Page 69 of Quicksilver

“Don't look at me. Our little friend here forced my hand. She tried to commit suicide.”

“Liar! I did not!”

“When I found her, she was two seconds away from taking a dip without a relic,” Fisher said.

“I had your ring, smart ass. I thought Ididhave a relic.”

He eyed me over the top of his tankard, the silver around his iris shimmering as he gave me an open-mouthed smile. “Oh? You had my ring, did you? Care to recount the tale of how that came to be in your possession, Human?”

“That’s irrelevant.” I glowered at him hatefully.

“I don't care what Saeris took,” Ren said tightly. “Youtook Belikon's Alchemist. And not just that. You took thesword, too.”

Kingfisher's hand closed around his tankard so tight that his fingers turned white. “The last time he laid his hands on a sword of note, he used it to murder the true king and the whole fucking Daianthus line. If Rurik Daianthus—”

“As you just pointed out, Rurik Daianthus is gone. There’s no point playing a game of ‘if only’ where he’s concerned. Belikonisthe king. And like it or not, as king, he can claim whatever the hell he wants to claim. The god swords are all dead. They're paperweights now. Belikon couldn’t do any more damage with it than he could do with an ordinary sword. You should have just let him add it to his collection. What harm would it have done?”

“Harm?” Fisher barked. “You're joking, right? Harm. Hah!” He shook his head. “That sword is a holy fucking relic, Renfis. That bastard isn't fit to look upon it let alone wield it. I'll die before I allow Belikon to wear it on his hip. And you're wrong. Not all of the swords are dormant. Nimerelle—”

“So, taking it had nothing to do with the fact that Solace was your father’s blade? No. No, forget I even asked. I already know that’s the truth of it. As foryoursword, Nimerelle has been corrupted for years,” Ren seethed.

Kingfisher slammed his hands against the table, the cowl of his hood falling down. “Nimerelle is the only thing that’s stood between Yvelia and ever-lasting darkness for the past four hundred fucking years!” He was too loud. Too angry. His fury erupted out of him, and the tables around us fell quiet. Conversations stumbled, drinks were set aside, and a hundred pairs of eyes turned toward us.

Fisher shook as he stared at Ren. He didn't notice when whispers of “Renfis Orithian, Renfis Blood Sworn, Renfis of the Silver Lake,” began to spread throughout the room. Nor did he notice when the whispers turned to him. Not until it was too late.

Kingfisher.

No. Itcan'tbe.

It's true!

He's returned.

He's here.

Kingfisher.

Kingfisher.

Kingfisher.

Fisher's ire dried up like so much smoke. He hung his head, his cheeks turning white as ash despite the heat from the roaring fire. The muted,“Fuck,”he murmured was just a shape on his lips. It made no sound.

“Time to go,” Ren ground out.

“What? What's the problem?” I looked around, trying to gauge the emotions on the faces that surrounded us, but all I could see was shock. Reluctantly, Fisherhadspent some time explaining what types of creatures they were to me. Where they had all come from. And now the Fae, and the tiny little faeries that hovered in the air, and the satyrs at the bar, and the goblins, and the selkies, and everyone else—they were all speechless. Everywhere I looked, I found wide eyes and open mouths. Even the bartender, who hadn't spared us more than a glance when we ordered our drinks, was frozen, halfway through polishing a thick gla—

Never mind.

The glass dropped from his hands, shattering loudly on the floor.

Renfis rose from his chair, head bowed. He held his hand out to me and helped me up. Slowly, Kingfisher followed. His shoulders drew up around his ears, his vibrant green eyes unreadable; he kept them trained on the floor.

The three of us headed for the door, Kingfisher leading the way. I came after him, Onyx clutched tight in my arms, Renfis following behind me. We were halfway to the door when a massive Fae warrior with long, braided blond hair, shorn at the sides of his head, stepped in front of Kingfisher, blocking his path. He was huge. Easily just as tall as Kingfisher or Ren. His features were fine, though there was nothing gentle about him. The hard look in his pewter-colored eyes spoke of bloodshed. I gasped when he dropped to one knee at Kingfisher's feet. “It's an honor to kneel at the feet of the Dragon’s Bane. Please. A blessing, Commander? Only…only if you see fit to, of course,” he stammered.

“I'm sorry.” Kingfisher placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder. “You have me mistaken for someone else.”

The blond warrior donned a rueful smile. “My cousin fought with you and your wolves at Ajun-Sky. The way he described you...” He shook his head apologetically. “You're The Fisher King. You can’t be anyone else.”