Page 63 of Quicksilver
“We can't leave. We need to wait for Ren.” My words were lost in a cloud of fog. Kingfisher came around his horse, and the beast shifted its weight, raising its back leg to kick. It was a giant, its coat black as sin, and had a look of madness in its eyes that could almost rival Kingfisher's. When Fisher growled in irritation, the horse chuffed and blew out a breath, tossing its head, apparently rethinking the kick.
“He’ll catch up with us down the road. We have a meeting place for situations like this. Now are you getting on the horse, or am I putting you on the horse?”
“It's snowing. I'm going to freeze to death.”
I hadn't seen the thick swathe of material in his gloved hands. Kingfisher's eyes flashed brightly as he thrust the black bundle at me, his nostrils flaring. “It's heavy. Easier to put on when you're already up there, but seeing as you're so petulant and refuse to obey orders—”
“Soldiers obey orders.Iam not a soldier.”
“Believe me, I'm acutely aware of that. Here. Let me help you.”
I didn't want his help, but my hands were already numb from the cold, and the ginormous piece of material he'd handed to me didn't seem to have a start or an end. Fisher had it figured out in moments and swung the material around my shoulders. It was a cloak, stiff and waxy on the outside and lined with silken fur. The inside was warm and so soft I wanted to weep. The bitter bite inthe air instantly disappeared, leaving only my hands and my face to suffer against the cold.
I yelped as Kingfisher's hands found my waist and he shoved me up into the saddle of my horse. The beast was smaller, chestnut in color, and snaked its head around to try and bite me as I got myself seated.
“Bring your leg forward,” Fisher commanded.
Arguing with him wasn't going to do me any good. His mind was made up—we were leaving the palace tonight, and there was nothing to be done about it. Again, I wanted to refuse his command just to spite him, but my whole body ached to comply with his order. Iwantedto bring my leg forward for him. I couldn't stop myself.
Fisher lifted the saddle flap and tightened the girth. He then tied the long and narrow bundle he’d returned from the healers with beneath the saddle flap, tugging on it back and forth to make sure it wasn't going anywhere. “Don't touch this. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Leg back,” he ordered.
I moved my leg back.
Snow drifted down, landing in his thick waves, settling on his eyelashes and dusting the tops of his shoulders white. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“No.”
“Excellent. Don't yank on the reins. Aida's a good girl. She'll follow without any input from you, so just leave her be.”
Aida probably wasn’t a good girl. She was probably a hell bitch who was going to dump me on my ass at her earliest opportunity, but I held the reins loosely, obeying Fisher without a single objection. “Wait! Where's my bag?” I twisted in the saddle, searching for it.
“I have plenty of food and water for the both of us. You don't need it.”
“I don't care about the food and water. I care about Onyx!”
“What's an Onyx?”
“Just give me the bag, Fisher.” If he fought me on this, oooh gods, I would raise the worst kinds of hell. Luckily, the bastard just sighed and went back into the barn. He returned a moment later with my bag.
“The second that rodent becomes an issue, I'm skinning it,” he said, hoisting the bag up to me.
“He's not a rodent. If anything, he's a dog.” I pulled open the mouth of the bag, making sure Kingfisher hadn't replaced Onyx with a rock or particularly dense loaf of bread or something, but the little fox poked his head out of the hole, ears swiveling as he took in our surroundings, his pink tongue lolling.
“It should run beside us,” Fisher grumbled, climbing up onto his own horse. “It doesn't need carrying.”
“He is ahe, not anit. And no, he can't run beside us. He'll get cold.”
“He,” Kingfisher said, heaping the word with disdain, “is a wild animal, and this is his natural habitat. Why do you think he has all of that thick, white fur?”
He was right on that front. Onyx was a creature of Yvelia and was evidently built for it. But when I looked down at him, he wriggled back into the bag so that only his wet little nose was visible, and I got the distinct impression that he was perfectly happy where he was.
“How about you focus on your cargo instead of mine,” I fired at Fisher. “Your passenger's going to cause all kinds of problems foryouwhen he wakes up.”
Carrion was lashed to the back of Fisher's horse, still out cold. His arms hung limply over his head, his fire-red hair thick with snow already. There was no way the position wascomfortable. He was going to be sore as hell when he woke up, and I knew firsthand just how ornery Carrion Swift got when he wasn't on the receiving end of a good night's sleep.
