38 I’ll have you know that I’m God’s favorite #3
Fi frowned. The daeyari made a ritual of drinking aedari blood, of marking their antlers with gold. She’d been given her bands in front of a statue of Veshri. Even he wore golden accents on his highest antler tips.
But that tone he was using. It stuck like plaque inside her skull.
You don’t approve? Fi asked.
Am I glad to be responsible for half of a Planeverse-wide war? No. Not particularly. His tail swished low, catching on wisps of Void trailing off his robe. But as I said, I don’t control what the daeyari think. Or how they act. I lost any ability to do so, long ago.
But you could—
I tried. For centuries, millennia. The daeyari revere me in the abstract, but when I spoke, they always found ways to misinterpret. To ignore anything that didn’t fit their convictions. Let them settle their own war. Their opinions shouldn’t determine your path. That is yours alone.
Fi could spot the tip of an iceberg. So much more he could tell her. Veshri became immortal before the daeyari and aedari met. He’d know where the dust-birds came from, how the fighting started, why he was gritting his fangs so much over his own people.
But her lungs begged for air. The cold of the Void sank into her. Curse this squishy mortal flesh. She couldn’t stay much longer.
The first immortal aedari was like you? Fi asked. A mortal once?
Solemnity settled over Veshri. Fi felt the added weight on her chest.
She was.
Fi swore she tasted… sand? Something hot slaked her tongue, unsettling, yet familiar.
She’d never heard a daeyari refer to an aedari as she.
You knew her? Fi asked.
Veshri was silent a long moment. Phantom ants swarmed Fi’s belly—then stopped, as abruptly as the daeyari’s expression settled back to focused calm.
That is a much longer story. For another day.
He spoke not unkindly, but firm. For now, I offer wisdom, in the hope that you won’t be stuck in the path so many others have fallen into.
You know not all humans are the same. You’ve learned, I assume, not all daeyari are the same.
This is true of every species in the Shattered Planes—even the aedari.
Not all of them need be your enemy, but immortals can be stubborn.
You probably know that, too. He pressed a hand to his chest. I remain hopeful, for those few who seek change.
Sure, no pressure. Fi was just up against most of daeyari society. She might become immortal, apparently.
My daeyari wants to change things, she said. So do I.
He’s protective of you. An uncommon pairing.
Veshri spoke with the ghost of a grin on ancient lips—which was very sweet, but obnoxious, considering Fi might be accruing frostbite on her internal organs. She wanted to ask more, to ply this immortal with questions, but all she managed was a wince as her teeth shivered.
I’ve kept you here long enough. Veshri offered a hand. Shall I return you to your daeyari?
She had to. Fi had crossed paths with this elusive daeyari twice, had to believe they’d meet again. She reached for his hand.
Before their fingers touched, she hesitated. One more question.
Why did you do it? she asked. Why did you become immor- tal?
This pause came softer. Veshri indulged a grin, a small thing against his age-hallowed face. Isn’t it obvious? One of the few things worth seeking immortality for. He grasped her hand. To be with someone I loved.
As black took Fi’s vision, the last thing she felt was a bloom in her chest, warm like summer sun.
She returned to the Twilit Plane with a monstrous gasp, inhaling as much air as would fit in her lungs.
This, consequently, ended up being too much air.
Fi coughed, then gasped again, then coughed again, several repetitions before her lungs stopped burning.
The dusk-lit meadow wasn’t hot, but blessed warmth sank into her skin.
Veshri was gone. Only his statue watched over her.
There were, however, three daeyari waiting on the platform. They appeared to have been arguing. Fi could only imagine the questions she’d left Antal to deal with, Syvr and Ixli cornering him like hyenas.
Antal ran to her first, pulling her into a hug that lifted her boots off the ground. Fi inhaled his familiar ozone. His nose pressed warm to her cheek.
“You’re cold as ice,” he said. “Come here, we’ll get you a coat—”
“Hey, real quick before that,” Syvr said, peering around Antal. “Could we ask—”
“What the fuck, Fi!” Ixli shouted. “You’ve met Veshri?”
Syvr clicked their tongue. “Ixli, have some delicacy. You’re supposed to work up to these things.”
“I don’t care about delicacy, Syvr. I care about how she fucking met Veshri before.”
Fi ferreted out of Antal’s embrace. The chill of the Void receded from her bones. The chill of Veshri’s words clung tighter, questions of daeyari and aedari and paths to immortality.
But she had to settle one thing first. Warmth in her marrow, driving back the uncertainty, a smile blooming on her lips.
“I’ll tell you everything. Later?” Fi took Antal’s hand, heart fluttering in anticipation. “Could we talk first? Privately. There’s something you should know.”