19 Different Approaches #2
“He does not,” Ixli said, indignant.
How had Antal ever missed either of these insufferable daeyari? Their probing eyes were too much—their flinches palpable, when he bared his fangs.
Syvr was too observant. They’d weasel out the truth, no stopping that.
But Ixli. Was this really what she thought of him? That he’d left her, just to shirk responsibility and rut with humans for the next century?
“I don’t take playthings.” Antal spoke low, serrated, just for her. “You of all people should know that.”
She knew the soft edges of his heart. She knew he’d been the one to ask her to become Void bonded. She knew the things he’d whispered to her in the night, dreams and fears shared like precious gems.
She knew how it had carved him hollow, when those whispers reached his father.
I never meant to hurt you, she’d argued back. She’d thought Avroz already knew, didn’t realize she was handing him that leash to tighten on Antal’s throat.
She hadn’t meant it. The crack was still too deep to mend.
Yet she dared lay this at Antal’s feet? Act like she didn’t know the deepest shape of him? What he used to be, at least, that frail creature who’d walked his father’s house a century ago.
Now, like then, Ixli’s sneer crumbled. In that long moment she stared at him, Antal couldn’t tell if her eyes widened in disgust. Or shock. He wasn’t sure which hurt more.
Across the room, Jazst and Avroz drew their conversation to a close.
“Only the one report,” Jazst explained. “I’ll let you know if anything else turns up, but for now, that’s all I have.”
Avroz flicked his tail. It sounded like a dead end.
Antal kept his mouth shut through the closing pleasantries. Then they were free, released into the sunlit atrium, blinding after the dim of Jazst’s meeting room. Avroz led the way with a stiff gait. He hadn’t gotten as much as he wanted.
“We could keep checking older trails,” Syvr offered. “Look for something we missed?”
Avroz spoke through tight fangs. “The scent will be gone.”
“We wait for a new one, then?”
“Wait?” Ixli said. “And let this aedari do whatever it wants until then?”
At the back of the group, Antal paused. He scanned the atrium, its bright hallways and tile-lined alcoves.
Fionamara was gone.
“Antal?” Syvr called back.
Antal swiveled on the human porter stationed beside the door.
“Where is she?” Antal demanded in seasonspeak.
The man’s eyes widened. He pointed past the courtyard, toward the city.
Every time he left her alone…
“Antal,” his father chastised. “We don’t have time—”
Antal ignored him, already heading outside.
It was like tracking the path of a shooting star.
Along the street, most humans startled from Antal’s path, but for those he managed to corner, he need only ask: The frightening woman with the red hair.
Did she pass by? They pointed him along the avenue.
Across a trolley track and down an alley, to a building that smelled of hard liquor. A tavern.
When Antal stepped inside, the room went silent.
The patrons froze in stop-motion. Clay cups paused against lips, cards half dealt, a guitarist in the corner with fingers pressed to the strings. At the bar, a stool creaked.
“Oh, fuck,” Fionamara said. “That’s for me.” She patted the arm of a sun-weathered man, his one good eye squinted at the daeyari. “Thanks for everything, Rori. A delight as always.”
She tossed a small energy chip to the bar. Blew a kiss to the bartender.
“Take care, Sylvana. All my best to the kids.”
Fionamara sauntered across the room, waving her fingers at the silent occupants. She’d hung her coat over one arm, down to skin-tight silviamesh and a wicked grin. Antal waited with a glower. Conniving woman, thinking she could smooth his hackles with one smile.
She was right. But she didn’t need to know that. He held the door open for her.
“I thought you’d take longer,” she said. “Does that mean…” She stepped outside with a squint—then a scowl, at three daeyari waiting on the street. “Oh. All of you came. Isn’t that fun.”
Impatience seeped off Avroz like harbor fog. Antal touched Fionamara’s waist—whether to keep her from lunging at someone, or running off on another side venture.
“Jazst was little help,” Antal said. “There’s only been one fire. No trail beyond that.”
Fionamara scoffed. “Well, that’s not true.”
“… Excuse me?”
She dug into her coat pocket. “There’s been five mystery fires in the past month. At least. That’s just what I got from talking to people for half an hour. Look, I made a list.”
She held up a crumpled tavern napkin, a mysterious wet spot on one corner. Antal plucked it from her fingers and read the scrawled list. Locations. Dates. Names of contacts.
Brilliant, this woman. She had to be careful with that. Brilliant could be dangerous.
“Are you calling the daeyari here a liar?” Avroz said.
His words honed with accusation. Fionamara braced fists on her hips, opened her mouth. Then frowned, casting a sideways look to Antal.
In seasonspeak, she asked, “How do I say, put on your brakes, Gramps, in daeyari? I don’t know brakes.” She scrunched her nose. “Or Gramps.”
Antal bit down every curse on his tongue. Merciless Void, he loved this woman. And she really would be the death of him.
“He knows seasonspeak,” Antal muttered.
“Oh!” Fionamara said brightly. “That’s convenient.”
Avroz listened, radiating a truly impressive lack of amusement.
Syvr, who also knew seasonspeak, nearly lost the brows from their face. A series of rapid blinks seemed to be fighting a laugh.
Ixli, who didn’t know seasonspeak, had equal glares for everyone.
“I’m saying,” Fionamara continued in daeyari, “the daeyari here doesn’t know.”
Avroz’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t he know what happens in his own territory?”