Page 26 of Brimstone
“It’s also impossible for someone to just sneak into Madra’s palace and hide in the Hall of Mirrors on the off chance that the quicksilver will wake. No . . .” Fisher shook his head. “This is intentional. This isMadra’sdoing. This . . . is how the rot got here in the first place.”
“You thinksheinfected them with it?” Lorreth asked. “We’ve seen that kind of warfare before. Fae, sick with one illness or another, sent into the middle of military camps to kill off all the warriors there.”
Fisher said nothing, his face a mask of furious concentration. The sound of his footsteps echoed around the chamber as he prowled up and down like a caged beast.
She hears . . .
The quicksilver laughed in the back of my mind, as if it knew the answer to these questions we were trying to unravel and had no plans of shedding light on the situation. Its whispers had been plaguing me for days now, and they were growing louder. It was perfect timing that it would choosenowto harass me.
I closed my eyes, hands trembling at my sides. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’tbreathe. A stab of pain relayed up my arm as the whispers grew louder still, the runes on the back of my right hand throbbing . . .
She hears us. Oh yes, she hears. She will come. Soon. Soon. Soon.
Finally, I’d had enough. My eyes snapped open. “There’s apoolhere, isn’t there? It’s small, but I can sense it.”
Fisher stopped his pacing. He looked at me questioningly, then slowly turned his frown on Taladaius, whose gray eyes seemed reflective as mirrors for a moment. My maker drew a long, displeased breath, and then nodded. “Yes,” he said, confirming my suspicions. “Ammontraíeth hasalwayshad a pool.”
6
TITLES
SAERIS
A SEPULCHRE.
The Blood Court kept its quicksilver ina fucking sepulchreon one of the lower floors of the palace. I had surveyed the dark necropolis, trying not to stare into the empty eye sockets of the stacked skulls that formed the walls, feeling both vindicated and sick to my stomach. The dull chatter in the back of my head made sense now. I hadn’t fabricated it. But the knowledge that the pool—itwassmall; I’d been right about that—was here meant that I would have no peace from it now. It seemed that I wouldn’t be able to escape the miserable thrum of pain that beat behind my runes, either.
Fisher hadn’t seemed as perturbed as I would have expected him to be. “You know,thisisn’t a bad thing,” he’d said.
“Itisn’t?”
“No, Osha. I meant it back in the council chamber. You’re coming back to Cahlish with me tonight. This just means our journey will be much easier. No more riding across the dead fields.” It took hours to cross the dead fields. Feral feeders lived in burrows dug deep into the ash and char. They hid from the sun below ground during the day, but the moment the sunbegan to dip, they emerged from their bolt-holes with a mind to feed. They wouldn’t attack me, but they posed a threat to the horses. To Kingfisher and Lorreth, too. With Fisher’s magic decommissioned on this side of the Darn, we hadn’t been able to use his shadow gates, but now we didn’t need to.
We had access to a pool.
So I’d made relics out of a chain kindly supplied by Taladaius, a signet ring belonging to Lorreth, and a small charm of one of the gods that Fisher attached to a collar for Onyx, and that had been that. Less than an hour later, we’d made use of the unexpected resource, and now here we were, back at Cahlish, none the worse for wear from the experience.
A stunning dress in hunter-green velvet had been waiting for me, laid out on Fisher’s bed, when I’d gone to freshen up. Tiny jewels—emeralds, I suspected—decorated the plunging neckline. The sleeves had been embroidered with green stitching, subtle, barely visible, depicting a pattern that, upon close inspection, turned out to be tiny leaping foxes.
A beautiful dress, undeniably.
I had run my hand over the soft material, something pinching tight behind my solar plexus.
It would fit me perfectly. Evidently, it had beenmadefor me. But . . .
I’d still been wearing my fighting leathers when I’d met Fisher on the stairs. My mate had beamed at me, apparently unfazed that I hadn’t chosen to don the dress, but a kernel of guilt had taken root in my chest. I was still feeling a little bad about my decision when we arrived together at the dining room.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Fisher said, holding his hand against the doorknob.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Really?”
“When didyouget so anxious?” I grinned at him. “I promise I’m ready. After those feeders crossing the river? And seeing that mark? We all need a moment. This will be good forallof us.” I said the words. I was supposed to. I smiled because I was supposed to do that, too, but the thoughts churned relentlessly in the back of my head regardless:
Werethe infected feeders sent by Madra?
Howhad they gotten here from Zilvaren?
