Page 16 of Quicksilver
“Heretical...magic!” Harron gasped. He tried to lunge away but lost his balance, toppling backward onto his ass, his boots kicking against the stone as he struggled to get away. “Where did you learn how to—no.No!”
Terror claimed the captain. He cast about, wild-eyed, breathing heavily, as the thin streams of metallic liquid that had once been his weapon rolled toward him, pooling and diverging, as if it were seeking him. As if it werealive.
“End this,” Harron panted. “Even if it takes me, you won't escape the palace. You're bleeding out, anyway. You're already dead!”
A strange, rippling weight shifted in my stomach. I could barely feel it over the pain, but I could sense that calm, unknown something inside me was turning its focus back toward me. It was a question. Did I want to stop whatever course I had set the once-knife on? It would be easy. To call it back. Bring it to heel. Because itwasdangerous. There were things it coulddo.I didn't know what, but...
I would find out.
Harron was right. Iwasalready dead. No one could survive the injuries he'd inflicted upon me. But Hayden was still alive. Elroy. Maybe even Vorath, though the cry that came from his shop as I fled earlier suggested otherwise. So long as my friends still lived, I had every reason to hurt Harron. And if the flowing metal I had created from the dagger he had planned on stabbing me with might prevent him from hurting the people I cared about, then I'd use it to hurt him first.
I couldn't speak anymore. Couldn't move. I was so dizzy that the vast hall pitched up and down like I was drunk...but I wasn't done yet. I had enough strength to seethisthrough.
Madra would have to find someone else to murder my people. She had an endless supply of guardians who were more than willing to do her bidding, but this man wouldn't be amongst them. Harron wouldn't be the one to spill Hayden or Elroy's blood, the way that he had spilled mine. I knew that I could end him with this strange and hungry metal if I wanted to. And why shouldn't I? Life wasn't fair. I'd never expected it to be, but I did believe that you reaped what you sowed in this city, and that meant that Harron, Captain of Madra’s guard, had a debt he needed to settle before I died.
“Saeris? Saeris! Call it off! You don't—you don'tunderstand—”
“Oh, but I do,” I croaked. “You expect me to die by your hand, but—” I held my stomach as I coughed, spluttering on another mouthful of blood. “You don't want to come with me through that doorway you mentioned, do you, Captain?”
“I can't go. She won'tletme!” Harron had plenty of room to flee, but the man was frozen solid, muscles locked up, too petrified to move an inch. He whimpered as the humming threads of silver branched out like the tributaries of the rivers I'd marveled over in library books and began creeping up the toe of his leather boot.
What would happen to him?
It didn't really matter. He was going to suffer the same way he'd made me suffer. I was growing weaker by the second, my wounds losing blood at a phenomenal rate. The clock was ticking. I'd be gone soon, but...the stubborn part of me wanted him to die first. And I wanted to be standing on my own two feet when it happened. So, I got to work.
Saeris Fane was twenty-four years of age when she died. Honestly, she should have died a lot sooner, but the girl neverdidknow when to give up.
My epitaph would be short and sweet. Elroy would see to something for me, provided that he survived any of this. In the meantime, I was going to drag my bleeding backside up off of this hard floor and watch whatever came next.
I was sweating, weak-legged, and nauseous when I finally managed to get up. Panting hard down my nose, I took one staggering step toward the captain and realized just how hard it was going to be to stay conscious. I was a (temporarily) living, breathing pin cushion. Harron's sword and his other dagger were still sticking out of me. It was a miracle the sword hadn't fallen out yet. The weight of it twisting inside me wasexcruciating, but I held back my screams as I stumbled, dragging myself on ice-cold feet toward Harron.
Frantically, he slapped his pant legs, brushing the fabric with a sweeping motion, though very careful not to touch the molten silver at the same time. “Monster,” he hissed. “You'll end the world with this. D—don't let it take me. Pl—please!”
What did he expect? Had he listened to me when I was pleading for my life? Had he taken pity on me right before he drove his sword into my gut? He hadn’t. I had no understanding of what it was I was doing, but if this was a world-ending gift, then good. Fuck this city and fuck this world. My family was already doomed, and what did I care for anyone else? If Harron was telling the truth, then I'd be doing the rest of the people in the Third a favor.
The torches resting in the sconces blazed, roaring as their flames danced and leaped, casting an eerie orange glow up the walls. On the ground, the silver threads persisted in climbing up Harron's legs, probing, ever moving upward, on a mission to find skin.
How I knew that, I couldn't comprehend, but I did know that Madra would be hearing Harron's music as soon as they achieved their goal.
“Please,” Harron whispered.
“No.”The word was as hard as granite. I looked down at the bastard's sword protruding out of my chest, wishing I could pull it out. What a dark and beautiful irony it would be to end this fucker's life with his own sword, but I'd be dead the second I withdrew the thing, and I wanted to hang around long enough to see...
I needed something else. One of the torches, perhaps. If I could muster the energy to shuffle across the hall and reach one, I could use it to set him alight, the way he planned on torching the Third. I'd made it three bracing, agonizing steps before Inoticed theothersword to my left. I'd seen it when Harron had dragged me in here, though I hadn't been able to make out what it was then. I'd thought it was some kind of lever. But this close, I could see that it was, in fact, a sword, buried halfway up to its hilt into the ground.
Gods only knew if I had the strength to free it, but I was going to try.
There were steps up to the raised platform where the ornate weapon had been buried. When I heaved myself up the first of these steps, groaning out loud in pain, Harron broke free from his hysteria. He got to his feet, his voice ringing out, loud and urgent.
“Saeris, no! Donottouch the sword. Donot…turn the key!” he panted. “Donotopen the gate! You—you've no idea the hell you will unleash on this place!”
He thought I wouldcare?
My vision flickered red, a lifetime of rage and injustice finally demanding retribution. Hell had already been unleashed upon this place centuries ago. What was a little more suffering?
The second step up toward the platform was slightly easier, but only because it was a step closer to death. A cold, numb feeling washed over me, dulling my senses and fogging my thoughts. I'd left a pool of blood on the floor behind me, along with a wide trail of it in my wake when I got up and limped up here, but now my heart was laboring, almost out of blood to pump.
I reached the top step of the platform, dizzy and exhausted. I immediately dropped to my knees and retched. I wanted to be sick so badly, but my body was shutting down. It couldn't remember how, or else my stomach couldn't contract properly with the blade of a sword slicing through it, so I spat out globs of congealed blood onto the smooth ground instead.
