19 Different Approaches
The meeting room was nearly pitch black.
Antal’s vision shifted to greyscale in the dim light, easier on his dusk-honed eyes. Tall windows lined the wall, shuttered against the Summer sun. The smell of the sea receded, replaced by spiced tea.
“Ah, there you are. Welcome to the Summer Plane.”
The daeyari of this territory, Jazst, approached on gliding strides, flint gray skin and a tunic of long, airy fabric. His pale hair was braided and bound in a bun. Silver beads dangled from his antlers.
He held his arms out, palms up. Daeyari, not inclined to casual touch, reserved such gestures for the most distinguished visitor. Avroz laid his arms atop their host’s.
“An honor to see you, Councilor Avroz.” Jazst nodded sideways. “Ixli.” A subtle narrowing of scarlet eyes. “And Antal? What an unexpected surprise.”
He didn’t speak the name in a pleasant way. Antal couldn’t recall them interacting beyond passes in hallways, Jazst’s occasional visits to council meetings.
But wasn’t it appropriate? Teeth everywhere, even where Antal didn’t expect.
“Please, let us speak.” Jazst gestured to cushions on the floor.
Avroz settled in a central seat, Ixli beside him. Antal sat as far from her as possible, his father an effective, if equally treacherous shield. Jazst sat across from his visitors, pouring tea into ceramic cups.
Six points marked his antlers. Old enough, he’d look down his nose at Antal’s meager curve. Antal accepted his tea and resigned himself to silence, letting Avroz handle the talking.
“I’m surprised to see you, Antal,” Jazst said. “I thought territory business would keep you occupied.”
Antal huffed a quiet curse at the attention. Truly, where had they crossed paths? Avroz sipped his tea, awaiting a reply—something thoughtful, to begin this meeting well.
“Finding this aedari will benefit all our territories.” Antal drank his tea, withholding a grimace. He’d never liked tea.
“Oh, not that.” Jazst clicked his tongue. “An aedari is concerning, but I have every confidence the council will see it hunted swiftly. I was referring to Tyvo’s decision to abdicate.”
Antal nearly spat out his tea. He forced himself steady, tail confined to a single twitch. Tyvo abdicating? When had that happened? They’d just argued a few days ago.
Avroz’s cup paused halfway to his mouth.
“And where have you heard this?” he asked mildly.
“Word travels quickly.” Jazst grinned. “Across the territories first, before it reaches you on the Twilit Plane. Now, this is just what I’ve heard, but supposedly, Tyvo claims he wants nothing to do with aedari. That, and difficult neighbors.”
His glance at Antal was as pointed as Veshri’s antlers.
Was that it? More gossip, just what Antal needed. He sipped his tea to mask a growl.
“I see,” Avroz said. “Unfortunate news.”
Antal honed to his father’s flat words. Avroz loathed surprises, anything he couldn’t control. Yet there was no flick on his tail. No telltale tension around his mouth.
He already knew about Tyvo.
No. More than that… the ghost of a grin hidden behind a sip of tea.
Avroz had done this. Ice crept down Antal’s spine, a cold surety that somehow, his father had pushed for Tyvo’s abdication.
A word to Qirza after the public confrontation?
A demand to Tyvo himself, leveraging some old favor?
Had Antal been such a fool to think, just because they had a deal, Avroz would stop moving pieces against him?
Already, Verne’s territory had sat open for a year. Antal had vetoed every candidate to replace her. What would his promises mean if he improved his own territory, but let another tyrant settle next door? He needed a neighbor he could trust, one who didn’t spit on humans as lesser creatures.
Now, Tyvo’s abdication meant two territories to fill. Antal needed better standing, the chance to choose a candidate he wanted.
A spot on the Daey Celva would give him that.
A noose, tightening. Another vile reason he needed his father’s support, before Avroz departed on his Pilgrimage.
“Unfortunate, indeed.” Jazst slipped another barbed look to Antal. “And when you already have a vacancy nearby? I’ve heard it’s taken ages to choose Verne’s replacement. How will you ever agree on two?”
Jazst bared a fang. Not just gossip. What in Veshri’s mercy was he so sharp about?
“You’re… familiar with the search?” Antal asked.
“Of course. I recommended a candidate myself, a good friend. Yet she was, how did you put it… a self-absorbed narcissist, unfit to rule a bone pit, much less a territory.”
Oh.
Right.
Fionamara had helped Antal write that response. He stood by every word.
The room went, understandably, silent. Jazst glowered over his cup. Ixli, who hadn’t said a Void-damned word since they sat, spoke her displeasure with a huff.
Avroz didn’t look at his son. His exterior settled into calm, placidly swirling his tea. Antal knew that command like a slap to the cheek: Stop talking. Don’t dig the hole deeper. Step aside and let the better daeyari fix this.
Gladly, Antal buried his face in his cup.
