Page 106 of Brimstone
I’d only seen it once and from a distance. The coronation had only been a few days ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since then. The creature was bigger than I remembered. Taller. It had to bow its head to fit through the doorframe as it slowly entered the forge.
Its skin was a sickly pale color, translucent in places. A network of black veins pulsed below the surface of its skin. Its eyes were solid black and featureless. Its mouth . . . gods, it had so manyteeth.
I took a step back, fumbling to steady myself against the bench.
The Hazrax’s features remained expressionless as it took another floating step into the forge, though I got the creeping sense that it wassmiling.
Oh, gods.
It was getting closer.
“You do not need to be afraid, child queen.”
I gripped the edge of the bench until it began to hurt. “I’m not afraid. I’m . . . surprised.”
The creature tilted its head to an unnatural angle, and I caught a flash of its gills. “Surprised that the quicksilver still accepted your blood?” it said, its tone quizzical. I would have expected its voice to be strange. Alien, even. But the Hazrax’s voice was normal. It could have belonged to any member of the Fae—except for the fact that I couldn’t quite tell if it sounded male or female.
“Yes,” I answered. “That surprised me.”
“Because you are no longer human. This is the first deal you have struck with the quicksilver in your new form?”
My heart was in my throat. “No. I made relics for my friend. For my brother. This one just felt . . . reluctant.”
The Hazrax seemed to think about this. It stooped down where I had dropped the crucible and the tongs, its long fingers carefully plucking up the ring that had also fallen to the floor. It held it up, its jet-black eyes studying the piece of jewelry. While it did so, I noticed the thick-banded golden ring thatitwore on its left hand—a bulky thing with large, blood-red ruby at its center. The ring of office that marked the Hazrax as a Lord of Midnight. Slowly, a stream of smoke began to rise from the creator’s bony fingers. The relic I’d just created wasburningit. The Hazrax almost seemed chagrined as it placed the relic down on the table.
“Mm. You’re also surprised by my presence here,” it said, turning to me. “You’ve heard that I do not leave the Hall of Tears.”
“Yes.”
Its eyelids closed vertically, snapping closed and open again, the action startling me. “You’re surprised by the fact that I’m speaking to you like this, as well. You’re surprised by my appearance. You are surprised bymanythings.”
“Yes.” The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Are you inside my head?” I had felt Algat when she’d rifled through my thoughts. If this creature was doing the same now, it had a far lighter touch.
But the Hazrax shook its head. “One as old as I does not need to steal information. The power of deduction proves sufficient.”
“Why are you here?” It seemed pointless to beat around the bush.
The Hazrax splayed its fingers, displaying the diaphanous webbing between each of its digits. “In some cultures, it is considered rude to talk business without first observing the rulesof etiquette. Some small and meaningless exchange between strangers that . . . helps them know each other better.”
“What meaningless exchange shouldwehave then?” The forge was small. A box. There were no windows. No way out, bar the door that stood behind the Hazrax, twenty feet away. Every second the creature was here, breathing the same air as me, the more my skin prickled and goose bumped. It wasn’t the physical threat the thing posed, though I was sure it could have hurt me if it wanted to. It was the power it exuded. Raw, ancient, dangerous power. It radiated from the creature like heat thrown off by a sun.
It turned its strange, smooth face to me and blinked again. “Let us talk of the book on the table, shall we? A noble tome. There were once many of these books . . . but now there is just one.”
A fraction of my caution gave ground to curiosity. “You’ve read it?”
“I am an observer. A collector of information. It is my duty to read books,” the Hazrax replied. “I have readthatbook many times.”
Tentatively, I stepped away from the bench. “And you understand it. You understand who I am?WhatI am?”
The Hazrax skirted around the bench, its long white robes swishing around its legs as it moved. It veered away from the evenlight burning in the hearth. “I’m not gifted with the Sight, as some beings of this realm appear to be. I see avenues. Pathways. Light. I see . . .possibilities.” It spun around to face me. “Blood magic is a crude thing, Saeris Fane.”
I rocked back onto my heels. Where hadthatcome from? “I don’t . . . know anything about blood magic.”
“Of course you do.” The strange creature drew itself up, tucking its hands into its billowing sleeves. “The quicksilver is greedy. You give it whatever it desires. Songs. Jokes.Memories,”it said. “Your mate wishes you to create many thousands of these relics, and yet you bargain for each one that you make. You shave off a piece of yourself for each one. Tell me, how will you know exactly what it is that you’ve forgotten, what you’velost, when your mind is riddled full of holes?”
It could hear the quicksilver. That was the only explanation. It couldn’t have known that I’d traded a memory just now otherwise. “I’m doing what needs to be done,” I said.
“Mm. What needs to be done.” A statement. And then, “What needs to be done?” A question. “Do those runes on your hands need to be sealed? Does your mate need to be wary of new faces? Do you need to create thousands of relics, so that you can whisk the weak and the small away from this place? Does the black rot spreading throughout this land need to be stopped? Tell me, I saw the low blood carrying the message to your chamber earlier this evening. How many have fallen to the infected now? How much land has been lost?”
