19 Different Approaches #3
“Because daeyari are scary?” Fionamara gestured to the street—empty, since four daeyari had appeared.
“Humans avoid talking to you. You think they report every little thing to their Lord Daeyari? Never. They’ll report the important shit.
And the less important shit, they settle on their own.
Random houses burning down? That’s the lowest rung of less important shit. ”
Antal regretted teaching her daeyari curses first. It was what she’d asked for.
Avroz’s eyes were burgundy slits. His tail, a warning coil.
“You make a habit of lying to your Lord Daeyari?” he asked, too low.
Antal tensed at the blow. He felt where it sliced, meant to cut the air between them. That was always Avroz’s game: poke, then carve, then hobble any opponent.
Fionamara kept her chin up. Her fists dug against her hips, fighting not to show the soft flesh Avroz sought. For the first time in decades, centuries, here Antal stood against his father—but he didn’t face the claws alone.
He didn’t want Fionamara to bear those claws. She deserved better, to not have to live with these bristles she’d crafted as defense mechanisms. To be nothing but soft laughs, and veiled lashes, and eyes full of starlight.
“Fionamara was a Void smuggler for seven years without my notice,” Antal said in her defense. “Or Verne’s. Or Tyvo’s.”
“Or his.” Fionamara pointed a thumb to Jazst’s fortress atop the hill. “For the record.”
“There are plenty of ways to avoid daeyari eyes on these Planes,” Antal said. “She knows them better than anyone.”
A light pressure brushed Antal’s hand. Syvr pinched the napkin between their claws, commandeering the list.
“What I want to know,” Fionamara said, “is how no daeyari has noticed this until now?”
“The aedari is trying to avoid detection.” Syvr’s eyes darted over the information. “It’s too many movements in short succession. Can’t just be the aedari feeding.”
Avroz suffered a glance at the list. “If this is a scout, it will be laying low, collecting information from the local humans. To leave a victim alive would mean witnesses. To leave a corpse would draw suspicion.”
“And starting fires doesn’t?” Fionamara challenged.
“Not as much,” Syvr mused. “As you said, most ruling daeyari don’t bother with small things. And it’s only us the aedari needs to avoid.” They chanced a fanged grin at Fionamara. “You know, Avroz. It might be helpful, having a human along. Four daeyari hunting a trail is still conspicuous.”
Avroz growled and took the list.
“I’ll speak with Jazst about this development. With his permission, we can reconvene tomorrow. Search these sightings for the freshest tracks. All this activity is bound to tire the aedari. If we’re lucky, we may catch it sleeping.”
Avroz asked Syvr to join him. They left in a teleport.
Ixli hadn’t spoken through any of this. She hit Antal with that same guarded look, a glance between him and Fionamara. Then she was gone.
Antal let out a bone-deep sigh. His father’s presence picked him apart like steel needles. He had to spend a moment sewing himself back together.
Easier, when he tucked a strand of hair behind Fionamara’s ear. He let his knuckles brush her cheek, salvaging solace in her warmth.
“That was clever of you,” he admitted. Insolent, but clever.
“Of course. I’m very clever. Does that mean we can go home now?”
“Yes, Fionamara. I’d enjoy that—”
“Take me to Thomaskweld.” She grabbed his arm. “River District. That old coffee shop by the spruce garden. We might get there in time.”
Antal blinked. “Is this…”
“Important? Yes, Antlers. Let’s go.”
He sighed again. Then did as she asked.
The cold of the Winter Plane was a welcome homecoming. The weaker sun, a relief. Antal brought them out of a Curtain in an alley near the coffee shop Fionamara requested.
She pulled on her coat and set off at a jog.
Antal trailed behind. Fionamara scanned the coffee shop patio, settling on a target with lethal focus. She swooped to a table, dropping into a seat across from a man with dark skin and locks tied into a bun, a long coat, sipping coffee beneath a heater.
“Hello, Clarence!” Fionamara greeted.
The man’s flinch nearly sent him out of his chair.
“Fucking Void, Kolbeck!” he shouted. Then, when he spotted Antal looming behind her, “Fucking. Void. What are you—”
“Focus, Clarence.” Fionamara snapped her fingers between them. “Don’t look at the scary daeyari, look at me. There we go.”
The other patrons watched warily. Better than fleeing, as they’d done on the Summer Plane. Antal dipped his head in what he hoped was an unintimidating manner—deeper, when the shop owner peeked outside.
“You said we should get coffee,” Fionamara said.
Clarence, one of the smugglers she’d told Antal about, stared at her. “Did you—”
“Figure out what coffee shop you go to, so I could keep tabs on your clever ass? Obviously. Now, I have a job for you, Clarence.”
“You already gave me a job.”
“This is a more important job. The most important.”
He glanced at Antal. Back to Fionamara. “Uh huh.”
“Clarence, I need you to use that wonderful brain of yours. I need you to utilize every one of the stellar contacts I know you have.” Fionamara leaned across the table.
“And I need you to find every mysterious fire that’s happened recently in this territory.
Make me a list. Locations. Dates. Who to speak to. I want all of them, Clarence.”