Page 172 of Quicksilver
“I assume,” Malcolm said, “since no one appears willing to perform introductions, that you are Saeris. And from your stature and the wolf emblazoned across your chest, thatyouare one of Kingfisher's Lupo Proelia. Not the general who's causedso much trouble for me, though. No, I've met Renfis. So that must make you Lorreth. Lorreth, who shattered the towers at Barillieth and murdered thousands of my children.” His cool grey eyes flashed with rage. His anger stalled when his gaze landed on Carrion. “You, I don't know.”
Carrion dipped into a low bow, but the gesture was not one of deference. It was designed to mock. “Carrion Sw—”
Malcolm nodded to Harron, and the guard brought the hilt of his dagger crashing down onto the back of Carrion's head. The blow cut Carrion off and sent him crashing to his knees.
Fisher growled, still straining against the pain that was clearly still racking his body. Lorreth and I both reached for our swords, but Belikon let out a rumbling laugh, holding up his hand. “I caution all of you against foolishness. Your swords won't do you any good here. Can't you feel it in the air?” He grinned, gesturing up at the sky, and the flakes of ash that still floated down on the air. “This place is a graveyard. The air itself is full of death. The ground beneath us is bones and ash. Your magic cannot reach you here.”
Madra, with her fair hair bound into a beautiful braid beneath her glittering crown, made a disgruntled sound. “You should have at least let them try, Brother. I was looking forward to seeing the look on their faces when they realized how much trouble they were in.”
Brother?
But…how could Belikon be herbrother?
Human. Fae. Vampire. The three regents all adopted similar expressions of satisfaction as they took in our confusion.
I couldn’t hold my tongue. “You really think she’s your ally? You’re wrong. She’s the one who stilled the quicksilver and closed the gates between all of the realms.”
Belikon snorted. “Of course she was. We’ve always known it was Madra. And yes, we were angry at first. But it’s amazing how unimportant these little tiffs seem after centuries.”
“Indeed,” Madra agreed. “And after all, I did only close the gate because you sent that beast through to assassinate me. So there was much to forgive onmyend, too.”
Belikon inclined his head, accepting this velvet-gloved accusation. “It’s true. You’re perfectly right, Sister. Mistakes were made on all sides. Lucky for us, we have the opportunity to make past wrongs right. And now that our Triumvirate is reunited, all three of us are more powerful than we’ve been in an age.”
Belikon had known? All these years, he’d known that Madra was the one who had closed the gates, and he’d blamed Fisher’s father. He had sent Finway to Zilvaren, to his death, and then had blamed him for the closing of the portals between the realms. He had named him traitor and cast shame on the House of Cahlish because of it. Edina had paid. Fisher had paid, over and over and over again.
A fury like no other churned in my gut as I stared at the king.
It seemed Lorreth shared my rage. “You're a fucking disgrace,” he seethed. “How can you sit up there next tohim?Our people have been at war with Malcolm for—for—”
“War?” Belikon sneered. “We haven't been atwar, you fool. I've simply been feeding my brother's army.”
There was that word again. Brother. I still didn't fully understand, but some pieces of this puzzle were snapping into place. Belikon had refused to send supplies and food down to Irrín. He'd embargoed silver—the only thing capable of permanently killing Malcolm's kind—and had refused to send any of it south. And whywouldhe waste supplies on warriors he didn't intend to survive? Whywouldhe arm warriors withdeadly weapons if he didn't actually want them to kill their enemy?
“Hadn't you better give your plaything a break, Malcolm?” Madra purred. She eyed Fisher with keen interest. “Be a shame if he died before he could play your little game. I'd love to see if he beats you again. I missed out the first time.”
Malcolm started, chuckling softly. “Oh! Of course! I promised you a little sport, didn't I? My apologies, sister.” He made no gesture to release Fisher from whatever invisible torture he was exacting upon him. Fisher just collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, suddenly free. Malcolm lifted a cut glass chalice to his mouth, and the thick, viscous liquid inside stained his pale lips red. His bloody smile was full of glee as he said, “You know, itdoesbring me such joy to be reunited, the three of us. You've missed much, Madra. We've been having a wonderful time. Especially lately. The fall of Gillethrye was a sight to behold, wasn't it, brother?”
“Spectacular,” Belikon agreed. “You were there, weren't you, Dog? You got to witness the whole thing from start to finish. You had a front-row seat!”
“Fuck...you...” Fisher rasped. “I'm going...to fuckingdestroyyou.”
My heart slammed in my chest, my blood racing. Everlayne's father got to his feet. His face contorted with hatred as he descended the steps toward Fisher. “Just like Finran. Foul-mouthed and arrogant. So superior. So self-righteous. But you are less than the dirt beneath my feet,Kingfisher.” He spat his name like it was a curse. “Why don't you tell your precious friends what you did here, hmm?” He grabbed a fist full of Fisher's hair and wrenched his head back. “What's the matter, boy? Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait. That's right. Youcan'ttell them what you did here, can you?”
Belikon moved faster than he should have been able to. His knee whipped forward, connecting with Fisher's jaw. The blow landed hard, sending Fisher sprawling back onto the stone. In the stands, the crowd roared out their approval.
“No!”I stepped forward, but hands closed around my arms. Guards. From the Winter Palace. There werenormalFae here? My mind reeled. I met the eyes of the male who held tight to my right arm, and I saw his shame. He knew this was wrong, and yet he was still here, obeying the orders of a psychopath. “Let me go!”
Belikon opened his arms wide, spinning around, ever the showman. He laughed, his voice booming over the dais. “What do you think, Malcolm? Should I tell them what he did? Or should I release him from his oath and makehimtell them?”
Malcolm took another swig from the blood in his glass goblet and shrugged one of his shoulders, considering the thousands of people sitting in the amphitheater stands. “I think we should ask them,” he said in an airy tone. “After all,they'rethe ones he killed.”
“Liar.”Lorreth looked as though he was about to launch himself up onto the dais and rip Malcolm's head from his shoulders. “It wasn't his fault!”
The ones hekilled?What was Malcolm talking about? I looked up at the stands, at last forcing myself to look upon the people there. Row after row—the seats were packed with Fae, their clothes black, their skin...
Wait.
Their skin...wasburned.Their clothes weren't just black. They were smoldering. Their mouths were fixed into terrible screams. And their eyes. Gods, their eyes. They were either missing or melted to gelatin and running out of their eye sockets. Females. Children. Males. All dead. All burned alive, and yet somehow still animated, trapped in their misery.
