28 Best of Both Worlds #2
The remnants of Ivan’s body were carefully wrapped, sent to be burned back into the ash of the Plane, as was the human custom.
Three daeyari ventured to the roof of the hospital.
From the vantage point, the aurora seemed close enough to touch, swirling over dark sky and bright stars.
The lights of Thomaskweld glittered below, reflecting in the curves of the river, a contrast against snow-laden pines.
Ixli vanished. She returned a few minutes later bearing two bottles, midnight-blue liquid swirling with silver.
Daeyari weren’t easy to inebriate. Anything sent to their stomachs was swiftly burned off by the energy at their cores. Daeyari alcohol was immeasurably stronger than anything mortal made, because it had to be. Even then, this was a practiced indulgence.
And Antal hadn’t indulged in decades. Only the rare package from Syvr, too afraid to touch the Twilit Plane to track down a bottle himself.
Ixli uncorked the first bottle. She tipped back and downed a full third, swift, the only way to make it work. Syvr drank next.
Antal finished the bottle. The taste was crisp as starlight, a subtle sweetness, an overwhelming heat flooding his belly.
Then, the blissful swell to his head. He laid back against the frosted tile roof, arm propped behind his neck to guard his antlers.
The effects would only last minutes. He savored the temporary swimming sensation, the swirl of stars across his vision, his city turned to a puddle of gold.
For that moment, he felt full. Content. In a way he hadn’t for a very long time.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”
“Stop it.” Syvr sprawled beside him, tail swirling lazy arcs. “The first bottle is supposed to be fun. We’ve got a second bottle for that sentimental bullshit.”
Ixli sat upon the roof ledge. She swayed a little, claws tapping the remaining bottle, aurora tangled in her hair.
“I’m sorry, Antal. For never visiting. For never asking what happened. I did miss you.”
“Veshri’s teeth, not you too.” Syvr pressed a dramatic arm across their forehead. “Yes. Of course I missed you, little daeyari.” Their tail brushed Antal’s. “I hope you enjoyed my gifts. I couldn’t send much without Avroz noticing.”
“You sent gifts?” Ixli groaned. “Fuck. I’m the worst.”
“We already knew that, Ixli.”
“Fucker.”
“Oh, yes, cuss at me. I’m so intimidated.”
Antal had missed them both so much.
“No, Syvr’s right,” he said. The world swirled, and he was full, and merciful Void, he wanted this to last forever. “I don’t want to keep fighting. To live in the past. Tell me everything, all that you’ve been doing for the last fifty years.”
Syvr laughed. “Oh, you know. Traveling the Shattered Planes. Scouring secrets.”
“Traveling too much.” Ixli scoffed. “Avroz has been plying favors all over. Preparing for his Pilgrimage. Which means I”—her tail lashed—“have to make sure those favors go through. He’s even sent me out to the Contested Planes a few times.”
Antal frowned through his haze. “Avroz lost an antler tip. On the Contested Planes, he said. I thought that meant an aedari fight, but you still don’t have your bands?”
Ixli scoffed harder.
“We went with him,” Syvr said. Annoyed. “Favor for a terrified territory lord who’d spotted an aedari. We split up to track the trail. Avroz ran into the damn thing alone, fought it off. Found him back home the next day with the antler missing.”
Ixli looked livid at the recollection. Denied her bands, when they’d been so close.
“Let’s not talk about Avroz,” she growled.
Antal tipped a claw to his highest antler at that. This night was going too well.
“Agreed,” Syvr said. “We have more urgent matters.” They pressed a conspiring shoulder to Antal’s. “That human of yours can use Void ether. What the kindly fuck is that about?”
Antal’s groan made his head spin. “I wish I knew. I swear on Veshri’s antlers, I only take my eyes off her for five seconds.”
“You sound whipped.” Syvr smirked. “Antlers.”
Never mind. Friends were awful, actually. Antal’s sigh made Syvr cackle.
“Veshri’s teeth, you have it bad for this woman?”
Antal hesitated. He glanced at Ixli, the previous woman he’d had it bad for.
“We don’t have to talk about this,” he said. “If it makes you uncomfortable.”
“No, no, I…” The world was swirling, and Ixli grinned—actually grinned, a soft thing with no teeth. “Tell me. Please. I want to know you’re happy.”
“Dammit, Ixli,” Syvr said. “Sentimental bullshit for the second bottle!”
Antal contemplated how to answer. He was tipsy, and he trusted these daeyari, and the moment he thought of Fionamara…
“She’s the fiercest creature I’ve ever met.
Like nothing in all the Shattered Planes can stop her once she sets her mind to something.
She’s flayed me into pieces I never knew existed.
Smelted me back together, more whole than I’ve felt in a century.
She’s so unrelenting, and so soft, and by the merciless Void, I think I want to marry her. ”
Silence followed the confession.
Too much silence.
