Page 13 of Quicksilver
The air danced with heat as we crossed an internal courtyard. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reentered the building through a crenelated archway, glad to be back in the shade. Harron refused to speak again as he ushered me toward our destination. We passed endless alcoves and hallways, but he didn’t stop driving the hilt of his sword into my back until we came upon a set of tall, dark wood doors, three times my height and at least eight times as wide. The captain produced a heavy, rusted iron key from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole.
Why would a room within Madra’s own fortress need such an imposing door, and why would it need to be kept locked? I wanted to know but didn’t ask. Harron was unlikely to give me an answer, and I'd find out soon enough, anyway. I was probably about to be fed to a pack of hell cats. An uneasy prickle bit at the tips of my ears as Harron shoved me through the doors. The air in the large, vaulted room beyond was no cooler than anywhere else in the palace, but there was a strange quality to it, as if it were thicker than normal and hadn’t been disturbed in a very long time. My feet felt like they were wading through shifting sand as I proceeded through the darkness toward a lone burning torch that hung on the wall.
In rows, huge sandstone columns filled the cavernous space, at least thirty of them propping up the buttressed ceiling high above. Our footsteps echoed around the hall, Harron guiding me by the shoulder now. I thought the hall must be completely empty, but as we drew closer to the flickering flame throwingshadows up the wall, I saw that there was a series of stone steps that led up to a dusty, raised platform.
Something long and narrow protruded from the platform. From a distance, it looked like some sort of lever. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. My attention seemed to be snared by the shadowy shape, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't rip my gaze away. The closer we drew, the more focused I became. It was as if the platform were drawing me to it, beckoning me forward...
“I wouldn't if I were you.” Harron tugged me away from the platform, back toward the flaring torch; I hadn't even realized I'd altered course and was heading right for the stone steps. For a moment there, I'd lost myself, but the sound of the captain's low, quiet voice brought reality rushing back into sharp relief.
I was suddenly feeling rather nauseous. The water I'd drained from Harron's canteen rolled in my stomach, my mouth sweating unpleasantly, but I swallowed down the sensation, determined not to give the asshole the satisfaction of knowing he'd been right when he'd told me not to drink so fast. “What is this place?” I whispered.
“It used to be a hall of mirrors,” the captain answered. “But that was a long time ago. Stand still. And don’t think about trying to escape. This place is packed full of guards. You won’t get five feet beyond that door now.” He moved behind me and grabbed my wrists, binding them tight with rough hands. “There. Donotmove.” He took the torch from the wall and gave me a stern look, half of his proud features cast into darkness by the flame.
He went about lighting other torches along the wall, then. Soon there were at least ten of them casting off circles of golden light that revealed the dour faces of long-forgotten gods chiseled into the stonework of the walls. Amongst them, the only two I recognized were Balea and Min, the physical embodiment ofZilvaren’s suns—twin sisters, identical in appearance, beautiful and cruel. The sisters stared down at me with regal indifference as Harron finished his task. Even with the additional burning torches, the hall was so vast that the darkness still licked up the walls and crept close across stonework as if testing the boundaries of the light, trying to push it back.
I did my best not to look at the steps, the platform, or the lever. I tracked the edgeless, blurred shape that was Harron as he returned, but even so, my eyes kept drifting, drawn back to the steps.
The silence vibrated in my ears—an uncanny, unsettling feeling, like the moments after a scream, when the terrible sound tears the air in two, and for a split second afterward, the memory of it hangs there, determined to still be heard. I found myself straining, listening as hard as I could, searching for a voice that wasn't there.
Harron stood in front of me, his dark brown hair painted with strokes of copper beneath the torchlight. He opened his mouth to speak, and—
“I hear rumors,” a cool voice said. It was rich and low, though undeniably feminine. I startled, casting around for its source. I hadn't heard the door open again, and there had been no echoing footfall against the stone, yet there was someone else in the hall with us now. Queen Madra emerged from the darkness as if she were made of it. People said she was young. Beautiful. Magnificent to look upon. I'd seen her from a distance, but never this close. It was hard to comprehend how someone who had ruled for so long could look like this.
