Brimstone By Callie Hart - 25

At the first stages of ascension, equilibrium must be found. Every acolyte has an affinity toward a certain path. Without the appropriate guidance and training, the path will claim the acolyte. They must marry the Tria Prima into one within themselves if they are to truly master their power.

The enlightened Alchemist walks all three paths.

—Elemental Runes and Their Purposes: A Comprehensive Guide to Alchemy.

THE FORGE WAS unlike any other I’d ever found myself in. For starters, there was no fire. The Blood Court, it seemed, was firm in its view that fire had no place within the walls of Ammontraíeth and hadn’t made an exception even here.

Evenlight flickered in the hearth where hungry flames should have been. Not long ago, on the side of the mountain above Irrín, I had handed a sword over to Lorreth, and the sky had exploded with dancing light. The aurora, Fisher had called it. The evenlight bore more than a passing resemblance to that aurora as it writhed and danced in the grate. Vivid green and tinged with pink, it was hypnotizing to watch. It gave off no heat. I could run my fingers through it, even, and I didn’t feel a thing. Yet I knew, deep down, that this was more than just light. That when I thrust the crucible I had prepared into the flow of it, a change would come about.

There was a token amount of quicksilver inside the crucible. Very little was required for this purpose. I felt the moment that it entered the evenlight, as if a chord had been struck, a note plucked, and the sustained hum of a note was ringing all around me.

I reached out with my mind, searching for the quicksilver, and found it almost instantly. According to the book, I should have been able to “connect” with it at this point. I was still trying to figure out what that meant when the quicksilver spoke.

She sees us. She hears us. She sees us . . .

I clenched my jaw, angling my head, trying to focus.

She doesn’t speak to us. Why does she not speak?

I filled my lungs until I could inhale no more. It was right there, an intangible buzzing source of energy, at the periphery of my mind. It felt as though I should have been able to close a hand around it, but whenever I tried, it evaded my grasp, slippery, like a piece of soap.

“Gods damn it,” I spat, opening my eyes.

Filthy mouth. The quicksilver chuckled. So ill-tempered. Bad, bad, bad.

“Oh, shut up, you.” I willed the quicksilver to change. It did so without complaint, but I couldn’t escape the wrongness of the sensation that shivered down my back as the flat, matte bead of quicksilver became molten and rolled around the bottom of the crucible. Much as I disliked admitting it, Foley’s words had stuck with me. Willing the quicksilver to do anything was not forming a partnership with it. There was another way. A better way . . .

Quickly, I plucked a ring from the tray I had set out on the bench when I’d arrived and dropped it into the crucible. The ring was made of silver, but it was impure enough that I needed to add a little more to help the process along. The quicksilver formed a snake-like thread, winding around the ring’s band, mimicking the tiny vines that were engraved into the piece of jewelry.

Pretty , it hissed. A pretty one. Yes.

“Will you bind with it? Will you make it a relic?” I half expected it to say no, but I felt the quicksilver’s attention prick up at the request.

A memory , it purred. We will become a relic in exchange for a memory.

“ Any memory?” I asked.

The tiny thread of quicksilver thought about this for a second. Any memory will do , it concluded.

Any memory. Without thinking, I reached for the most painful one.

My mother, on her knees.

The blade, slicing her throat open.

Her blood spilling into the sand . . .

The quicksilver probed around it, encircling that awful moment in my mind. I felt it tighten around it. Felt the memory work loose . . .

“Stop!” the cry bounced around the windowless forge. “Wait.” I panted, my heart suddenly beating too fast. Swallowing, I shook my head. “Not that one.” I used to wake in the night, covered in sweat, that scene playing out on repeat in my head. It haunted me. It had been the very last time I’d seen my mother alive. Horrific as it was, I needed that memory. Without it, I didn’t know who I would be.

The quicksilver laughed softly, relinquishing its hold on the memory. The vision of my mother dying in the sand became all too real once more.

“Take this one,” I whispered, drawing forth a different memory. A morning, one much like any other, sitting in the loft of the Mirage. I had been counting money. I had been telling Hayden . . .

Been telling Hayden . . .

I gasped, a sudden, sharp, shooting pain at my temple. It was there and then gone again.

Wait.

What had I just been thinking about?

A relic , the quicksilver purred at the bottom of the crucible. A pretty one. We are made. Seal us now. Give us the blood.

It was a disconcerting thing, staring down at the ring. The quicksilver was gone, bound into it. The tiny scrap of normal silver, too. I had traded a memory, but for the life of me I had no idea what kernel of my past I had given up to facilitate the exchange.

The blood , the quicksilver chanted. The blood. The blood.

I pricked myself with the end of the dagger Fisher gave me and let the crimson bead at the end of my finger, still reeling from the void that the deal had left behind in my mind. It was a strange feeling, like probing at the space in your mouth where a tooth used to be, knowing what it should feel like but finding an empty space instead.

