Page 166 of Quicksilver
“Then we can also use it to go there!” I nearly sank to the floor. The relief...hells, I'd never known anything like it. My body started to shake.
Ren got to his feet, letting out a long exhale. “I could kiss you, Carrion Swift.”
Carrion seemed taken aback by this. And then somewhat interested. After thinking for a second, he said, “I wouldn't be opposed. But maybe later. First, Saeris has work to do, and I plan on giving her a hand.”
“What work?” It was a miracle that I managed to ask the question. I was so full of adrenalin now that the library was spinning. I was definitely going to throw up.
Carrion grinned, all teeth and mischief. “I'm coming with you through that portal. I'm gonna help you save your asshole boyfriend. But first, I want one of those fancy swords.”
“Have you heard about the fire at the circus?” I paused for dramatic effect. “It was in tents. Get it?In tents.”
Carrion winced. “That was terrible.”
“Shut up. It asked for a joke. It didn't specify that it had to be a good one. I was a metalworker and a thief in Zilvaren, not a comedian.”
“I was a smuggler and I've still got way better jokes than that.”
“Youtell it a joke then!” I held out the crucible containing the quicksilver, and Carrion huffed, peering at the roiling liquid metal.
“All right. Fine. A husband turns to his wife one day and says, ‘y’know, I bet you can’t think of something to tell me that will make me both happy and sad at the same time.’ The wife doesn’t even need to think about it. She turns to her husband and says, ‘your cock is way bigger than your brother’s.’”
The quicksilver, which hadn't made a peep over my joke, started to chuckle.
“What's it doing?” Carrion asked. “It's laughing, isn't it?”
I rolled my eyes and ran the quicksilver along the edge of the heated blade I had clamped over the fire in the forge's hearth. There hadn't been time to make a new sword from scratch, but Ren had found a very nice-looking double-hander in Cahlish’s modest armory that Carrion had agreed would do. The quicksilver, which Ren had also brought from the armory—apparently, it had been in there all along—also thought the blade was reasonable enough to bind with and had consented to be forged into the sword, providing I told it a joke.
If it hadn't approved of mine, it had clearly accepted Carrion's as payment, because the quicksilver absorbed into the blade as soon as it made contact, casting a brilliant iridescent sheen along the weapon's edge.
The sky darkened as I sharpened that edge against a wheel, and Carrion told a slew of additional jokes that grew bawdier as he went.
“Gods and martyrs, will you please stop,” I begged.
“I'm just trying to lighten the mood. You look like someone pissed in your water ration.”
“More jokes. Give us more jokes…”
I glowered at the sword, unable to comprehend its bad taste. If ever there was a weapon so perfectly suited to its owner, it was this one. Carrion delighted in telling it the filthiest jokes imaginable. And when I was finished, and Carrion pressed hisfingertip against its point, giving it the tiniest taste of his blood, the blade responded immediately.
“Yes, yes. Our friend. Ours. He will name us.”
Carrion's eyes rounded out of his head. “I heard that!”
“Good.” I flipped the sword and handed it to him. “Then give it a name and let's go.” The evening was almost here, and the others were waiting for us.
Carrion held the sword, turning it this way and that. After much consideration, he said, “It looks like a Simon.”
“Simon?”
“Yeah. Simon. Don't blame me. That's what it looks—” He stopped talking and listened.“See.It likes the name. Itwantsto be Simon.”
“Fair enough.” The sword was done talking with me, apparently, so I asked, “Has it decided if it wants to gift you with magic in spite of your frail human blood?”
Carrion smirked. “It says that's for me to know and you to find out.”
“Hope that means yes,” I grumbled.
Back in the library, Ren was pacing nervously, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Lorreth stared into the fire. “Where's Te Léna and Iseabail?” I asked.
