Page 23 of Quicksilver
“You have beautiful hair,” she said, running a wide-toothed comb through the strands. I winced as she swept it back over my shoulders. “It'll grow well here. Long hair is a sign of high-born status for Fae women. Others will be jealous of your dark coloring, too. Dark hair is a royal trait amongst the Yvelian Fae.”
I didn't give two shits about Fae fads or trends. I didn't care whether Fae women were jealous of how I looked or if they thought I was a hideous monster. Up until four hours ago, I didn't even know they existed. I sat very still as Everlayne braided my hair with nimble fingers, biting the tip of my tongue. Once she was finished, she ushered me in front of a full-lengthmirror hanging on the wall in a scrolled and gilded frame, glowing with pride as she showed me her handiwork.
I'd made plenty of mirrors in the workshop with Elroy, but I’d personally never had much use for them. I knew what I looked like well enough. Yes, I had a pretty face, but pretty faces were used as currency in the Third when a girl ran out of coin or water to trade with, and that was more of a blessing than a curse. Masks and scarves were my friends. No one knew what you looked like behind a piece of sand-blasted sacking, and therefore had no reason to try and take yourgoodsfor themselves.
There were no masks or scarves to hide behind here.
While it was true that I paled in comparison next to Everlayne's beauty—the female was radiant. Perfect in every way—the color of the ridiculous dress she picked out for medidcomplement my complexion as she'd said it would. It drew attention to my eyes and made them pop. And the magic she'd worked on my hair? The elaborate braided crown she'd fashioned for me was stunning. My hair had never looked so healthy.
“You don't need any blush,” Everlayne's reflection said in the mirror. “You're rosy enough. Though...here.” She hurried away for a second and then returned holding a small pot. She removed the pot's lid and offered it to me. “Your lips were so cracked when you arrived. I've been applying this for you every few hours, but now that you're awake, you can do it for yourself. Here, like this.” She swept her fingertip across the thick, waxy resin inside and rubbed it across her lips.
I stuck my finger in the pot and did the same, if only to shut her up.
She looked desperately pleased with the results. “Wonderful. All right, then. I'd say we were ready. Brace yourself. It's time to meet the king.”
7
THE DOG
The bedroom had beena level of luxury I'd never known before, but it served as no indication of the world beyond its door. I gaped as Everlayne guided me through the halls of the Winter Palace; the place made Madra's royal seat in Zilvaren look like a rundown backwater hovel.
The walls were opalescent white marble, faceted with sections of shimmering metallic blues and greens, as were the floors. We had no stone like this back in Zilvaren, but Everlayne explained that it was a rare type of pale labradorite. High archways lined the corridors we moved through, giving view to stairways and other corridors on other levels. Plush tapestries and framed paintings hung from the walls, and gigantic sprays of real flowers overflowed from vases everywhere I looked. Sunlight poured in through wide windows, though the light itself was devoid of any warmth—nothing at all like the punishing glare of the Twins. Everlayne urged me past these windows quickly, the world beyond them a blur of white and grey.
Dipping, she pressed the tips of her index finger and middle finger to her forehead, bowing her head in reverence as we passed a series of statues. Down another hallway, she repeatedthe process when we passed another row of the same figures cast in stone, again set back in alcoves.
“Who are they?” I asked, eyeing the tall, menacing-looking crowned males and females, as she touched her fingers between her brows.
“The Gods, of course.” She looked a little surprised. “Don’t you worship the Corcoran in the Silver City anymore?”
I shook my head, staring up into the coldly handsome face of one of the male deities. “My mother told me once that the people used to pray to gods in Zilvaren, but their names and their temples were eaten by the desert a long time ago. We say ‘Gods’ to curse our luck or emphasize emotion. Other than that, Madra’s the closest thing we have to a god in Zilvaren. At least that’s how she fashions herself. The Undying Herald of the Northern Banner. Believers carry strands of her hair in leather pouches on their belts. They scrape ash from the funeral pyres of the living sacrifices that are burned in her honor and put that in them, too. It’s supposed to act as a ward against plague. They think doing that will give them never-ending life if they’re worthy enough.”
