Page 31 of Quicksilver

Since I'd woken up yesterday, I'd been stared at, whispered about, threatened, and treated like a performing monkey. All of the attention had begun to chafe a little. Rusarius's curiosity bore no malice, though. A childish inquisitiveness radiated from him as he circled around a table and came to stand on the other side of it, his gaze roaming over me with what seemed to be a purely academic interest.

Having decided that I didn't mind these questions coming from him, I bowed deeply and laid it on thick. “I'm Saeris Fane, apprentice to the Undying Queen's master glass worker. I hail from the third spoke in the blessed wheel of the sacred Silver City.”

Rusarius's mouth turned down at the corners as he nodded. “The Silver City? Zilvaren, then. Isthatso?”

“It's true,” Everlayne said quietly.

The light in Rusarius's twinkling eyes guttered out. “But...the quicksilver awoke? That's not...” He seemed struck by anepiphany, his head whipping back to me. “Oh! So…so, this one’s an Alchemist, then?”

“Shh!” Everlayne flinched. “We don't knowwhatshe is just yet. Kingfisher felt Solace calling, and he answered. He found it in Saeris's hands.”

His lips parted slightly. “She washoldingSolace?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but what’s an Alchemist? And what’s Solace?” I wasn’t used to being on the outside of conversations like this. It was zero fun. Neither of them bothered to answer me, though.

“Then I think it's safe to assume that sheisan Alchemist, wouldn't you?” Rusarius said, raising his eyebrows at Everlayne.

“It's—no! Well, it's not that simple. The Alchemists were allFae—”

“She must have a drop of Fae blood,” a deep voice murmured. “Enough to stop Solace from burning off her hands. But not enough to matter.” The owner of that voice was somewhere deep within the stacks. I'd only heard him speak briefly yesterday, but it was him all right. Kingfisher. Everlayne rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in the air.

“You were supposed to wait for Ren to finish up in the bathhouse. You came up here by yourself?”

Through the glass dome overhead, the sky was still a bright, crisp blue, but the library somehow seemed darker as Kingfisher's tall frame emerged from the center of the stacks. Yesterday, he'd worn a simple black shirt and black pants. No armor. No weapons. Today, he was dressed as he had been when he came for me in the Hall of Mirrors. A leather protector that covered only half his chest and one shoulder, a strap fastening underneath his right arm and around his ribs. Black leather tassets over his thighs. Bracers over his forearms. A polished silver renegade's gorget gleamed at his throat. His hair was wet,the ends of his ink-black waves dripping beads of water onto the pages of the open book that he was reading.

Aghast, Rusarius leaped, snatching the tome out of Kingfisher's hands. “Give me that! What’swrongwith you? That book is a first edition.”

Kingfisher turned a blank gaze upon Rusarius. He towered over the librarian, but that didn't seem to matter to the older Fae. It couldn't have mattered to Kingfisher either because the warrior dipped his head and cast his eerie eyes briefly to the floor. “My apologies, Rusarius. I'll be more careful in the future.”

“Where's Ren?” Everlayne demanded.

Kingfisher's expression hardened. “I assume he's still scrubbing hisballs,”he said dryly.

“If you're trying to shock me by mentioning random parts of male anatomy, then you're out of luck,” the blonde-haired female snapped. “I've seen Ren's balls. I've seen yours, too. I've seeneverything,” she said, pointedly glowering at Kingfisher's crotch, “so I know exactly where to aim my knee if you continue to test me. You don't seem to appreciate the level of danger you're in right now, Fisher.”

The huge male glanced down at himself, then back up at Everlayne from beneath dark, drawn brows. “The amount of armor I strapped on this morning would indicate otherwise,” he said, his low voice deep and smooth as silk.

“Belikon's assassins could be anywhere—”

“Sounds to me likeyou'rethe one I should be watching out for, darling Layne. You’re the one who just threatened to knee me in the cock.” A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, though it never materialized. He was as serious as the grave when he said, “None of Belikon's men would be stupid enough to try and assault me within the walls of this court now. Not when I have a sword strapped to my back and my head screwed on straight.”

Gods, hedidhave a sword strapped to his back. I hadn't noticed right away. Only the sleek black hilt was visible over Kingfisher's shoulder. Out of nowhere, his eyes flickered to me—the first time he'd even acknowledged that I was there—and again, the library grew yet another degree darker. Washedoing that?

“It's rude to stare at a male's hardware,” he said stiffly.

What had he called me back in the Hall of Mirrors? Pathetic? A fucking joke? I felt like both of those things under the cold weight of his gaze. I didn't have it in me to look away, though. I wouldn't be cowed by the likes of him. He was the reason I was in Yvelia, trapped here against my will in the first place. If he'd just left me where he found me...

If he'd left you where he found you, you'd bedead.

Gods, even the little voice in the back of my mind was turning against me. Well, I wasn't thanking him. Not when he was being so openly hostile.

“Don't worry. I wasn't planning on stealing it. It isn't very impressive. Looks more like atoothpickto me.”

Everlayne stifled a bark of laughter with the back of her hand.

“Oh, ho ho! I think that one might have drawn blood!” Renfis stood in the library's open doorway, shaking out his hair like a wet dog. His shirt was soaked through. By the looks of things, the male had barely bothered to dry himself off at all before he got dressed. He carried a bunch of leather armor under one arm and a sheathed sword bundled in a piece of black fabric under the other. Despite the wicked grin he wore (courtesy of my sharp tongue, it seemed), the general was pretty pissed; his annoyance burned in his eyes as he set his load down on the long clerk's table with a clatter.