3 No wet cats allowed #2
Especially if she had a trip to the Twilit Plane to prepare for.
That night, Fi and Antal returned to his home in the cliffs above Thomaskweld.
The open wall of the sitting room offered a view of the entire valley, mountain slopes painted in snow and dark shiverpines. The city was gold dust along the river. A green aurora hummed overhead. Cold wind buffeted the rock face, but inside, the space was warm and quiet.
Cozier than when Fi had first visited. Her extended time here had necessitated several additions to the spartan living arrangements, the first being a bathroom, and mercy to her for surviving Antal’s explanation of why he didn’t need one.
She could have lived without the lecture on how daeyari energy incinerated food in place of digestion.
They also had a kitchen now, counter and cabinets carved out of rock at the back of the sitting room.
Whenever Fi cooked, Antal lingered in her periphery, squinting at every utensil and ingredient.
And though his one attempt at making pancakes had nearly smoked them out of the cliff, just the fact that he’d tried had been… nice.
Fi hadn’t felt like cooking tonight. She sprawled across the cushions of the sitting area, comfy in an oversized sweater and thick socks, enjoying soup she’d brought from the city.
Thick dumplings and spicy broth were perfect for cold weather.
Antal sat beside her, cross-legged with his tail wrapped around him.
He watched his city, crimson eyes glowing with dull energy.
Two weeks since he’d last eaten. Longer than he ought to go.
Their new donation system would pay off in time, but for now, Fi visited the Thomaskweld hospital whenever Antal got desperate, entreating grieving families to let their loss serve a greater purpose.
The body had to be fresh, only an hour or two after death, before the energy deteriorated.
Cremation was the standard funerary rite: energy returned to the Void, body returned to the Plane.
The few cuts of meat Antal needed to survive would make no difference, and the city would pay for the pyre.
A harrowing conversation all the same.
But that wasn’t the reason for Antal’s gloom tonight.
He’d fixed the energy conduits, had seen to every one of Kashvi’s tasks with hardly a word.
Fi hated seeing him like this. There was so much more to Antal when he smiled.
When he laughed. When he held her like the span of his arms was the only thing that mattered.
She looked at the city, too.
In a garden near the river, there was a memorial, a stone plaque amidst red mountain poppies. Even that was more than what Boden would have wanted. He’d have told them not to waste the effort. To focus on rebuilding.
For most of Fi’s life, she never could have pictured standing with a daeyari on her wedding day.
She had pictured her brother there—making fun of her dress, weaving flowers into her hair, walking her to the ceremony in place of their dead father and absent mother.
The future looked strange, without that anchor.
Boden had told Fi to forgive herself. He’d taught her how to fight for things larger than a single person. She supposed larger things meant harder concessions.
And she was curious what the Twilit Plane looked like. Ten years as a smuggler, yet she’d never met a human who’d seen the daeyari’s home.
“What does your father want?” Fi asked in daeyari.
Antal had been an absolute ass when he’d started teaching her, refusing to speak in anything but daeyari for several weeks, until her irate pantomiming finally resulted in a workable vocabulary. Now, the words came easier.
And he seemed to like it when she spoke daeyari.
Antal cast her a slow look. “The letter didn’t say.”
“But can you guess?”
His tail flicked. “Killing Verne rather than finding compromise may have caused a stir. Perhaps my father wishes to chastise me. Or perhaps it’s the matter of approving a new daeyari neighbor, he may have someone he wishes to put in place.
” Antal’s tone dropped. “Or perhaps it’s as we feared.
The Daey Celva has become aware of my unconventional new policies. ”
Daey Celva—the Dusk Council. According to them, the daeyari who ruled human territories were supposed to demand living sacrifices, in exchange for protection and technology.
They were supposed to rule over their subjects, not walk alongside them.
They were supposed to keep mortals afraid.
Food was easier to manipulate when they were afraid.
“Whatever it is,” Fi said, “we go. Get it over with, so Papa Antlers has no reason to come here. Hopefully, it’s one of those petty options, and he’ll be none the wiser.”
Antal’s brow rose. “We?”
“You think I’d let you do this alone? Don’t be dumb, Antlers.”
Fi was moderately disappointed that the daeyari word for “antlers,” vavrae, didn’t sound like Antal’s name. What a marvelous irony that the two were so similar in seasonspeak.
Antal let out a long exhale.
She was reasonably sure he didn’t have to breathe.
The first immortal, Veshri, had died then woven a new body out of Void ether, a shell to hold his energy, rebuilding what he remembered of his mortal form in appearance more than function.
Ether flesh didn’t age, could regenerate even grievous wounds.
Only decapitation killed a daeyari, their vestigial heart and lungs unnecessary—except for dramatic sighs to tug her heartstrings.
Fi braced for his rebuttal, already assembling her counter arguments.
“We should go soon,” he agreed.
Fi squinted. “You… want me to come? That easy?”
“I don’t want you anywhere near my father, but territory lords often travel with a mortal servant.
Not that you are,” he added quickly, astute enough to notice Fi stiffen.
“But it’s customary. Someone who could carry word back to my territory, if needed.
Having you at my side may make me look like a more…
proper Lord Daeyari. Enough to fit my father’s expectations. ”
“But it’s a gamble?” Fi asked.
“It’s a gamble,” he murmured.
Fi’s first thought was: how objectively hilarious that her presence would make him seem more proper. Tell that to every trade warden who’d spoken down to her over the years.
Her second thought: “Good thing I’m a better gambler than you. When do we leave?”
Antal’s smile filled her with warmth that could crack permafrost. He pulled her against him, a silent “thank you” in the nuzzle of his nose to her cheek. Worry in the sway of his tail.
“It’ll be fine,” Fi said. “More role-playing? I can be your human servant for a couple days. All you have to do is refrain from grabbing my ass or calling me pet names. Easy.”
Antal’s nose wrinkled. “Pet names?”
“Yes, Antal. Pet names. Signs of affection. Like how I call you Antlers. But oh, that’s right, you don’t have a pet name for me yet! Because you’re boring.”
His tail shifted to a wider swish. Less dismal. Good.
“I call you by your full name, Fionamara. That isn’t sufficient?”
“That’s not a pet name. You’re supposed to have a name only you call me.”
“I thought you didn’t wish to be my… pet?”
“No. No, not like—”
“Daeyari don’t often keep pets. Nor do their names hold any significance.”
“That’s not what…” Fi sighed, slumping against the pillows to finish her soup. Head bowed to mask her smirk at this ridiculous creature. “Don’t worry, Antlers. We’ll work on it.”
They just had to survive his father first.