My blood hissed when it hit the bottom of the crucible.

That was new.

The quicksilver hummed, singing quietly to itself as it absorbed the blood.

I held my breath. Waited.

It’s done. Done. Done.

I exhaled, relief washing over me as—

“You are surprised.”

I spun around, dropping the crucible and the set of tongs I was holding it in. The metal clanged heavily when it struck the ground. “Fucking saints! What the f-f-f-f . . .”

It was the Hazrax.

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 many teeth .

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 was smiling .

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 that it wore 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 was burning it. 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 by many things.”

“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 rules of etiquette. Some small and meaningless exchange between strangers that . . . helps them know each other better.”

“What meaningless exchange should we have 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 read that book many times.”

Tentatively, I stepped away from the bench. “And you understand it. You understand who I am? What I 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 had that come 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’ve lost , 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?”

Today’s numbers sent over from the war camp were branded into my mind:

Total known dead: 1,976 Total known infected: 2,409 Estimated infected landmass: 8,162 hectares

We were losing ground at an alarming rate, and there was no hope of the rot’s rate of expansion slowing anytime soon. Every time I unraveled a new tally, my hope took another hit. But I wasn’t going to let the Hazrax know that. It was toying with me. By peppering me with these questions, hoping for a spark of fear, maybe. A reaction. Inside, I did exactly that— reacted —but I trained my face into a blank mask. Whatever this creature was, whatever its motives were, I refused to play into them. “For someone who proclaims they don’t have the Sight, you sure seem to see a lot.”

The Hazrax blinked again, its membranous eyelids flicking closed, open, closed, open. Unreadable as its facial features were, I thought I could still feel a flash of annoyance emanating from it as it moved serenely around the forge. It left its comments hanging there between us, the most worrying of which— “Does your mate need to be wary of new faces?” —causing all kinds of chaos to unfold inside me, but I did not give in to panic.

Fisher was an exceptional warrior. He’d led armies into battle. He knew how to take care of himself. He didn’t need me worrying over vague comments like this. He needed me focused, so I could contend with the task at hand.

“These pleasantries are nice, Hazrax, but as I’m sure you already know, I have a monumental task ahead of me and not much time to accomplish it in. These relics aren’t going to make themselves, so—”

“Let us return to the blood, then. Blood magic is artless. It requires no true skill. Do you intend on trading every last drop of blood you have to make your precious relics, Saeris? Or do you have another plan that will not require you to exsanguinate?”

“Yes, it’s taking me too long to make a single relic. I can’t keep making trades. I can’t keep bartering away my blood. Believe me. I get it. ”

“Then what else is there, Saeris Fane?”

“I thought this was supposed to be a meaningless exchange.” I wanted it to leave. I couldn’t help but notice that no matter where it moved, the Hazrax was always in a position to block the forge’s exit in a couple of steps.

The creature spread its webbed fingers. “In the grand scheme of things, yes. This conversation is meaningless.”

“It seems pretty important to me.”

“I can imagine.” It smiled at last. Thin, translucent lips peeled back to reveal rows and rows of needle-sharp teeth. A shudder of revulsion started at my fingertips and prickled all the way to the crown of my head. I wasn’t going to be able to unsee the sight. “If you consider the topic to be of import, then perhaps you should consider my question, no?”

The Hazrax was supposed to be the Keeper of Silence. Seemed to me the creepy bastard didn’t know when to shut up. I tamped down my rising frustration and analyzed what it had said. If I couldn’t rely on bargains or blood to create the relics, then what did I have? The answer was so obvious, I felt like kicking myself.

The godscursed fucking magic. “I need to figure out how to activate the quicksilver rune.” I held up my right hand, studying the intricate inkwork there.

“An impressive shield,” the Hazrax noted. “Perhaps the most complex shield this realm has ever seen. It will be a formidable weapon . . . if it doesn’t kill you before you can seal it.”

Foley had called my runes a shield. Now the Hazrax had, too. I stared at the linework, feeling the steady, quick drumming of an ancient pulse, separate from my own heartbeat, beneath the interlocking runes.

“That’s what the book is for,” I said. “It’s supposed to teach me how to make a compact with the quicksilver. But the book only teaches me how to hear it. How to communicate with it. And I can already do that.”

The Hazrax made a strange, ticking sound somewhere deep in its throat as it thought. “I hear the wind. Am I one with the wind because I listen to it blow?”

“Enough! Please, just . . . enough .” I was so fucking tired of this. “If you know something, then please just spit it out.”

The disturbing ticking sound grew louder. “I do not know something. I know everything , Saeris Fane. But it is not my part to reveal truths that must be discovered.”

