15 A stiff drink with a… friend?
Fi selected a bar of hyperconductive copper from the shipping box and submitted it to inspection.
She tilted it seven ways, appraising the shine.
Next, she Shaped a current into one hand, heat creeping down her forearm as she pulled energy from muscle, sending a pulse through the ingot until it prickled her opposite fingers. Last, she held the bar out to her side.
Aisinay dipped her head and sniffed. Her snort affirmed: top-quality metal.
Usually, Fi loved when shipments came in. The hum of the Thomaskweld market. The adrenaline of haggling. The weight of energy chips in her coat pocket.
More fun with Antal at her side, scaring the shit out of anyone who tried to cut a raw deal, ghosting his palm over her ass when no one was looking. Today, Fi appraised the shipments alone. Antal was off attending an immortal conference on another Plane.
He probably had the worse assignment. She’d pout about it, anyway.
“Why are you scowling, Kolbeck?” Clarence, the latest smuggler-turned-metal-importer for Antal Territory, appraised Fi with dark eyes, hands in the pockets of his coat. “It’s good metal. You said to bring you the best, and I did, all the way from the Cloudbreaker Mountains.”
“It’s excellent metal, Clarence.” Fi snapped on her businesswoman smile. “And to think, you were hesitant when we chatted in Calvariz.”
“Still hesitant. Until I see the payment.”
His eyes widened when she pulled out three palm-sized cards of dark metal. Most energy chips used as currency on the Season-Locked Planes were charged with silver human magic, but these had daeyari red glowing in the glass panel down the side.
“Freshly charged by the Lord Daeyari himself,” Fi said. “He appreciates you helping us build a better territory.”
She beckoned some trade wardens to cart the heavy boxes away.
Clarence edged out of their way, a wary look for the midnight jackets that usually tried to stop smugglers coming into the city.
A year ago, Fi had been the same. One scrappy runaway, come to wear daeyari black and red, giving away energy chips that she once would have clawed for.
“You in the city for a while?” she asked Clarence.
“We’ll see.” He stashed the chips in his pocket. “I’ll track you down later. You still owe me a coffee, Kolbeck.”
“Your treat,” she agreed.
He disappeared into the crowded market. Wise man, leaving Fi to deal with the trade wardens. She turned to inspect their progress.
Kashvi stood not two feet behind her. Fi hissed an inhale.
“Fuck.” Fi clapped a hand to her chest. “How are you so quiet? You’ve got twice as much muscle as me!”
Thomaskweld’s governor nodded to the crates of conductive metal. “Another good shipment. Should be able to clean up the rest of the energy conduit upgrades with this. Your little smuggler brigade is turning into a good investment.”
“We clean up nice.” Fi shrugged. “With proper incentive.”
Kashvi studied her. Next, the empty spot at Fi’s side, no Antal.
“How are you?” she asked, low enough to put anyone’s guard up.
“Fine,” Fi said. Definitely too fast. “I’ve got a new smuggler on the roster. Fresh metal for the city. You’re saying nice things to me for once. What wouldn’t be fine?”
Another long look. Kashvi sighed and clapped a hand to Fi’s shoulder.
“Let’s get a drink.” It wasn’t a question.
With the trade wardens squared away—one order from Kashvi had them working double time—Fi laid a guiding hand on Aisinay’s neck and followed the governor through the river market.
The Void horse perked finned ears at every fish stall.
When Fi heartlessly urged her to keep walking, Aisinay nibbled the silver buttons on Kashvi’s coat.
“That means she likes you,” Fi said.
Kashvi scowled as a horse snort ruffled her hair. “Charming as you, Fi.”
A hum of live music drew them to a tavern on the river quay.
“Alright,” Fi said. “Be careful. The current here is really strong—”
Aisinay lurched forward, hooves clattering on cobble as she crossed the quay and vaulted over the metal railing, into the river. A moment later, she resurfaced, tail swishing happily as she dodged ice floes slipping downstream.
Easier than lodging her in a stable.
Inside, the tavern offered refuge from the cold: exposed rafters, brass tables and bar, tall windows overlooking the river and the lights along the opposite bank.
Music and conversation filled every corner.
A smell of whiskey and wood. Automaton birds perched and clacked on shelves packed with the best liquor in the Season-Locked Planes.
Fi and her “smuggler brigade” had helped with that.
A woman flitted by, skirts loose and flaxen hair tied back, pale cheeks flushed as she balanced an impossible tray of drinks. Still, she managed a shoulder check to Fi.
For Kashvi, she swirled to a halt and twined her hand behind her wife’s neck, pulling her in for a slow, savoring kiss.
“I’ll be with you miscreants in a moment,” Iliha said. “How strong are we drinking?”
