KINGFISHER BARELY SAID a word to me when he took me back to the estate that night. I swayed a little and almost certainly slurred a lot when I told him I wanted to stay in the camp, but he refused to listen. His features had formed a blank mask when he found me in the tavern, drinking with Lorreth. They were still blank when he made sure I was safely transported into his bedroom, and blanker still when he bid me a curt goodnight and left.
The next morning, I woke to a splitting headache and a small fox, licking my face. The sun was high in the sky, and Fisher hadn’t come for me. He didn’t come at all that day. After eating a greasy breakfast that made me feel much better, I spent the afternoon exploring Cahlish, wandering through the rooms, feeling displaced and useless. I didn’t belong here. And while the estate was beautiful, and cozy and felt as though it had been loved at some point, I couldn’t see how Kingfisher fit in here, either. The place was built for a family. There were supposed to be children tearing along the halls, and the sound of laughter in the air, but the grand house echoed with a painful silence that filled me with sadness.
I imagined Kingfisher’s mother receiving the letter from the king, informing her that she was to report to the Winter Palace with all of her assets in tow, where she would be married to him and was expected to start a whole new life. I imagined her looking at her dark-haired boy and wondering what kind of life he would lead in a court full of vipers beyond the walls of this sanctuary.
I ate dinner in Fisher’s bedroom, sitting at his desk, and then when darkness fell, I curled up in his bed and cuddled with Onyx until I passed into a restless sleep.
I became uneasy when Fisher didn’t come for me the next morning. I’d missed out on the opportunity to run three trials yesterday, and I didn’t want to miss another three. By mid-morning, I was pacing back and forth and so agitated that the fire sprites stopped coming by to see if I needed anything, and even Onyx grumbled at me and slunk off outside to chase squirrels in the snow.
At three in the afternoon, he finally showed his face. There was no sudden crack of a shadow gate appearing in the bedroom, though. There was a perfunctory knock at the door. It being his bedroom, he didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. He opened the door and just stood there, looking at me. “You’re wearing my shirt,” he said eventually.
“Yeah, well there wasn’t anything else to wear,” I answered hotly. “All of the clothes from the room I had with Carrion are gone. Archer showed me to another room down the hall, but that one was full of dresses, and I think we both know how I feel about those.”
Fisher grunted. “It’s too big for you,” he noted. “I had noticed.”
He wasn’t wearing black today. Not all black, anyway. His cloak was the darkest green, as was his shirt. The shadows underneath his eyes were the color of livid bruises, though, and he seemed paler than usual. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping well. And there was a cut on his cheek. It looked fresh, but not that fresh. From yesterday, probably…
“What happened?” I asked, getting up from the bed.
“Nothing. A pack of feeders were moving along the border about an hour to the north. Ren thought we should go check it out before they sprung any surprises on us or tried to cross further up the river, but it was nothing. We clashed briefly. The feeders turned and fled.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. He’d gone out to fight, and I’d been traipsing around his old house, snacking on cake, and drinking cups of tea. And there was a cut on his face. I didn’t know what kind of emotion that provoked in me, but I didn’t like it much.
“I’m going to see Te Léna,” he said, and the announcement twisted something deep inside me. I was a burning, drowning wreck of a girl, and I didn’t even know what to do to save myself.
I smiled faintly. “Oh. Say hi to her for me.” Te Léna lived here somewhere, I knew that much. I hadn’t tried to find her since Fisher dropped me off the other night, though. I hadn’t wanted the company. Or else, very unfairly, I hadn’t wanted her company, which was ridiculous, I knew.
“I’ll be with her for a couple of hours. When I’m done, I’ll be back for you,” he said.
“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 coming back?” 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 are we here?” 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. Are you planning 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 placed the 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 a home. 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…”
“Thanks for the reassurance, but you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t fall down from relief. You might remember that I still have to crack the transmutation process and turn thousands of rings into relics. And that,” I said wearily, “is beginning to sound like a lifetime’s work.”
