Page 142 of Quicksilver
Fisher knelt on the floor, resting his forearms against the side of the copper tub. He watched me, his eyes so fierce that they stripped me even barer than I already was.
It took ridiculous effort, but I lifted my hand out of the water just enough so that I could touchhishand. He didn't pull away. Lifting his fingers an inch, he repositioned, adjusting. It was a micro-movement, really. Subtle, but with meaningful results: his fingertips were left resting on top of mine.
We'd kissed, and licked, and fucked each other raw. He'd emptied himself inside me, roaring as he came, but this small, intentional contact between us was the most intimate we'd ever been. I marveled at the sight of our fingers touching, an array of emotions vying for my attention.
Fisher rested his chin on top of his forearms and sighed.
“What?” I whispered.
He thought for a moment, appearing to decide whether he'd answer the question. Then he said, “I was wrong, y’know. Youarea good thief.”
“What have I stolen?”
But he smiled a small, sad smile, slowly shaking his head. “Sleep a little. The water will stay warm. I'll be back as soon as I've spoken to Ren.”
I woke to hands built for violence gently soaping my scalp. No one had ever washed my hair before. It was an experience I wanted again and again. But only from him. Only from Fisher.
The second time I woke, he was lifting me out of the tub. His magic hummed over my naked body, leaving me dry in his arms.I didn't want clothes. I wanted to be naked, and I wanted him naked, too, but the slate blue shorts and camisole he magicked out of nowhere for me were butter-soft and very pretty and left my skinalmostbare. The sounds of the war camp outside faded away, leaving the tent in blissful silence as Fisher placed me into his bed and climbed in right behind me.
The third time I woke, it was dark, and my stomach was growling loud enough to wake the dead. Fisher’s arm was thrown over my side, one of his legs tangled with mine, the weight and heat of his body curving around me deeply reassuring. I lay as still as I could for as long as I could, relishing the quiet dark and the soft sound of Kingfisher's breathing. Half an hour passed. I'd need to get up and use the bathroom soon enough, but for the time being, I wanted to stay here and soak this in.
War was at the doorstep. Tomorrow was uncertain. Hell,todaywas uncertain, but this tiny moment was real. Itwas, godsdamnit, and I didn't want to let it go. I tried to relax and savor it, but a thought crept in as I lay there. A thought that would not be ignored.
I had made an Alchimeran sword. Me. A pickpocket from Zilvaren. I’d learned how to reason with the quicksilver and had struck a bargain with it, and now Lorreth had a weapon that channeled vast amounts of energy. A few months ago, I’d never have thought that possible. But now, a lot of things felt like they might be possible. It had to be worth a shot, didn’t it?
Carefully, I reached out with my mind, searching for the buzzing hum of the quicksilver. I found it easily, and gods, it was loud. So loud. Too loud to think around. Was this what Fisher dealt with? Every waking hour?
Annorath mor!
Annorath mor!
I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer to the gods.Hello?
The chanting stopped.
Kingfisher stirred in his sleep, letting out a troubled sigh, but he didn’t wake. I bit my bottom lip, steeling myself. If I was quick, this could all be over in a matter of moments. Tentatively, I reached out again, extending the boundaries of my mind until I sensed the restless weight of the quicksilver. I should have prepared for this. Thought of what I wanted to say. I hadn’t planned for this, though, and how many opportunities would I get at this in the future?
“I’m Saeris. I’m an Alchemist. I—”
We know who she is,the quicksilver hissed.She is the dawn. She is the moon. She is the sky. She is oxygen in our lungs.
“I—” I didn’t know how to respond. Why would it say that? I was the dawn? The sky?Oxygen?I shook my head—there was no time to waste on puzzles. “I want you to leave Fisher,” I rushed out.
“Leave him?”the quicksilver asked in a quizzical voice.
“Yes. Leave him. His body. I want you to come out of him. I’ll strike a deal with you—”
“We cannot leave him. We are him.”A multitude of voices layered over each other—an echoing chorus of voices, delivering news that I didn’t want to hear.
“He is Fae. You are…you’re…”I didn’t have a clue what it was. Not really. What the hell was I supposed to tell it? I had to keep things simple.“You’re quicksilver. You’re not supposed to bind with living creatures.”
“We bind with all kinds of weapons.”
“Fisher isn’t a weapon! He’s…He’s a living, breathing…”
“Weapon,”the quicksilver said. “The best. We are him. He is us. We cannot leave. We will die.”
“You’ll die? Or Kingfisher?”