“Strong.” Kashvi brushed a strand of hair off Iliha’s temple, impossibly soft for her onyx exterior. “Take your time, dove.”
Everyone else had fun pet names. Antal better get his shit together.
They settled on stools overlooking the river.
A light snow fell outside, clinging to the sill in lazy clumps.
The place had been a wreck when Iliha snapped it up, not content to stay behind in Nyskya while Kashvi oversaw the capital.
Another stretch of “temporary.” The industrious woman had turned a fixer-upper into one of the hottest new spots on the riverfront.
“The lights are new?” Fi pointed to a set of copper wall sconces shaped like trout—because fuck if she wanted to have a serious conversation right now.
Kashvi appraised the decor. “Vintage, I’m told.”
“Did Iliha get a good price on them?”
“Haggled the fucker blind.”
“That a girl.”
Fi strummed the metal tabletop. She and Kashvi didn’t drink together often—once before the tavern had opened, once after the governor’s election, once on the anniversary of Boden’s death. This woman had the subtlety of a walrus, jaw locked as she scowled out the window.
“Good to see the conduit updates finally coming together,” Kashvi said. “Just in time. Seems there’s never a moment of peace around here.”
Subtle. As. A. Walrus. “You’re worried about the fires?”
Of course Kashvi was worried about the fires. Fi had gotten halfway through her explanation of, oh, by the way, there might be a deadly immortal creature running loose through the territory, and even the daeyari are terrified of it, before the governor had bent over in a coughing fit.
“I’ve been thinking about it now and then, yeah,” Kashvi said dryly.
“Everything will be fine. Antal is working on it.”
Iliha returned with two glasses of whiskey. She brushed her fingers through Kashvi’s hair before she left. Flicked Fi hard on the elbow. Fi grumbled then clinked glasses with Kashvi, followed by a savoring sip.
“How are things between you and the daeyari?” Kashvi asked.
Fi nearly spat the liquid back into her glass. She wiped a dribble on her lips. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about that sort of thing.”
“I don’t.” Kashvi stared at her own glass. “Not at all. And for the record, I don’t care about him. But…”
She cared about Fi. Too proud to say it. That was a weird, sobering thought to drink to.
“You two have been tense as wildcats since you got back from the Twilit Plane,” Kashvi said. “And sure, it’s a nice reprieve from you staring at each other like meals.”
Fi’s cheeks heated. “We do not.”
“A middle ground would be nice, is all I’m saying.”
“We’re fine,” Fi said.
Kashvi tilted her a skeptical look, cold enough to freeze the river.
“I’ll get you drunk, Fionamara Kolbeck,” Kashvi threatened. “Don’t think I won’t. I shouldn’t, because I have work to do this afternoon, and I’ll be very cross if you make me waste my time here instead of just saying what’s wrong.”
Fi huffed. “We could get drunk for fun, you know.”
“Not during business hours.”
Fi swirled her whiskey. Her defense mechanisms bristled on instinct: deny and deflect any hint of weakness, as if it might strangle her. And yes, she knew better, and all that bullshit. Knew that bottling things up only let them fester. Knew there was strength in vulnerability.
Following through was the hard part.
“Well, Antal is… a daeyari,” Fi explained.
Kashvi stared. Blinked. “I noticed.”
“And I’m not,” Fi furthered.
Kashvi’s glare hardened to a murderous edge.
“And I thought that was fine! And I think we are. Fine. But…”
“But?”
Fi clicked her nails against her glass. Took another drink.
“But his dad almost ate me. And his mom seems upset by my mere existence. And despite all the shit Antal has been through, he says he’s missed being around other daeyari. And that’s not something I can give him.”
Kashvi listened with brow lifted, taking a long drink of her whiskey.
Fi threw up her hands. “And I guess I don’t really know how to deal with that! And also, I’ve never had… what would you call it?… a healthy long-term relationship. There was Astrid, but she ended up trying to kill me multiple times, so maybe that’s not the best example.”
Kashvi’s brow migrated ever higher.
Fi hunched over the table. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” She took another drink. Fire warmed her belly, hopefully enough to clear out the rest of her.
Kashvi leaned back on her stool, watching snow drift past the window. She touched her earring, a dangling glass capsule set in rose gold, the interior swirling with silver energy.
A marriage pact. Iliha wore a matching capsule, clasped on a chain that swung against her chest as she flitted between tables. The energy stored within each capsule was a mix from both partners, their magical essence swirling in harmony.
“When I met Iliha,” Kashvi said, “she loves reading. Every night before bed, she’s got these cute little reading glasses on, a book in her lap. And I, being a sappy piece of shit, thought I’d try it out. Just for her.”