The weight of Syvr’s raised brow, Ixli’s parted lips, threatened to crush Antal alive.
“A human wedding,” he amended. “That thing they do with sweet food and dancing. Not a daeyari bonding, of course. I know my parents would never—”
“Are we invited?” Syvr asked.
“… What?”
“Your human wedding. Are we invited?”
“You… want to come?”
Another silence settled over the rooftop. Syvr’s gaze was a scalpel, impossible to escape. They frowned.
Then pulled Antal into an embrace.
Their hand cupped the back of his neck, claws gentle, foreheads pressed together. As close as daeyari ever got, all the sharpness of predators surrendered to proximity. Antal froze. Flinched, when Syvr’s tail brushed his.
“Little daeyari,” Syvr said softly. “Of course I want to come.”
There were cracks in Antal’s chest. Fifty years alone. Fifty years convinced he’d never have this again. The buzz of alcohol faded too quickly, a sliver of stark reality as he gripped Syvr back and held them like a lifeline in the Void.
“Ixli,” Syvr said. “Get that second bottle open—”
Both of them toppled as Ixli flung herself into the huddle. Her arm wrapped Syvr’s shoulders. The other hugged Antal so fiercely, his ribs threatened to crack.
“We’ll be there,” she vowed. “And we’ll be menaces.”
“I’ll give an awful speech,” Syvr added.
“I’ll bring cloth for the bleeding.”
“Human weddings don’t involve bleeding, Ixli.”
Antal had never been so blissfully broken. Not since Fionamara.
Maybe she was right. Maybe there was a path here where he didn’t have to sever every heartstring of his first two centuries. Where he could bare the soft, unguarded viscera of himself to another of his kind, without being shredded by claws and teeth.
Ixli uncorked the second bottle. The three daeyari huddled close, tails sprawled together on the tiles, coiled near to brushing. Antal downed another dose of scorching liquor, and his city swirled like shooting stars, and everything seemed as possible as the sky was wide.
“It’s a gorgeous city,” Syvr drawled, head tipped back.
“It is.” Antal stumbled on the words. “I hope it lasts.”
“You’ll be fine.” Syvr elbowed his ribs.
“The Daey Celva has too many old daeyari, stuck in their ways. But across the wider territories? There are other mushy daeyari like you. Not as extreme as you. But I’ve met plenty who oppose the old systems for governing humans.
Even some alliances between neighboring territories, sharing meals so they take fewer sacrifices. ”
Give those crotchety old daeyari a shake up, Fionamara had said. She thought his joining the Daey Celva could be a good thing. That he could do more good as part of the council.
Her words burrowed into him. He’d spent a century loathing the very idea of the Daey Celva. Now, he struggled to piece apart how much of that ire was directed at the council itself—and how much toward his father, choosing a path for him.
It was true, he’d have more influence. The chance to push for change in more than just Thomaskweld.
“It wasn’t bad,” Ixli mused. “The meal. As good as fresh.”
“Tell that to the Daey Celva.” Antal slumped, indulging a petty scowl. “Their territory protocols are a millennium old. And the candidates they’ve offered to replace Verne are atrocious.” Another place where he wouldn’t mind having more influence…
Syvr’s grin turned mischievous. “Maybe I should volunteer.”
Antal and Ixli laughed.
“You?” she said. “A territory lord?”
“Why not?” They counted on their claws. “I’m worldly as fuck. I’ve dissected how hundreds of governments operate—even dismantled a couple, but that stays between us. Plus, compared to you two clumps of dour ether? Other daeyari like me. I’d get approved in a snap.”
“Oh, sure,” Antal teased. “Still only solves one of my problems, with Tyvo abdicating.”
“Let Ixli take that territory.”
“Ixli?” Antal exclaimed.
“Me?” she snapped in unison.
“Sure, she’s prickly as a badger made of cactus spines,” Syvr said. “But Tyvo’s territory only has two neighbors. I replace Verne. Antal and I approve Ixli. Easy.”
It took too long before Antal noticed: Syvr had stopped joking.
“You’re not serious?” he asked in a hush.
“Once Avroz leaves on his Pilgrimage?” Syvr shrugged. “I’ll be looking for new work. Would be a fun change of pace to run a territory.”
Antal didn’t dare believe it. He turned to Ixli—only to find her brow furrowed, equally contemplative.
“Once I get my Sunsplitter bands,” she said, “I’ll need to dig into something new. Overseeing a territory could be… interesting.”
Antal’s chest was leaden. “You’re serious?”
Syvr slung an arm over his shoulders. “Plus, the chance to pester you more regularly? How could I pass that up?”
Two daeyari neighbors Antal could trust? Two friends within reach? Antal pushed to his feet, wobbling to catch his balance.
“You’re serious?” was all he seemed capable of saying.
Ixli’s grin was wicked. Warm. “I think we might have broken him this time, Syvr.”