Fisher sighed, digging the heel of his boot into the grass. “I’m going to help you with that,” he said.
“I’m sorry, did you just say you’re going to help me with my work? Did I hear that correctly?”
He pulled a face. “If I’m helping you in the forge, we might actually have a fighting chance of getting this done. It’ll also mean that I won’t have to put up with Danya’s constant death threats.”
“You don’t think she’ll come and threaten you at the forge?” “She can’t threaten me if she can’t find me,” he said.
I was not a graceful victor. ‘I told you so’ was one of my favorite things to say, but I refrained from rubbing it in too much. “It’s funny. It’s almost as if you were completely wrong when you said all that mess with your friends would be blown over by morning,” I mused. “I don’t think Danya’s ever going to forgive you for disappearing on them.”
I expected a snarky response to this, but Fisher just smiled sadly. He took a drink, the warm orange glow from the fire casting his features in bronze and turning his midnight black curls to a dark, warm brown. “I don’t know what you mean. Danya’s already back to her delightful, cheery self.”
He was joking. Had to be. No way anyone would have kept her around for so long if she was really this abrasive.
We were quiet for a while. We drank our ale and watched the musicians play, and around us, Ballard revelled. It wasn’t long before a group of female High Fae adolescents started doing laps around the fire, giggling
behind their hands, throwing furtive glances Fisher’s way. They looked like they were about twelve or thirteen in human years—that awkward age between childhood and the chaos of puberty—though I had no idea how old they were in Fae terms.
Fisher hadn’t thrown any sharp barbs at me at all yet, so I decided to risk a question. “How do you age here? Your children? You all live for so long, but…are you born, and then you stay a child for a hundred years, or…?”
He shook his head. “A child is vulnerable. Weaker than an adult. Too liable to be picked off by predators. Our offspring actually age twice as fast as human children. We’re fully grown by twenty-one or twenty-two. That’s when the aging process slows down dramatically.”
“Predators?”
“Plenty of dark and hungry things lurk in the forgotten corners of this realm, Little Osha. At least four different kinds of Banshee feed from the souls of the very young. Their vibrant energy’s just too potent for them to resist. Then, there are wraiths, and saw-toothed mermaids, and a whole plethora of den-dwelling creatures that like to burst out of the ground and swallow whole anything they can fit inside their jaws. You’ve really got to watch where you’re putting your feet around here.”
Gods alive. I’d known Yvelia was rife with danger, but I hadn’t realized how precarious a person’s safety was here.
“There’s also the plant life. Poisonous thorns and carnivorous flower buds. If those don’t kill you, they’ll sure as hell leave a mark. And then, of course,” Fisher noted, his eyes darkening. “There’s Malcolm.” He didn’t say ‘the vampires.’ He said ‘Malcolm,‘ as if the pale figure with the silver hair I’d seen on the other side of the riverbank was solely responsible for the death and destruction his horde left in its wake. “His hatred alone would wipe the world clean of life if it were given free rein.”
A chilled wind blew, snaking icy fingers down the back of my shirt and making me shiver. I thought there had been a blast of wind, anyway, but the air seemed strangely still all of a sudden, as if the world were holding its breath.
Change the subject, Saeris. For the love of the gods, change the subject.
“You’re causing quite a stir,” I said into my cup of ale as I drank. “Hmm?”
I eyed the gaggle of young girls as they completed their fourth lap around the fire, still throwing hopeful glances Fisher’s way. “I think this
little group might be wondering if the Lord of Cahlish is in the market for a
Lady of Cahlish,” I said teasingly.
I didn’t think Fisher would love the comment, per se, but I figured he’d at least know that I was joking. His hand tightened around his mug, his shoulders drawing up uncomfortably around his ears. “You shouldn’t call me that. I’m not Lord of Cahlish,” he bit out.
“But…that is your title. Weren’t you your father’s only son?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m not—” He changed tack. “A lord is charged with watching over his people. He protects them. Defends them. Creates a safe place for them to live. Do you know where they are now? The people who used to live on my lands?”
