Page 120 of Quicksilver
Fisher leaned back in his chair “That'ssupposed to be me?”
“Thatisyou,” 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.”
