Page 61 of Quicksilver

Annoyingly perfect mouth.

Heart-shaped birthmark on his chin.

It was definitely Carrion.

Kingfisher took one look at him and shrugged. “I tracked your bloodline. It led me right to him. I asked him who he was.Hesaid he was Hayden Fane. Ergo, I brought you Hayden Fane.”

“Were you pinning him against a wall and holding a sword to his throat when you asked him?” I demanded.

“No. I had him in a headlock. I hadn’t even drawn the sword. Not then, anyway.”

“No wonder he lied to you about who he was! He probably thought you were a debt collector or one of Madra's men!”

“Debtcollector?” Fisher fumed. “Look. Let me ask you something. Do you recall where the gate is in Zilvaren?”

“In Madra's palace.”

“Correct. And what do you think was there waiting for me when I stepped out of that silver?”

“Idon't know.”

“Fifty trained guardians and a unit of archers armed with iron-tipped arrows. I had to fight my way out of there, cross that scorched, disease-ridden shithole you're so desperate to get back to, find your brother, then getbackacross the city,backinto Madra's palace,backinto that cursed hall, and thenbackinto the quicksilver in under an hour. I did not have time to interview the prick! Now, will this one do or not?”

“No! He will not! Our deal—”

“Our deal stands,” Kingfisher snapped, stooping to pick up Carrion. He threw the lifeless black-market trader over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Fisher glared at me with the intensity of a thousand suns. “I hate that fucking place, but I went there for you. I got stabbed seven times in various parts of my body.For you.This prick said he was Hayden. His blood said he was Hayden. I did what I said I was going to do. Now move. We're getting the hell out of here.”

“I'm not going back to my rooms—”

“We're not going back to your rooms. First, I’m finding a healer. Then I’m going to find Ren, and then we're getting the fuck out of here.”

Fisher had spent the better part of his youth in the Winter Palace. He knew the place like the back of his hand. He opened concealed doorways and stomped along hidden passageways, charging up a ridiculous number of stairs, ignoring me when I pleaded for him to slow down. I wanted to dig my heels in and refuse to move, but my body wouldn’t listen. He told me to follow, and follow I did, even though my heart was pumping like a piston, and I felt like I would pass out any moment. I didn’thave a choice. Onyx squealed, doing backflips in the bag the whole time, inconsolable.

Finally, Fisher stopped after what I guessed was twenty-three flights of stairs, and dumped Carrion down onto the cold stone at my feet. “Stay here. Wait for me until I get back. Do not make a sound.”

I unleashed a string of foul curse words at him, only they didn’t make it past my lips. As he’d commanded, I didn’t make a sound. What the hell had he done to me? Why was my body not my own?

I seethed as I waited. In my head, I screamed at Carrion to wake up and do something about this, but it transpired that the smuggler was just as infuriating when he was unconscious as he was while he was awake. The idiot didn’t stir once.

An hour passed, and Onyx grew bored and fell asleep. When Fisher reappeared in the hidden passageway, the tears in his shirt were gone, as was all of the blood he’d been covered in. Fixed up, good as new, he carried something long and thin under his arm, wrapped in what looked like a curtain.

“I couldn’t find Ren. I left him a note,” he informed me, picking up Carrion. With no further preamble, he set off back down the stairs.

I said nothing.

I didn’t move a muscle.

He only realized I wasn’t following him once he’d turned the corner and disappeared from view. “Come on, Little Osha!” he called. “Keep up. You can speak again, but no complaining.”

I descended the stairs, my temper white-hot and brilliant as I scowled at the back of Fisher’s head.

Down forever we went. I was dizzy, and my thighs were burning when he led me out of the palace, across a covered courtyard, and into a dark, drafty building with wide doors open at both ends. On either side of us, stalls stretched off to the leftand the right. Over some of the stall doors, huge horses tossed their heads, whinnying, startled by our sudden appearance.

“Absolutely not,”I said.

Kingfisher dumped Carrion onto the wet stable floor and stepped over his body, marching off toward an open door to our right that led, not to a stall, but to a feed store and tack room.

“Let me guess. You don't like horses?” he said.