Her skin was fair and flawless, her cheeks flushed pink. Her hair was the color of spun gold, thick and braided into complex knots. Bright, quick, intelligent blue eyes took me in as she approached. She was certainly beautiful. More beautiful than any woman I'd ever seen. Her gown was a deep, rich sapphireblue, made of a stunning, silken fabric that I'd never even laid eyes on before. She was a dainty, graceful thing, but just like everything else in this strange hall, there was something strange about her.
She gave me a coquettish smile as she came closer, absently twisting a golden bracelet around her wrist. Harron averted his eyes, bowing his head when the Queen looked to him. His deference appeared to please her. She placed a familiar hand on his shoulder, having to reach up to do so, then turned around faced me.
“Rumors are wicked things,” she said. A moment ago, her voice sounded lower, full of reverberations, but it had altered somehow, and was now high and bright, as clear and pleasant as the ringing of one of Elroy's glass bells. There was no anger on Madra's face. If anything, her expression was one of curiosity mixed with mild amusement. The corners of her mouth tilted upward again, her eyes shining, bordering on kind. “I'm not fond of rumors, Saeris Fane. Rumors are next-door neighbors to gossip, and gossipalwaysbreaks bread with lies. It's just the way these things go.”
She paced around me in a circle, those quick blue eyes drinking all of me in. “I apologize for the shackles, but I'm not overly fond of low-born rats from the Third, either. You never know where their hands have been. In the very least, they're always dirty, and it's so hard to get stains out of satin.”
Low born rats.
Her smile was welcoming, as was the softness of her gaze, but her words told the truth at least. She tipped her head back, exposing the column of her neck as she got a better look at me. Diamonds winked at her ears, and the choker that circled her throat dripped with glittering jewels that I didn't even have names for. She wore no crown, which seemed odd considering the other finery she was decked out in. “Harron here tells methat you stole from me today. He tells me that youmurderedtwo of my guardians?”
I said nothing. I hadn't been invited to speak yet, and I knew how these things worked. I'd been dealt enough back-handed blows by the guardians to know that I shouldn't make a peep until told directly to open my mouth. Madra huffed down her nose, arching a sardonic eyebrow at me as her smile widened. I got the impression that she was disappointed and had wanted me to breach propriety. “Theft of crown property is a serious charge, Saeris, but we'll get to the armor you took shortly. First, you'll explain how you managed to best two of my men. You’ll tell me who taught you to wield a sword. You'll give me details. Names. Meeting locations. Everything you know. And when you're done, if I feel that you've been honest, I will see about commuting a part of your sentence. Go ahead,” she commanded.
Turning her back on me, she started pacing up and down along the length of the wall, looking up at the stonework, at the torches, at the ceiling, waiting for me to speak.
“Get on with it,” Harron hissed between his teeth. “Delaying won't aid your case, I assure you.”
“It's all right, Harron. Let her get her falsehoods in order. It doesn't matter. I'll untangle her web even as she spins it.”
A bead of sweat streaked over my temple, rolling down my cheek, but I found myself shivering despite the stifling heat. I wanted to look at the raised platform. With every fiber of my being, I was desperate to look. It took every ounce of strength I possessed, but I managed to keep my eyes trained on Madra. “I taught myself,” I said. “I made myself a wooden practice sword, and I trained by myself.”
Queen Madra snorted.
I waited to see if she would say anything—she was clearlythinkingplenty—but she lifted her brows in a silent signal to continue.
“That’s all there is to it,” I said. “No one trained me.”
“Liar,” the queen purred. “My guardians are seasoned fighters. Second to none when it comes to swordplay. You have been shown how to use a weapon, and I want to know by who.”
“I already told you—”
The queen’s hand whipped out, fast as lightning. Striking my cheek as hard as she could, the resulting crack echoed around the empty hall as her palm met my skin. Pain exploded in my jaw, traveling up into my temple. Damn, thathurt.
“It was the Fae, wasn’t it?” she hissed. “They’ve found a way through. They’ve come for me at last?”