An awful anger burned in his eyes as he looked at me. I wasn’t going to like what he was about to tell me, but I answered anyway. “I don’t.”
“On the wrong side of the Darn, baying for the blood of their own fucking children,” he said bitterly. “Or else they’ve abandoned their homes and moved away, where they won’t have the entire Sanasrothian horde kicking down their front doors in the middle of the night. A hundred and ten years. I left them for a hundred and ten years. Ren and the others did everything they could to stem the tide. It’s not their fault. I was supposed to be here to protect them. I failed them. So I don’t deserve to be called Lord of Cahlish. I am lord of nothing.”
The arrogance he wore like plate armor was gone. All of the artifice. The walls that stood between him and the outside world. Gone. The silver in his eye pulsed, reflecting the light from the fire, relentless as ever, giving him no peace. It hurt to see him like this, torn wide open by a grief that I could see now lived just below the surface of the stony, give-no-fucks facade he presented to the world.
My throat ached. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, but the lines were so blurred now. Would he accept that small comfort, or would he laugh and spit in my face? I had my own defenses in play. My walls were just as tall as his and just as thick. I didn’t know if I’d survive that kind of rejection if he turned around and mocked me for thinking I could be any kind of support to him.
Courage, I thought to myself. And also, fuck him. If he showed cruelty in the face of kindness, then he deserved to be miserable and alone. I drew in a deep breath, and was about to reach for him, when—
“Why haven’t you said anything?” he demanded, twisting to face me.
“I was about to! I just…I was thinking it through!”
“Not about that.” He exhaled sharply down his nose. “About the other night. What happened. With us.”
Ahh. No further clarification needed there. I searched his face, my heart working overtime. “You made it very clear that, as far as you were concerned, it was going to be a one-time thing,” I said slowly. “You made it very clear that you could hate me and still want to fuck me. And I’m not the type of person who keeps throwing herself at the things that hurt her. So no. I haven’t brought it up. What would have been the point? Would you have made me a cup of tea and sat and listened while I tried to convince you how good we could be together?”
He snorted dismissively. “Exactly.”
“I don’t…” Watching Fisher grasp for the right words was wild. “I don’t hate you,” he rushed out. He exhaled as if the admission had cost him dearly. “But there are things you don’t understand. Things that make it impossible for me—”
“Bless the stars, I was right!” a rasping voice declared.
Neither of us had noticed the figure approaching from the other side of the fire. A woman stood before us, her craggy face lined with age. It was difficult to tell where one wrinkle began and another ended. She was short for a member of the Fae and tall for a human, though I couldn’t tell which she was. She kind of looked like she might be human, but then she smiled broadly, displaying a pair of worn but still elongated canines, and the question of her heritage was resolved. “I do love keeping an eye on the sky,” she croaked. “Kingfisher sightings are very rare around these parts, but I knew I’d get lucky one of these days if I kept looking.”
Fisher plastered a smile on his face—convincing, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not completely. He groaned, heaving himself to his feet as if he wasn’t perhaps Yvelia’s most infamous blooded warrior, at the height of his power, and that his old bones were aching instead. To my surprise, he wrapped his arms around the old woman and hugged her hard.
“Evening, Wendy,” he said.
She squeezed him tight, then made a very theatrical show of shoving him off away. “Evening, Wendy? Don’t you ‘Evening, Wendy‘ me. I’ve been making those cursed biscuits for you every year, and you haven’t once
bothered to show up and eat them. No one else likes them, you cheeky shit. What a waste of ingredients!”
Fisher regarded her very seriously, but the genuine edge that had been missing from his smile seconds ago finally emerged, his eyes dancing with amusement. “I’m sorry, Wen. I’ve been terribly rude. I owe you an apology.” She clouted the top of his arm—the highest point of his body that she could reach. “You owe me money!” she cried. “Do you know how
expensive sugar is these days?”
