Page 99 of Quicksilver
Stifling heat greeted us inside the war tent. Or the warroom, I should say. Magic hadn't made the space larger inside here. It had turned it into an actual room, with stone walls hung with tapestries and paintings of battles, and a proper fireplace, and a stone floor. The ceilings were twenty feet high. Bookcases, small side tables, and every other available surface were covered with candles, the light thrown off by their flames dancing up the walls. At least twenty warriors were gathered here, waiting for Ren. They all turned and dipped their heads in deference to him when they saw that he'd arrived.
Carrion was here, too, sprawled out on a chair, sitting by the fire. A small plate rested on his stomach; the fucker was eating a fat slice of cake, unfazed by the tension hanging thick in the air.
“Go and sit with Swift,” Ren murmured to me. “As close to the fire as you can bear. The heat will burn off the, ah...” He grimaced. “Well, you get the picture.”
Oh, I got it all right. The heat would burn off all of the pheromones that I was covered in because I had comethisclose to fucking Kingfisher. Gods alive.
I kicked Carrion's boots, grunting at him to move, when I reached the fire. The suggestive way he grinned at me made me think he could smell what I'd been up to as well, but that wasn't possible. Our human noses weren't that sensitive.
“I can't believe you're eating cake,” I groused, dragging a footstool dangerously close to the fire.
“It isn't cake. It's quiche,” Carrion said around a full mouth.
“What’s quiche?”
“Dunno. It's made out of eggs and some other stuff. It's delicious. Here.” He held out the slab of food. “Want some?”
I wasn't hungry. I felt pretty sick, actually, but I needed something to do with my hands. Taking the quiche, I bit into it, not really tasting it, and then handed it back.
“Some serious shit's about to go down in here,” Carrion remarked, taking another bite for himself.
So he wasn't completely oblivious to the weird energy in here, then. “You don't say.”
“That one's been baying for blood.” He gestured non-too-subtly to a female warrior standing by the large table in the center of the room, who was talking animatedly to three males. Her hair was a stark blonde, almost white, her eyes a vivid shade of lilac. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. “I can't tell what they're whispering about, but one by one, they've all been to talk to her. Some of them have been arguing with her. Shepunchedthat one,” Carrion said, nodding to a male with long black war braids and snarling wolf head sigil stamped intohis leather chest protector. “I get the feeling this is all because of Fisher, though. Uh, Saeris?”
The male with the dark war braids noticed me looking at him. Rather than glower at me, he cocked his head at an angle and gave me a small, friendly smile.
Carrion flicked the top of my ear.
“Ow! What the fuck? What'swrongwith you? That hurt!” I pressed my fingers to the shell of my ear.
“Why is your neck bleeding?” he said slowly, enunciating every word slowly.
“What?”
Reaching out, he swiped his hand over my skin. I ducked out of his reach, but it was too late; when he showed me his fingertips, they were streaked red.
“Just a scratch.” Carrion shrugged. “You must have caught yourself on something. Here.” He passed back the quiche.
I accepted it and took a bite, my mind spiraling out of control. Why the fuck was my neck bleeding?
As if conjured by my racing thoughts, a figure in a black cloak entered the tent, the cowl of his hood drawn up to hide his features. His presence made my heart pound, though. Fisher's eyes found me immediately. He watched me dumbly pass the quiche back to Carrion, his expression unreadable. A series of gasps went up on the other side of the war room, when, one by one, the Fae all saw who had arrived.
“So it is true, then,” the blonde warrior announced. “Youarealive.”
“Of course he's alive, Danya,” Ren said in a weary tone. “We never thought he wasdead. Come on. Let's start this off on the right foot. Fisher, lose the cloak already. You're not fooling anyone.”
Fisher's head hung as he removed the cloak. His hair was wet. Dripping wet. So were his clothes. Rivulets of water randown his cheeks. A small puddle was beginning to form at his feet. He leaned back against the wall, chin raised, folding his arms across his chest.
“What about it, Fish? Been out for an early evening swim?” There was a playful note to Danya's voice, but I wasn't the only one who detected the venom there, too. Carrion raised his eyebrows at me like one of the old gossips who liked to while away their afternoons standing outside the House of Kala. He took a chunk out of the quiche and passed it to me.
Across the room, Kingfisher watched him do it, the muscles in his jaw working. He let his head hang again, huffing. “Something like that,” he said quietly.
“Come on, then.” Danya held her arms wide. “We're all here, Fisher. Let's hear it. Let's hear the amazing fucking reason why you left us high and dry for the past century years. And why you've decided to slink back to us now with your tail between your legs, mm?”
“I'm not slinking anywhere.” Fisher sounded bored.
“Bullshit,” Danya spat. “You were here in camp all last week! The week before that, too!”
