26 Softer in the Afterglow
They emerged from the teleport in a clearing surrounded by shiverpines, Winter air frigid against her naked skin. Several hot springs steamed amidst the snow. As Antal carried her forward, Fi moaned in anticipation. She was, upon swift reflection, a little filthy.
She sank into the pool with relish. Scalding water cleansed the stickiness from her skin, heat soothing every ache. Antal wrapped arms around her waist. His forehead settled against hers.
One long, shared breath.
“You’re a stubborn human,” he whispered.
“You’re a fickle daeyari,” she returned, just as soft.
“But I still love you.”
“So do I, Antlers.” That had never been in question.
Antal ran his fingers through her damp hair, straightening nothing. Just touching her. Fi rested her head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve treated you poorly, Fionamara. I never meant to make you feel small. I never meant to hurt you.”
Of course he hadn’t. That was the peril of love: the way he could pry beneath her armor, small words to slash the vulnerable spots underneath. Even when he didn’t mean it.
He’d still been an ass.
Fi’s eyes prickled. All her anger had spilled out, leaving only the mushy nonsense behind. She was still annoyed. Of course she was. But with a clearer head…
“I may have been… a little reckless today,” she conceded.
“A little?” Antal sounded more tired than chiding.
Fi took his chin in soft fingers. “We could have fought that aedari together. We could have stopped him getting away.”
“We might have. But…”
Beneath the water, his hand drifted to her stomach. Her skin prickled as he traced her scars. Fi gave a small gasp. Antal tilted her a questioning look.
“It feels strange,” she said. “The new skin. Because it’s made of Void, like you?”
He studied her a long moment.
“You’re phenomenal,” he said. “A sheer fucking marvel.”
Fi knew that lilt. That pause. “But?”
He gave another long, dissecting look.
Then he cracked.
Antal pulled her against him, face buried in her neck. This vicious predator, fracturing in her arms. Fi cupped a hand behind his head, soothing fingers through his hair.
“Fionamara, I’m terrified.” He breathed the confession against her throat. “I’m so terrified of losing you. I don’t know what it would do to me to go through that again, if it was my fault again. But I’m afraid. And stretched so thin. And it feels like every decision I make is wrong.”
Fi knew.
She knew that was what this was. Fear. Doubt. The aches of lost love and a neglectful father, all these scars he’d carried in silence for so long. She held him tighter.
“You don’t have to carry all this alone, Antal.
You’re trying to balance so many hard things, and I haven’t known how to give you the help you need, because…
I’m afraid, too.” Her own confession. So long as they were holding each other.
So long as a tear had already escaped down her cheek. “Afraid of not being enough for you.”
Antal pulled back, an incredulous head tilt. Void, how could he look at her like that, after all her shouting?
“Fionamara, I told you—”
“I know you said I’m enough.” She took his cheeks in her hands, and damn it, now her voice cracked. “But it doesn’t feel fair. I can’t give you what you deserve. I can’t be a daeyari for you.” She pressed a thumb to his lips when he tried to protest. “I know you love me. But it still bothers me.”
The words seeped out of Fi like blood from a cut, the deepest wound she’d suffered today. Alone in a Winter forest, both of them fully bared, Antal shifted her thumb off his mouth. When he brushed the tear from her cheek, his touch was soft. Apologetic.
“And I can’t be a human for you,” he said. “No matter how many concessions I make, the people of this territory—your people—will always look at me as something other. A predator in their midst. You’ll always have to suffer that distance, that judgment.”
Both of them, afraid. Both trying to be things they never could be, pieces that didn’t fit their molds, rent apart as their worlds collided.
But that couldn’t be how this ended.
“You don’t have to be a human,” Fi said. “You just have to be… you. Both of us. Not just daeyari. Not just human. Something different.”
Not one world or the other, neither one big enough to encompass them both. A new path. One they could forge together.
Antal settled his forehead to hers. “For you, Fionamara? I’ll try. I’ll always try.” His grin was small, fragile. “Though, you don’t make a terrible daeyari.”
She laughed, just as small. Just as fragile. “I’m missing some pieces.”
“I can manage.”
His tail wrapped her ankle. Gentle. Possessive. He’d done this to Fi countless times, and she’d written it off as a curiosity. Then she’d seen him with Yme, Ixli, Syvr, the affectionate way they twined their tails.
Fi couldn’t be a daeyari. She could still bridge the gap.
“Your tail,” she said. “It’s like holding hands? For daeyari?”
Antal hummed. At her ankle, his tail twitched. “Similar enough.”
He fell still when Fi held out her hand.
A wordless moment. Something unreadable as his gaze ticked over her.
Slowly, his tail unwound from her leg. The tip lifted out of the water, settling in her palm, and all of Antal… softened. In a way Fi had never seen before. He pressed his nose to her temple, breath falling out in a long sigh.
Void, it felt strange.
But as Fi stroked her thumb along his tail, he shuddered in a way that made her want to do this for the rest of her life.
“What does it feel like?” she asked.
Antal’s tone came drowsy. Content. “Like…” He brushed a thumb across her hand.
It felt like comfort. Like safety. Fi could be that for him.
“Hey, Antal?” she whispered. “I know you’re doing this all for Thomaskweld. You say you don’t want to be on the Dusk Council, but… I think you’ll do a lot of good there.”
His head tilted. A wary, “Good?”
“Someone who cares about humans. Who’s willing to fight for change. Give those crotchety old daeyari a shake up.”
He made a low humming sound. Not an answer. He didn’t need an answer now.
They settled against each other, lulled by hot water and tired muscles, hand and tail intertwined. Just a passing storm. They’d keep trying. They had to.
“But whatever happens,” Fi said, “together?”
“Together,” Antal agreed.