Fisher laughed. Really laughed. The sound was rich and deep, and made something inside me sit up straight. When I’d picked up a pitcher at the Winter Palace and filled a glass for myself for the first time, I’d thought the sound of that rushing, free water would be my favorite sound until the day I died. I was wrong. The sound of Fisher’s genuine laughter was rarer than water had ever been back in Zilvaren; it almost brought tears to my eyes to hear it.
“I’ll see what I can do about opening up some of those trade lines,” Fisher promised.
Wendy grunted and made a face so grumpy that it almost had me laughing. “Don’t bother. Traders bring too much bad news with their wares these days. We’d rather go without.” She grabbed hold of Fisher by the waist, squeezing him like she was inspecting a piece of fruit at market. “Wherever you’ve been, they haven’t been feeding you properly, anyway. Come on. I have two spots saved at my table and two large bowls of beef stew waiting, too.”
“Thank you, Wendy.”
She pinned him under a vicious gaze. “I know you’re not about to forget your manners and make me introduce myself to your pretty little companion, Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate.”
Fisher paled, his lips parting. He looked struck dumb. But I was already getting to my feet, offering out my hand to Wendy. “I’m Saeris Fane. I’m—” “Ah, a Zilvaren girl! Gods alive!” Wendy grabbed me by the shoulders and held onto me, looking me up and down. “I felt it! I knew the moment the gates opened again. I felt you pass through. There was a buzzing in the
air that day.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I replied.
She’d sensed me coming through the gate? Was that possible? Yvelia was a land of unexpected magic and unique beings. She’d taken one look at
me and known I was from Zilvaren. That was pretty impressive all by itself. Wendy half-closed her eyes, peering at me through the slits of her lowered eyelids. Her mouth slowly hinged open as she took me in. “Hmm.” She sniffed me.
“More than just a companion, then?” Wendy scowled at Fisher out of the corner of her cloudy eye.
“She’s a friend,” Fisher said, without a hint of feeling in his voice. “A temporary one. She’ll be heading back to Zilvaren soon, where she’ll go back to her life and forget all about the things that have happened here.”
Wendy nodded, mouth still open. She did not look like she believed him. “Is that so?”
“Didn’t you say something about stew?” He wasn’t as testy with Wendy as he was with me most of the time—something told me he wouldn’t have gotten away with it—but he was growing tenser by the moment. Wendy took pity on him and let the matter drop.
“Yes, stew! And husk cakes, and potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots! You two aren’t leaving Ballard until you’re splitting at the seams and can’t fit another bite inside of you. Come.”
|
Wendy wasn’t joking. She filled our plates for us again and again, moving back and forth between savory and sweet dishes as she remembered that there was this smoked meat or that dessert that she wanted us to try.
I had more drinks than I should have, considering the amount of whiskey I’d burned through with Lorreth two nights earlier, but the beer wasn’t strong at all and only gave me a sweet, warm feeling in my chest. Fisher didn’t balk when his beer was repeatedly refilled, either, which surprised me. He raised a questioning eyebrow at me when he caught me watching him as he drained his sixth cup. “What is it?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. I just figured you’d cut yourself off after two or something. I’ve been waiting for you to come out with something along the lines of…” I cleared my throat, pitching my voice low. “’A good warrior never dulls his senses with drink. I must always be ready to fight.’“
Fisher leaned back in his chair “That’s supposed to be me?”
“That is you,” I said.
“Bullshit. I don’t sound that pretentious.”
“You sound worse. Hey!” A tiny pixie girl with gauzy pink wings was balancing on the edge of my plate, trying to roll off one of my Bettell biscuits. The cookie was almost as big as she was. It would flatten her if it toppled over on her. She shouted, high-pitched and angry, when I took the biscuit. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” I scolded. “How did you think you were going to fly and carry that at the same time?”
It was tough to make out what she said, but I was pretty sure I heard the words, ‘none of’ and ‘your’ and ‘business,’ with some other colorful words thrown in for good measure. I pretended to be deeply offended, but still, I broke the biscuit up into little pieces, setting them on a side plate for her. “There. That should be more manageable for you now. You’re welcome.”
