Page 117 of Quicksilver

“I'm staying at the camp tonight?”

He shook his head. “No. We’re staying somewhere else tonight. There's something I want to show you.”

'Something I want to show you' sounded ominous as hell. And staying somewhere else? That was a little unnerving, too. I wore a pathway in the rug at the end of Fisher's bed, and then I went and stood by the window overlooking the darkening lawns, gnawing on my fingernails. I was jumpy by the time Fisher returned. I yelped, startled, when he stole quietly into the room.

The scrape on his cheek was gone. The purple bruises beneath his eyes weren't as vivid as they had been when he'd arrived, either. He looked refreshed. His mood seemed lighter as well, which did little to make me feel better. Any sane person would have been happy that the Lord of Cahlish wasn't as grouchy as usual, but for some reason, it irked me endlessly.

“I think you'll find everything you need in here,” he said, offering a small canvas bag to me.

“Where are we going?”

“It's better if I just show you, I think.”

“Will I be comingback?”It made little sense that this question came out like a strangled squeak, but he was being so cryptic, and I had no idea what was happening, and I'd had plenty of time to work myself up into a frenzy.

“Yes, of course you'll be coming back. Bring the fox if it'll make you feel better.” Since when did Fisher care about what I was feeling? And he was letting me bring Onyx? “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“Gods and fucking sinners, never mind. Let's just go.”

I stepped out of the shadow gate into a darkened clearing surrounded by tall trees. On the far side of the clearing, small marquees were erected beneath a giant tree that was so big, its boughs so huge, that it dwarfed the others and made them seem tiny in comparison. Bright lights twinkled everywhere I looked, a million of them flaring and flickering in the trees and the long grass that stretched out before us like a carpet. The early evening air hummed with soft, upbeat music, the smell of cooking meat, sugar, and the sound of many voices.

Onyx squirmed in my arms, yipping excitedly, demanding to be put down. I gave him what he wanted and watched, dumbfounded, as he bounded off, a splash of white amid the long grasses, speeding toward the marquees. It was chilly enough here that there were fires burning over by the stalls. I could just about make out Onyx bouncing around one, begging the Fae male who was cooking over it for some food.

“Is he safe?” I asked.

Fisher pouted. “Probably. Winter foxes are good at sensing danger. If he thought any of these people meant him harm, he'd be off hiding somewhere already.”

Well, that was reassuring at least. But I was still confounded by what I was seeing. “What is this place? What's happening here?”

“This,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck, “is Ballard. It's...I came here once or twice when I was little. It's just a small village. Tonight’s one of their feast days. They're celebrating the longest night of the year.”

“And why arewehere?” Oh gods. Had he come to destroy this lovely village and brought me along to witness the hard things that fell to him sometimes? Fisher read all of this in my face, I thought, because he shook his head, looking a little perturbed.

“They have something we need, that's all. Once we have it, we'll leave them in peace. No one's in any danger. Not from me, at least. Areyouplanning on attacking anyone?”

“No!”

“Glad to hear it. Come on. I smell Bettell biscuits. I haven't had one of those in at least a hundred and twenty years.”

The residents of Ballard were a mixture of High Fae and Lesser Fae creatures—a snapshot of the Fae folk I hadn't experienced yet; tiny, lightning-fast pixies, who showered our hair with flower petals as they darted through the lowest of the trees' boughs on iridescent wings. Shy, long-limbed dryads with silver hair to their waists and flowing green robes, who ventured from the shadows of the forest for minutes at a time, then disappeared again. Brownies. Satyrs. There were even three Nymphs, giggling and splashing in the river that cut through the south side of the hill. None of them seemed surprised to see us, though we were watched by curious eyes as we made our way into the center of the gathering.

There were food stalls, and stands exploding with a million varieties of brightly colored flowers, and booths with games. At the heart of the festivities, musicians gathered in a circle around a roaring bonfire, belting out a lively tune while a female satyr sang a bawdy song about an old carpenter who couldn't keep his wood hard.

Fisher tried to buy drinks for us from a female carrying a tray of ale around the festivities, but she shook her bouncy blonde curls, grinning, and told him no money was changing hands tonight.

The houses, sporadically placed amongst the trees, were simple and rustic, but they held an undeniable, cozy charm. There were vegetable patches everywhere, which honestly blew my mind. I knew how food was grown. I'd spoken to the farmers who came to trade with us in Zilvaren before Madra placedthe Third under quarantine. I'd paid rapt attention as they'd explained how they tended their crops and harvested them, but seeing carrots, cabbages, leaks, and beans growing right out of the dirt was fascinating.

Ballard was full of life. It spilled out of the ground, and hovered in the trees, and hung in the air like sweet music. The young ran around, laughing and playing games, while their parents ate and drank together companionably, and the elderly sat by the fire and gossiped. An unfamiliar ache thrummed at the center of my chest as Fisher guided me to a small, grassy slope near the fire and indicated that I should sit. This place was ahome.The residents of Ballard weren't oppressed. No one was looming over them, threatening them with death if they didn't fall into line. The food and water they needed to survive weren't rationed to the point that they didn't know if they would make it from one day to the next. And there was no war here. No vampires. No Malcolm. No Belikon.

“This is what I always wanted for Hayden for when he was little.” I blurted out the confession without even thinking. “Somewhere peaceful and safe, where he could have thrived.”

Fisher hooked the insides of his elbows around his bent knees, looking down into his beer as he thought about this. “He could still thrive,” he said softly. “Sounds like Swift got him a good job and a place to live.”

“Oh, if only that would be enough to tame Hayden,” I said ruefully. “My brother ran wild as a child. He's basically feral. He also has a crippling gambling addiction that's already earned him four broken bones. If I ever make it home, it'll be a miracle if I find him still alive.”

Fisher didn't look at me but said, “You will. Make it home, I mean. I can't guarantee your brother will be alive, but...”