Page 119 of Quicksilver
“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 neededthere. 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. “Idon'thate 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 itimpossiblefor 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 memoney!” 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,freewater 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 feltit! I knew the moment the gates opened again. I felt you pass through. There was abuzzingin 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.” Shesniffedme.
“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 didnotlook 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.'“