She made a rude hand gesture, but swiped a chunk of biscuit and launched into the night air. When I turned back to Fisher, he was lazing back in his chair, watching me very intently. I saw the tiny uptick at the corners of his mouth and leaped at the chance to torment him.
“Are you about to smile, Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate?” “What if I am?” he said in a very even, measured tone.
“I can count on one hand how many times I’ve witnessed you do it. No one’s going to believe me when we get back to camp.
He did smile then, slow and rueful, head turned away as he toyed with his fork. “They’ll believe you, Little Osha. They’ve all seen me smile plenty.”
“Just not recently?” I whispered.
“No. Not recently. Smiling has been pretty hard of late.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It is getting easier, though.”
He seemed relaxed, but there was a tension in his shoulders that I could see, even if no one else could. The silver in his eye was going wild. I pressed the tip of my tongue against the inside of my teeth to stop myself from spoiling the moment with inappropriate questions, but I knew he was suffering. He was always suffering.
Annorath mor! Annorath mor! Annorath mor!
The voices came from out of nowhere, loud and full of terror.
Annorath mor!
Annorath mor!
Annorath mor!
Louder. Faster. Louder. Faster still.
I gripped the edge of the table, unable to catch my breath over the roar… “Saeris? Darling girl, can you hear me? Are you all right?”
Ballard snapped back into sharp focus. My plate was on the floor at my feet, and the grass was littered with Bettell biscuits. Kingfisher stared at me in wide-eyed shock. It was Wendy who had spoken, voice full of worry. I sat stiff as a board, while she pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.
“No temperature to speak of. Are you well, Saeris? You took a funny turn there.”
“Yes. I’m fine. I…” I swallowed thickly. “I was just a little dizzy, that’s all.” Oh, no. It wasn’t just Fisher and Wendy who’d noticed. A group by the fire had stopped talking and were watching us. A couple of Fae women, leaning against the trunk of the massive oak tree twenty feet away, were also talking quietly, their eyes full of concern as they looked over. I swallowed down my alarm, smiling as convincingly as I could. “Really, I’m okay, I promise.”
He knows. He can tell you just heard something.
The little voice in the back of my head was right. Fisher was white as a sheet and looking uneasy as he pushed his chair back so he could pick up my plate. “It’s been a long day,” he said, setting my plate back on the table. “We’ve eaten and drunk too much, I think. The exhaustion’s kicking in.”
Wendy nodded. “Of course. Of course. Well, you know where you’re going, don’t you? Although, I suppose it has been a long time. Do you remember the way?”
Fisher chuckled good-naturedly, giving the old female a one-armed hug. “The rest of me might not be perfect, but my memory is,” he said. “Night, Wendy.”
I gave the female a hug, too, my eyes pricking at the surprising display of maternal warmth. She was still calling after us, bidding us goodnight, as Onyx bolted ahead of us up the path, carrying a Bettell biscuit in his mouth.
 |
We were going back to Cahlish. There was no way Fisher would choose to stay here after my strange little episode. But he didn’t open up a shadow gate and drag me back through it as I thought he would. He was quiet as he led me into the line of the trees and passed the quaint houses that lined the walkway. He flexed out his hands by his sides a couple of times before slipping them into his pockets—he didn’t seem to know what to do with them.
The walkways into the forest were only wide enough to accommodate a small cart, perhaps. They were deserted, though, with everyone still back at the clearing, enjoying the celebrations.
Fisher stopped in the middle of the path, so abruptly that I nearly ran into his back. “Those words you said back there. Why did you say them?” he demanded.
I’d said them out loud? Damn. “I don’t know. I really don’t. It came out of nowhere. I was sitting there, listening to you say something about smiling, and then bam. It was all I could hear. Annorath mor. Annorath mor. Annorath M—”
“Stop.” Fisher held up his hand as if it were a shield. “Don’t…say that. Just, please don’t say that.” He had been annoyed, mad, irritated, turned on, and a million other things in front of me, but he’d never been afraid before.
