Chapter 24 #2
“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.