Page 93 of Quicksilver
“You're out of your fucking mind,” I whispered.
“That's what they tell me. But I don't know. Aside from the relentless chatter in my head, personally, I think I'm doing just fine.”
“Idon'twant you, Fisher.”
“You're thinking about my hands sliding up the insides of your thighs right now,” he said. “About my fingers slipping inside the wet folds of you. Working against your swollen clit, rubbing you until you're panting and whimpering, begging for me to sink my cock into your—”
For the second time since we sat down to dinner, Renfis nearly choked on his drink. He spun in his seat, giving Fisher a scandalized look that said,really? I'm sittingrightfucking here,but Fisher paid him no heed.
On the other hand, I nearly keeled over and died. Because if Ren's superior Fae senses could hear what Fisher was whispering to me, then he could also scent how his friend's words were affecting me as well, and—andgods, I would never live down the shame.
I wouldn't admit it to myself, would never allow the thought to take shape, but my body wasn't as accomplished at lying as my mind was. Ididwant Fisher. I hated myself for it. Hated that he knew it. And now Ren knew, too. It was mortifying.
“Shut up. Please. Just...shut the hellup.”
A hungry look resided in his silver-rimmed eyes as he sat back in his chair. “Eat your dinner, Osha. You're going to needyour strength. We won’t be staying here for a week, after all. We're returning to the war camp in the morning...and this time you're coming with us.”
20
AMMONTRAÍETH
The war campwas a scar in the foothills on the other side of the Omnamerrin Mountains. It sat between Cahlish and the Sanasrothian border—twenty thousand tents, nestled in amongst boulders and low, scrubby, snow-covered brush. As I stepped out of the shadow gate, my stomach hurtling upward in my chest, I saw just how many tents there were, pale and dirty grey in color, stretching off into the distance, and my breath caught in my throat.
Thiswas a war camp.
It had obviously been here so long that there were now permanent structures, too—two-story buildings made out of wood, scattered all throughout the encampment. On my life, the one closest to the muddy square where Fisher's shadow gate had dumped us looked like a fuckingtavern.
Everywhere, Fae warriors, both male and female, hurried about, heavily armed and wearing a variety of different kinds of armor. In the distance, a broad, wide ribbon of frozen water carved its way through the land, separating the camp from...from...
Gracelessgods.
The land on the other side of the river was a blackened, charred wasteland. No snow covered the ground there. Pillars of smoke rose up to meet a grim, foreboding sky clad in a mantle of iron-grey clouds. There were no trees. No greenery. Only the black dirt, and the smoke, and in the distance the jagged outline of a black and terrible fortress situated on top of a looming hill.
“What in five hells happenedthere?” Carrion dumped his bag down at his feet, his mouth hanging open as he surveyed the scene before us. There was no mistaking his shock. It mirrored my own. I looked to my feet for Onyx, to pick him up and clutch him to my chest, but he wasn't there, of course. It was a small comfort that he was safe back at Cahlish. Fisher had refused to let me bring him. He'd insisted the fox wouldn't last more than five minutes in the camp, that his own warriors would snare him before any of us could blink, and that if I wanted to continue the fantasy that he made a good pet, I had to leave him behind in Archer's care.
Something uneasy twisted behind the cage of my ribs as I squinted, trying to get a better look at the fortress on the hill. “Whatisthat place?”
“That is Ammontraíeth,” Ren said, emerging from the shadow gate, leading his horse behind him. “The seat of the enemy.”
“Ammontraíeth?” Even the name felt like a perversion as I forced it out.
“Hell's teeth.”
The voice came from behind, cold and hard. Kingfisher emerged from the shadow gate, Bill's reins in his gloved hand. The massive black stallion snorted and blew. His flanks were slick with sweat, even though he'd only traveled from the stables to the camp through the gate. He clearly didn't like the idea of being here any more than I did. As soon as the horse's hind quarters were through the rippling wall of black smoke, the gatetwisted in on itself and disintegrated into wisps of shadow that went chasing across the ground in every direction.
“Its walls are sheer, made of obsidian, slick as glass,” Kingfisher said. “Built from the bones of demons. The peaks and spires are as sharp as a razor's edge.”
Hell's teeth, indeed. I tucked my chin into the collar of the riding cloak Fisher had given me when we left the Winter Palace, fighting not to show my discomfort. The place had an ill air about it, even from this many miles away.
I jumped when a tall, wiry-looking creature with vines wrapped around its skinny arms and legs appeared from behind the tavern and purposefully strode toward us. Its skin was gnarled and knobbly like tree bark. Its eyes were a rich brown, dark as loamy earth. Instead of hair, a riot of vines and leaves sprouted from the top of its blockish head and trailed down its back. I was reasonably sure it was a male due to the pants and shirt it was wearing, though that wasn't a solid foundation to base any assumption on considering I was wearing very similar attire.
“Good morning, Lord,” the creature said. His voice—definitely male—sounded like dry logs scraping together. “Glad to have you back so soon. The lodgings you requested have already been prepared. A small breakfast is waiting for you in your tent. More warriors have returned, back from their scouting missions. So few of your riders have seen you that only a handful are now inclined to trust the rumors flying around camp that you've returned. They're currently meeting in the map tent, and are arguing—”
“It's okay, Holgoth. Renfis will talk to them,” Fisher said, handing him the reins.
Holgoth shot Ren an uncertain glance, then turned back to Fisher. “Sire, it...would be best if your warriors saw you. It's been so long since—”
“Renwill talk to them,” Fisher repeated, smiling softly. “He's executed this war perfectly while I've been gone. I see no reason for a change in leadership. They're his warriors, not mine.”