“The quicksilver pushed those words into my mind when you forced me to hold it back at the Winter Palace. What do they mean?” I asked, stepping toward him.
He stepped back at the same time, shaking his head. “It’s better if you don’t ask. I can’t tell you anyway, so just…don’t.”
“Fisher—”
He lunged for me, grabbing me by the hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The forest village of Ballard whipped past in a blur as Fisher tugged me along behind him. The trees were full of twinkling lights. Pretty ponds and grassy areas with benches lined the paths. Music still hung in the air, though distant now, as he took me further into the forest. Eventually, we came to a cobblestoned square with a circular fountain at its center. The statue in the fountain—a female with flowing, beautiful hair and a heart-shaped, gently smiling face—held a stone urn, from which a steady stream of water poured into the pool at her feet. The sound of the trickling water would have been soothing had Fisher not been so agitated. He charged across the square, angling his head away from the statue, beelining for an innocuous red
doorway between two small shops—a bakery and a tailor’s, by the looks of things.
“Fisher, slow…” I nearly tripped over my own feet as I passed the fountain, my eyes trailing over the small brass plaque at the base of the woman’s feet, and something painful clicked into place. I realized why the statue looked so familiar now. She looked an awful lot like Everlayne. And she had Kingfisher’s high cheekbones. Or rather, he had her high cheekbones.
‘Edina of the Seven Towers. Lady of Cahlish.’
Kingfisher’s mother.
He’d said she had brought him here as a child. She was important to the people of Ballard. Fisher was, too. I’d figured that out even before Wendy had come to tell him off for neglecting her for so long. Everyone had been very subtle about it, but the villagers had been very aware of his presence. He wasn’t a stranger here, had never been one by my reckoning, and now he was opening up a door to a building on the square because he had a fucking key?
“Come on.” He gestured to the open doorway. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.”
The temperature was a terrible excuse. Cahlish was much colder than Ballard, and he walked around there in just a shirt and pants without batting an eyelid. I understood why he wanted to get inside, though, and I had no plans on stopping him.
The door opened to a narrow stairway. Just one flight. Candles in wall sconces sparked to life as Kingfisher motioned for me to go ahead of him. I started to climb. Onyx slipped through my feet, forever nosy, wanting to go first. His claws made a clattering sound against the wooden floorboards as he hopped up each step. The air smelled of dust and neglect. When I reached the top of the stairs, I found myself surrounded by ghosts, but before I could panic, flames bloomed at the wicks of more candles on the other side of the room, and I saw that the eerie white shapes weren’t ghosts after all. Just large pieces of furniture draped with dust sheets.
Even the pictures hanging on the walls had been covered. Three large windows overlooked the courtyard and the fountain, but Fisher was already on it, crossing the modest living room and drawing the thick burgundy velvet curtains closed at each of them, blocking out any view of the kind- looking woman pouring water from her urn below.
This wasn’t just an apartment Fisher had rented for the night. This place belonged to Fisher. It had belonged to his mother once, maybe, and now it was his.
I paced around the room, running my hand over the sheets. Onyx’s nose was glued to the ground as he trotted about, snuffling intensely. He sneezed explosively, then went right back to inhaling all the dust. I was about to pull down the sheet from the large painting above the fireplace, but Fisher’s hand caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said. But then, a little softer, he added, “Not tonight.”
Why were we even here? This seemed like prodding an open wound for him, but he’d been the one to bring me to Ballard. “Bathroom’s through there,” he said, pointing through a doorway to our left. “There are two bedrooms down there. I’ll take the smallest. That used to be mine, anyway.” Two bedrooms. He was sleeping in his own room. I was to sleep in the other. I wasn’t surprised by that. Fisher might deign to fuck me, but I was
under no illusions that he’d want to sleep in the same room as me.
“Thanks. Oh, shit.” I winced. “I left my bag back in the clearing. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll have to go back and get it.”
But Kingfisher held out his hand, and his palm became a wreath of black smoke, which became a piece of canvas, which became the forgotten bag. “Here,” he said softly. “Night, Little Osha.”