Everlayne scoffed. “Superstition and sacrilege. Your queen is human. And even though the sand and the wind swept away the names of the gods, I assure you Madra knows them. That she’s chosen to let them vanish from her people’s history speaks volumes of her corruption.” Everlayne pointed up at the male I was still staring at. “Styx, God of Shadows.” She moved along the line, inclining her head and touching her brow to each of her gods before she named them. “Kurin, god of secrets. Nicinnai, goddess of masks. Maleus, god of dawn and new beginnings. These two are often counted as one god,” Everlayne said, gesturing to the two beautiful females who stood arm in arm atop the same marble plinth. “Balmithin. Twin sisters. Goddesses of the sky. Legend says that they once were one god,but a mighty storm came, and Balmithin refused to take shelter as it raged across the land. The powerful spirit within the storm was furious that Balmithin didn’t cower before him, and so he lashed her with forks of lightning. Again and again, the lightning struck Balmithin, but she didn’t die. Instead, she cracked and split in two, becoming Bal and Mithin. Bal is the goddess of the sun, but goddess of the day in a looser sense. Mithin is the goddess of the moon, but again, she presides over all of the night.
Bal. Mithin.
Balea. Min.
The twins.
As I studied their faces closer, I realized that these two women did bear a startling similarity to faces I’d seen carved into the walls in the Hall of Mirrors. This was an undeniable link between this place and my home. One that made me feel strange.
I could have told Everlayne of the similarity between these goddesses’ names and the names of the suns that perpetually blazed over Zilvaren, but for some reason, the words stuck in the back of my throat. I had too many questions, chief amongst which was that the Fae here knew of Madra. Everlayne spoke as if she was familiar with the queen of the Silver City. She had said Madra was a human with undeniable certainty. I also had no idea what a moon was, but I set all of that aside for now.
The final statue was tucked much further into its alcove than the others. Unlike the others, it had been arranged so that its back was to the hall, its face pointing at the wall. I nodded to the male god with the broad shoulders and asked, “And him? What is he the god of?”
Everlayne eyed the statue warily, then gave me a chagrinned smile. “That’s Zareth, God of Chaos and Change.” She walked up to him and bowed, placing her fingers on her brow as she had done with all the others, but then she reached around and placedher hand on his foot. I saw that the stone was patinaed there, on Zareth’s right boot, as if thousands of hands had touched the god there.
“We Fae can also be a little superstitious sometimes,” Everlayne admitted. “To look upon Zareth’s face is to draw his focus. And very few people enjoy Zareth’s attention being focused on them. We respect and revere him, but we’d all rather he was paying attention to what other people were doing instead of us. We touch him on the foot to guide him away from us.” She patted his boot, stepping back. “We pray to each member of the Corcoran that they’ll return to Yvelia someday. But in secret, a lot of us pray that Zareth gets a little lost on his journey home.”
As Everlayne set off walking again, I paused by the tall god’s back, studying it. I don’t know why I did it. It seemed like the right thing to do, though. Reaching out, I placed my hand against the statue’s boot, then I hurried away.
On we went, passing too many open doorways to count. Bedrooms and studies. Rooms full of maps. Rooms full of books. Rooms with benches and glass vials of bubbling liquids suspended over fires. I should have been terrified of these strange new sights, but my curiosity won out over my fear.
The people we passed were interesting, too. Scores and scores of Fae, their clothes and visages so strange that I had to remind myself not to stare. Their ears were sloped to points, but that was where many of their similarities ended. Their hair was a veritable rainbow of colors, their eyes every natural and unnatural shade. Some of them were willowy and tall, some short and squat. The Fae who occupied the palace were a fascinating bunch, to be sure. They glared at me with open hostility as I struggled to keep pace with Everlayne's graceful, long strides.
The cold was pervasive. Everlayne had given me a strange look when I'd requested another layer, but she'd provided mea silken shawl all the same. Not that it did much. The chill in the air crept into my bones and settled there, forming ice in my joints. My teeth chattered loudly as we hurried toward our destination.
“You're being dramatic,” Everlayne said, giving me an arch look. “There are fires in every grate. And even if there weren't, the palace is kept at a steady, comfortable temperature at all times.”