How had I known it wasn’t going to put me out of my misery? “All right. Then in that case, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

The Keeper of Silence made a sound that resembled laughter. “I fear I must disclose the real reason for my visit before I can do that, child.”

Heat spiked in my belly, pooling like molten lava. “You call me child where others here call me Your Highness .”

“Indeed. I do. And I mean no disrespect by the title. But much like the friend you have found in the library, I am not a servant of this court. I am a private individual, with private interests.”

“I was led to believe you swore fealty to the Blood Court.”

Slowly, the Hazrax shook its head. “A deal was struck between myself and the vampire king. I was allowed to observe him, and in return, he was permitted one favor for each year that I remained here.”

“What kind of favor?” I asked.

The Hazrax flashed its teeth again. “That was up to the king, of course. If it was within my power to grant it, it was done.”

“And what exactly is the nature of your power? What are you?”

The Hazrax stepped toward me, its feet silent against the stone floor. “Mine is the power to put out a sun, perhaps? The power to . . . untether gravity?”

I watched, stunned speechless, as the relic on the counter slowly rose into the air. The tongs. The crucible. Up they floated, lifted by invisible strings. The loose strands of my hair that had escaped my braid began to float around my face.

“As for what I am . . .” The creature trailed off. “Who knows anymore? This body is just a vessel. My mind is very old. It can be in many places at once. I see through the eyes of others from time to time. These are very useful skills to have.”

I wasn’t listening. A weightless sensation was pulling at my stomach, causing it to roll. The soles of my boots began to lift off the ground, and a bark of panic burst out of my mouth. “Stop! Enough. That’s enough!”

The crucible crashed back down to the ground, cracking the stone where it landed. The tongs caught on the side of the bench and then hit the ground, spinning. The relic I’d just made remained suspended in the air, though. It rotated slowly, the light catching on the tiny vines and leaves that wound around its band.

“I am capable of many things. You just need to know how to ask,” the Hazrax said.

“And, so, what?” It was a miracle that my voice didn’t shake. “You want to strike a bargain with me now that Malcolm is dead?”

There was no mistaking the sound now—the Hazrax was definitely laughing. “I would make the same deal with you that I made with Malcolm, yes,” it said.

“And if I refuse?”

Its lips spread wider, the dark, hollow void of its jet eyes boring into me as it flicked its finger, and the floating relic began to spin faster, faster, faster . . .

“I must remain, Saeris,” it said evenly. “There must be a deal.” The threat was veiled, but it was there. I had no idea what the Hazrax would do if I denied its request, but I knew with every bone in my body that it wouldn’t be good.

If this thing had been human—or Fae even—I would have come up with some very colorful language to describe what it should go do to itself. But this was no member of the Fae. Despite the position it held, it was no member of the Blood Court, either. There was something deeply sinister about the creature, and I sensed that pissing it off might not be the smartest idea.

“Okay,” I said. “Fine. One favor a year, in exchange for permission to stay and observe. But I want the opportunity to renew the bargain each year. I don’t want to be locked into an agreement with you until the day I die.”

“I see no issue with that arrangement.” The creature inclined its head. “You will quickly realize how valuable my favors are and will not mind honoring my simple request in return. I agree to your stipulation.”

I wouldn’t be queen of this wretched court for much longer. I had no idea what possessed me to make the demand, but some part of me urged caution when dealing with this creature. My gut instinct had proven right many times in the past; I wasn’t about to start ignoring it now.

The Hazrax had turned and was walking away. It appeared our business was at an end, then. “Wait! Don’t we need to seal the agreement in blood?”

The strange creature did not turn around. “I’ve already told you, Saeris Fane. Blood magic is crude. We have no need for it, you and I.”

The forge seemed to double in size once the Hazrax had gone. It was suddenly easier to breathe. The relic still hung suspended in the air, spinning fast—a blur of silver and black. I went to reach for it, and it abruptly stopped spinning and dropped like a stone into my hand.

The second the cool metal hit my palm, the world pitched on its side. Blinding white light flared behind my eyes.

Pain . . .

The gods knew I was familiar with pain, but this was the kind of pain that tore a soul apart.

It was everywhere. My hands—my eyes. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.

Ever since I’d woken up in the Black Palace, I’d fought to partition my magic behind a thick, high wall. It escaped often, activating my quicksilver rune. It had spilled over too much in the library, yes, but this? This wasn’t an overflow of power. The wall inside my head was gone. It was as though it had never even existed, and now there was nothing holding my power back. It blazed through me, all of it at once, lighting me up like a torch and searching for an avenue of escape.

Fuck! The silent curse scraped the back of my throat.

I was going to destroy Ammontraíeth. Worse, I was going to fucking die , and I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to my own mate.

Panic merged my scattered thoughts into one urgent command:

Run.