Page 145 of Brimstone
I could precisely sense what kind of metals and alloys other objects were comprised of now. The doorknobs. The window latches. The snuffers the fire sprites used to put out the candles. The various weapons dotted throughout the estate. I knew what all of them were made of without even having to think about it. But trying to get a read on the null blade made me feel like I was falling headfirst down a dark hole every time I turned my mind toward it. The sensation was unsettling, to say the least, and left me feeling unbalanced and nauseous.
“I know. I don’t like it either,” I said.
“We should bury it.”
“Unfortunately, that isn’t really an option. We need to know what it is so that we can figure out how to render it useless. Right now, I’m barely able to affect it with my magic. Fisher can’t affect it at all.”Thathad been a troubling realization. He’d tried to push it from one side of the bench to another when we first got back to Cahlish, and nothing had happened. “We’re going to have to face Belikon’s forces at some point, and if all of his guards have these blades, we’ll be screwed.”
Fisher had left to open the shadow gates for Lorreth and Renfis—he’d done a commendable job of hiding his concern over his inability to move the blade, but I’d seen it lurking behind his brittle smile. He hadn’t experienced anything like the null blade before, either. The fact that they couldn’t be shattered with a god sword was extra concerning to everyone, as well. In the recordedhistories of Yvelia, no weapon had ever withstood a direct strike from an Alchimeran blade.
“Mm. I say we bury it and figure that out if and when we need to.” Carrion scowled at the dagger even harder, trying to balance on the back legs of his chair. “If the problem isn’t causing immediate issues, it’s always been my policy to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Bury your head in the sand, you mean?” Edina’s book sat on the shelf along the back wall. What I wouldn’t have given to already be halfway through the damned thing. I wanted to be alone when I cracked it open, though, and the very worst thing you could do with Carrion is let him suspect even for a second that you didn’t want him around. You would never be rid of him if you did that.
“No. All I mean to say is that there’s really no point in worrying about an issue if you can worry about it later. Or y’know. Just put it off.”
“Mm. Like how you’re doing with your birthright?”
Carrion wobbled, nearly losing his balance and toppling backward. He grabbed the edge of the bench and saved himself in the nick of time.“Excuseme? My birthright? What the hell are you talking about?”
I gave him a long, pointed look. “Yourthrone, Carrion. At some point, you’re going to have to think seriously about the fact that you are the rightful heir to the Yvelian throne. You—”
“Ihave already said that I have no interest in pursuing that job, Saeris.”
“And that would all be well and good if there were a kind, benevolent king ruling the realm. One who cared for his people and wasn’t sacrificing their lives left, right, and center for his own ends. But that doesn’t seem to be the case now,doesit?”
The forge was still open to the elements along one wall—for ventilation, Fisher had said, back when he’d first brought mehere—and the light breeze had been steadily blowing gusts of snow into the workshop for the past hour. Fat snowflakes settled on Carrion’s shoulders, the white a stark contrast against the black of his shirt and the vivid auburn of his hair. He splayed his fingers, giving me a helpless look. “A couple of weeks ago, I was a thief and a black-market trader.”
“No, you weren’t.”
Carrion ignored me. “My entire living memory was of Zilvaren, and all of the people I had known there—”
“You werealwaysthe Daianthus heir, Carrion. You were trapped in a realm you didn’t belong in.”
“And now, all of a sudden, I’m dragged here, to a place I had no real notion of, and I’m expected to fight for a crown I’ve never seen, and a royal seat I know very little about, and a people who do not know me or care one bit about me?”
“You’re wrong about that last part, sire. Very wrong indeed.”
Archer.
He had entered the forge while Carrion had been rambling. He was carrying bowls of stew on a tray toward the small table on the other side of the hearth, but he had stopped now and was regarding Carrion very seriously. “The Fae and folk of Yvelia might not know you, Master Swift, but they care about you a great deal. In many houses, prayers are offered up for you daily, and have been ever since your parents, well . . .” He grimaced. “Since your parents were taken from us. Rurik and Amelia Daianthus were kind and just monarchs. They cared about the small folk. From Ajun to Western Dow, people dream that one day the Daianthus heir will return, and the cruelty they suffer at present will come to an end.”
It was the most I had ever heard Archer speak in one go without him stammering nervously. His voice was pitchy and squeaked in places, but it did not waver.
Carrion stared at the fire sprite. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but for once, the male was silent, no quick comeback at the tip of his tongue. When he didn’t say anything, Archer gave him a small, polite bow, and then took the bowls of stew over to the table, where he set them down and waited, with his back to us. He was so small—only three feet high or so. His diminutive stature often reminded me of a child, though he was older than me by considerable years. Maybe, actually, it was how innocent he seemed. Of all the Yvelian creatures I’d encountered since coming through the quicksilver, the fire sprites seemed to be the sweetest.
When he turned around and smiled at us, the sadness in his flame-filled eyes showed his age, at last. “You have come home during troubled times, master,” he said. “You have seen so little of your kingdom. You do not know it, but itdoesknow you. It knows your blood. Your family has ruled over Yvelia for generations. The Daianthuses weren’t always perfect. Your ancestors made their fair share of mistakes, but they always fought to correct themselves when they veered from the path. And theyalwaysput their people first. I know, in my heart, that you will do the same, Master Swift. After all, it’s in your blood.”
Carrion had turned a ghastly shade of gray. He looked like he was about to throw up at any moment. His eyes followed Archer as he carried a bowl of stew and a spoon over to him, but he wasn’t seeing the sprite. He was a million miles away, back in Zilvaren perhaps, or drawn elsewhere, to the corners of this realm he hadn’t even seen yet.
“For you, my lady.” I had followed Carrion’s lead and allowed my mind to drift; I hadn’t noticed Archer bringing me my stew, either.
“Thank you, Archer.” I took the bowl, smiling distractedly, when a thought occurred to me. “Archer, you’ve been here at Cahlish a long time, haven’t you?”
The sprite looked startled. “Oh, I, uh—yes, my lady. Since before Master Fisher was born. But I assure you . . . I love my position, my lady. I don’t . . . I wouldn’t want toleave.”
“Archer, I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think such a thing?”
The sprite shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. “Well, it is known among creatures such as myself that when there is a new lady of a house, she often likes to replace the staff with members of her own household and such. It is known among creatures such as myself that a new lady of the house might mean having to find a new position.”
