Page 129 of Quicksilver

I stared at him, stunned. “But—”

“They aren’t gone for good,” he said tightly. “I...you can change your mind about them later if you want to. You have a month or so. If you decide over the next few weeks that you want them back, I’ll return them to you.”

“But what if I decide I want cool hand tattoos after the month has passed? Do I get to choose from different designs every time we sleep together or something?”

Fisher laughed dryly, shaking his head. “No. The Marks are chosen for you. They won't be there after a month. If you decide not to accept them, they'll be gone for good.”

I let that sit between us for a while, knowing that there was something he wasn’t telling me. Plenty of things. I didn’t have it in me to prod any further, though. I took a bite of my food, taking in all of the ink that still marked his skin. After a while, I said, “What do yours mean?”

“Mine?”

“Your tattoos.Yourshaven’t gone anywhere.”

“Oh.” He looked down at himself. “Well. Our runes are complicated. But yes, they do have meanings. This one,” he said, holding up his left hand, “means vengeance.” He held up his other hand. “This one means justice.”

“What about that one?” I asked, pointing at the large, swirling section of ink on his forearm.

“Sacrifice,” he said, his voice hitching.

“Why is it so much bigger than the rest?”

Fisher took in the rune, then slowly drew down the sleeve of his shirt, covering it. “I think you can probably guess why,” he said softly.

I could. I’d regretted the question even as I’d asked it. The largest tattoo on Fisher’s arm meant sacrifice, becausehehad, or would have to, sacrifice so much…

They were prophecies of a kind. They told his story. And it wasn’t necessarily one that he was comfortable talking about. In time, maybe. But for now…

I pointed at the small bird tattoo below my collarbone, changing the subject. “You told me you couldn't takethisone back.”

All humor left Fisher's face. The sunlight dimmed out of nowhere, the room darkening with shadows that spilled across the walls from all four corners of the room. I knew right away that something had shifted. Our time together at breakfast was over. Fisher got up from the table, carefully setting his chair back underneath it. “No, I can't takethatback,” he said stiffly. “And I'm sorry for that.”

“You don't need to be sorry. I'm pretty attached to it now. I just thought, since you removed these...” Gods, I was rambling.

“Not removed. Only hidden. For now, anyway.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “We need to leave soon. You'll find some fresh clothes laid out for you on your bed. There's a bath already drawn for you in there, too. I'm going to go and say goodbye to Wendy. When I come back, we'll go.”

I let Fisher go, knowing that I couldn't say anything to shift the mood back to the way it had been. In the bedroom—the one I wassupposedto have slept in—I soaked my sore body and let myself stew over everything I'd said. It was when I stood naked, dripping on the rug in front of the ornate full-length mirror on the wall, that I realized what had caused the mood in the kitchen to shift. Right there, only a couple of inches above the bird tattoo, were two small red welts. They were almost closed up already. They didn't even hurt.

No, I can't takethatback. And I'm sorry for that.

He hadn't been talking about the bird tattoo.

He'd been talking about the bite mark at my throat.

28

JUST ASK

• Bismuth. Cadmia. Cinnabar.

• Plumbago. Lime. Calcite.

• Tin salt. Resin of copper. Marcasite.

Result: No Reaction.

When Carrion burstinto the forge later that afternoon, I was out the back by the water baths, hurling glass beakers against the mountainside. I pulled a very uncharitable face, trying to convey my displeasure at his presence with a grimace instead of words. If I knew Carrion, he understood my meaning perfectly well and didn’t give a fuck that I wasn't thrilled to see him. He produced a tin from the pocket of a very warm-looking coat and lit a cigarillo for himself. He offered me one, but I shook my head and launched another beaker at the rock.

An herbal, rich smell soaked the frigid air. “What are we doing?” he asked.