fisher stood by the door, his face white as a sheet, his leathers spattered with mud.

His voice was rough when he said, “Why were you calling my mother’s name?”

10

ROT

SAERIS

“YOU’RE SURE YOU’REfine? You’re so pale.”

Fisher had been fussing like a mother hen for the past hour. He’d heard me shouting Edina’s name. Hismother’sname. I’d considered making an excuse, some other reason to explain why I had been calling out to her—it seemed cruel to tell him what had happened without properly understanding whathadhappened—but that thought hadn’t fully taken shape before I’d dismissed it. Fisher deserved to know.

Edina had only told me not to tell him about the book, anyway. I honored her request and kept that to myself. I didn’t care about a mystery book. I was far more concerned about what she’d said regarding my runes. The pain I’d experienced in Everlayne’s bedroom hadn’t been normal. It had felt like it was burning mysoulas well as my body. As if the river of magic flowing through me had caught fire and was unmaking me. It had been terrifying . . . and I didnotwant it to happen again.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m fine,” I told him. “Just a little shaken, that’s all.” We were gathered in Cahlish’s library. Ren was still at Irrín, waiting for the remainder of the Yvelian forces who had fled the encroaching rot to meet at a rally point downriver.Lorreth had gone to help him figure out shelter for the warriors whose homes had been lost during the attack.

Te Léna, Maynir, and Iseabail had been poking and prodding at me since Fisher had sent for them. Carrion had already been in the library, lounging on a plush sofa by the fire and reading a book when we’d arrived. He hadn’t moved an inch. The token concern he’d shown over my well-being had presented itself as a crooked eyebrow, a quick glance up and down, and two questions that were neither tactful nor kind: “Is she contagious?” and “She’ll be fine after she eats something. What time’s dinner?”

He’d been buried in his book ever since.

“I wish I knew more about all of this,” Te Léna said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s been a long time since I was this woefully uneducated on a subject. Even dealing with the quicksilver inside Fisher was easier than this. There are plenty of documented cases that speak of quicksilver contamination and how to try to remedy it, but Belikon’s men were thorough when they scourged the realm of information regarding the Alchemists and their power. There’s nothing in the library here about it. There’s nothing in the archives at the Winter Palace on the subject, either. Maynir spent years trawling through the stacks there before we met. He had a personal interest in the Alchemists and their abilities. He’s always been fascinated by the lost arts. He said that entire chapters were missing out of books that probably only mentioned the wordAlchemy.”

“What about you, Iseabail? Do you know anything about sealing Alchemical runes?” Fisher asked. His voice was tight. He seemed distracted. “Belikon didn’t raid your lands when he purged Yvelia of all the Alchemists’ texts. Do you think there might still be anything useful in Nevercross?”

I hated being so out of the loop sometimes. “What’s Nevercross?”

Iseabail herself answered the question. “It’s our political seat,” she said, in her soft, lilting accent. “A city unlike any other. Our buildings have stood for millennia, protected from the outside world. We school our children there. We heal the sick there.”

“And your histories are kept there,” Fisher added. “In the catacombs below the city.”

The redheaded witch scowled, implying Kingfisher wasn’t supposed to know this. “Our histories are exactly that.Ours.There are no records of the Alchemists or their practices below Nevercross. And even if there were,” she said, holding up a finger and cutting Fisher off before he could interrupt her. “Only Guild witches are allowed down into the catacombs. I couldn’t get you access to those death chambers even if I wanted to. And I don’t. There are secrets down there that should never be experienced by outsiders.”

“Experienced?” That was a strange way of wording it.

Iseabail nodded. “The catacombs are unearthly. I wouldn’t even go down there unless I had no other choice. And we do have other choices. Until we’ve exhausted all of them, it would be foolish to even think about petitioning for access.”

Fisher drummed his fingertips absently against the table. Late morning light spilled through the window gilding his hair. A few short hours ago, we’d been tangled up in each other, embraced by his glittering magic. It had been blissful inside that silent velvet sanctuary. Now he was troubled. Deeply troubled. It was almost as though I could feel his pain. His chair creaked as he shoved back in it, balancing it on two legs. Covering his mouth with a heavily inked hand, he sighed.

“All right. I can respect that. The witches deserve their peace, too,” he said. “We’ll avoid traveling to Nevercross for as long as we can. But this rot can survive ice and snow, Iseabail. The mountains won’t stop it. Before too long, this corruption willmake its way to your home, and itwillbecome the Guild’s problem.”

Iseabail inclined her head, the ends of her auburn braids coiling on the table as she accepted this truth. “Unfortunately, my mother and her sisters will probably wait to act until that day arrives. I’ll tell them of what I’ve seen here. But I wouldn’t count on any expedient support from the north, I’m afraid.”