“We appreciate your time,” Avroz said. “Perhaps we should move to the matter at hand. You reported a recent fire in your territory? An aedari scent?”
Jazst relinquished his glower on Antal, swapping to deference for Avroz. “I wish I could aid your hunt, councilor, yet I have little to offer. Only one incident. No trail that I could find. I can show you where it happened, some accounts of the local humans. That’s all.”
“If you’d be so kind. I’ll look at whatever you have.”
Jazst stood, moving to a desk across the room. Avroz followed. The flick of his tail to Antal’s arm told him to stay behind and not cause more trouble.
Antal’s entire existence seemed to cause trouble, despite his best efforts.
Ixli didn’t follow, either. She sat on her cushion like a good soldier, back rigid and tail twitching.
When her coral eyes snapped to Antal, he contemplated whether death might be kinder than this specific torture, trapped on a quest with a woman he’d scorned.
It would depend on how grotesque a shape he reincarnated as.
He used to love that about her. The heat of her stare. The dedication she put into her work. And yes, Antal was painfully aware that he had a type.
It was either luck or misfortune that the door opened then, Syvr slipping into the chamber, dressed in a fresh tunic. While Jazst and Avroz bent their heads to a stack of reports on the desk, Syvr padded to the seating area, claiming the cushion between Antal and Ixli.
“What did I miss?” they whispered.
“Antal is demonstrating his fine ability to make friends,” Ixli returned with barbed hush.
“I told you everyone hates me,” Antal added.
Syvr tutted and poured a cup of tea. “Those are two unhelpfully disparate accounts.”
“Apparently, Antal refused a friend of Jazst’s for territory lord,” Ixli said.
“Ah.” Syvr set down the kettle. “That one with all the sigils on her antlers? Nasty piece of work. I wouldn’t have chosen her, either.” They tutted again. “Ixli, stop sitting like you have a rod up your ass. It’s bad for your back.”
Ixli’s tail swatted Syvr’s arm.
“We ought to be hunting,” she whispered. “Not sipping tea.”
“Are you so eager?” Antal hissed back. “I’m surprised you have no gold on your antlers yet. Surely, you could have triumphed over a dozen aedari by now.”
For any daeyari, killing an aedari was an honor. For a warrior like Ixli, it was a calling. A war fought not in grand battles but in endless skirmishes, keeping their immortal enemies to their half of the Planeverse. Avroz had been younger than Ixli when he’d earned his bands.
Ixli’s rigid posture told Antal he’d struck the nerve he aimed for. A petty part of him relished the hit.
“Avroz hasn’t let her hunt an aedari,” Syvr said.
Antal frowned. No, that couldn’t be right. Ixli was disciplined. Capable. Over a century ago, she’d been at the top of her academy. She must be lethal now, must have every territory lord near the Contested Planes begging Avroz to lend her spear.
Ixli glared at the floor. Tail flicking.
That wasn’t right, either. Antal was angry at her. He didn’t want this cold, constricting feeling in his chest.
A familiar feeling.
Those downcast eyes, the same he’d worn whenever Avroz had tried to control him. Through subtle words, through unspoken action, his father had woven a leash. Antal had assumed the collar for him alone, the burden of a son serving an esteemed daeyari house.
But there was no denying it. That same uncooperative part of him that recognized Ixli had cut her hair, also recognized that she was tenser than when they’d parted fifty years ago. Restless. Like a beast in a cage.
Beasts never did well in cages, liable to snap at any hand that reached for them.
“So. That human woman,” Syvr said. “What’s that about?”
Antal choked on his own tongue. Ixli scoffed, back to barbs.
“Is that the same one you brought home with you?” Syvr went on.
Ixli scoffed sharper.
“Stop it, Ixli,” Syvr said. “Antal deserves to get laid. You can’t be that ruthless.”
“He can keep his bed however he wishes.” Ixli sneered. “But a vavraesa as a plaything? I assumed territory lords had better uses of their time.”
Antal clamped his teeth. That was what they thought? Just a plaything. Just a time-wasting fuck. They couldn’t conceive of anything deeper for a human?
“Playthings don’t get brought on aedari hunts,” Syvr chided. They tapped the spot where Fionamara had stabbed them. “The woman can fight.”
Ixli huffed. “A lucky strike. You left yourself wide open.”
They didn’t know about Razik, either. Not the truth. Avroz had spun it to suit him: a meaningless affair, a rebellious young daeyari. Antal clutched his claws against the memory of blood on tile. Of Fionamara with her lip split, stumbling out of Avroz’s grasp.
“Come on, Antal.” Syvr leaned close. “I see how you look at her.”
“And how is that?” Antal muttered.
“Bright-eyed. Sharp.” Syvr’s grin widened. “Mildly terrified.”
“Stop it,” Antal said. “Both of you.”
“You care about her?” Syvr taunted.