50 Morning in Thomaskweld
Avroz was the first council member accused of treason in a millennium.
He was the first found guilty in over a millennium.
One month after the trial, a crisp morning bloomed in Thomaskweld.
The cold wind down the valley carried scents of pine and ice, ruffling the embroidered collar of Antal’s shirt.
His hair—long enough to braid now—wove a simple plait between his antlers.
As usual, the main avenue hummed with voices and trolley wheels, the river rumbling in the background.
But one feature of the city, most unusual about this morning:
“Councilor Antal,” Qirza greeted. “Thank you for inviting me.”
The title was still settling onto Antal’s shoulders.
He’d been a mess of anxiety through his father’s trial, waiting for everything to crumble.
Perhaps the Daey Celva would revoke Antal’s nomination.
Perhaps Avroz would argue too well, would emerge victorious and poised to crush everything Antal held dear.
Even when that didn’t happen, his father sentenced and a month passed since, Antal woke every morning with worry churning his stomach.
Less, every day. His chest, a little lighter.
In the meantime, Antal had lost his father’s support for codifying the new governing system in Thomaskweld, an end to live sacrifices. Which meant Antal had to do it on his own.
Qirza appraised his city with an auditor’s acuity.
The wind bit at a lavender shawl that draped to her thighs, silver hems embroidered with star-shaped beads.
Antal had dressed even more formally for the speaker’s visit, a forest green jacket from his human tailor, silver vesper fabric glinting pine branches and starlight.
He was getting used to wearing daeyari attire again, if only because Fionamara tended to bite her lip whenever Antal put it on.
He bowed and touched his highest antler tip. “Shall we begin, Councilor Qirza?”
“Of course. I’m eager to observe.”
Antal spent all morning touring the speaker of the Daey Celva around Thomaskweld—every scrap of evidence to convince her this proposal was worth consideration.
He took her to the energy factories, so Qirza could see how humans managed the more complex daeyari energy conduits he’d installed.
He took her to the city’s newest district, so she could see apartments being built, a surge in population drawn by fresh ideals.
He took her to the hospital, so she could see the records of donations, small but growing, proving the shift hadn’t undermined his food source.
Most important of all, their final walk up the main avenue.
A year ago, the sight of two daeyari prowling the city would have driven the place empty.
Now, as a caribou-drawn carriage passed, the coachman tipped his hat to Antal.
At the tavern, Iliha heckled from the doorstep, followed by a warm invitation to return later for coffee.
At the clothing shop, the tailor called out admiration for Antal’s coat.
All of it, evidence that humans and daeyari could live together, if treated with dignity.
Qirza stayed stoic, eyes probing every interaction, her tail a contemplative sway.
At last, they returned to the capitol plaza. Slanted Winter sunlight filled the stained-glass windows, glistened over frosted cobblestones, gleamed against Qirza’s antlers as she appraised the rebuilt government building.
“What would you care to see next, councilor?” Antal asked, employing the magnanimous tone Fionamara had helped him practice. “We could tour one of the conductive metal refineries? Or perhaps the artisan district? I can also highly recommend the music hall.”
“A kind offer,” Qirza said. “But I believe I’ve seen enough.”
Dread prickled Antal’s chest. He was new to these politics, had only ever trailed in his father’s shadow. Antal was still a probationary council member, still much influence to earn, yet the endeavor fell on his shoulders: his city, his people, to protect or to fail.
He awaited Qirza’s judgment.
“The work you’ve done here is impressive,” she said. “There are refinements needed, of course. But I’ll gladly support an interim approval, and I look forward to continued updates on your progress.”
Antal’s shock manifested in a frozen tail. A slow blink.
He could hear his father’s chastisement: a daeyari ought to never betray surprise, ought to never reveal his hand. But Antal wasn’t his father. And Qirza’s soft laugh seemed more unguarded than anything Avroz had ever offered.
“You’ve built something interesting here,” Qirza said. “Something unique. We daeyari often cling to the ways things have always been, but what a wretched way to pass eternity, never considering change.” She lowered. “I’m glad to see you differ from your father in that regard.”
Qirza was an intimidating daeyari. Antal knew her to be stern, but fair, moved by evidence and authenticity. Her endorsement was a mark of great merit.
Antal had thought he’d need Avroz to see this proposal through.
Yet here he stood, strong enough on his own.
He bowed, touching a claw to his highest antler. “You have my thanks, councilor, for your valuable time and support. I welcome your guidance.” A pause. “Avroz was…”
Qirza scoffed. “I know how he was.”
Antal had rarely seen this side of her, not a lack of composure, but the tiniest fissure. Another gesture of confidence, gifted by a daeyari with antler roots as old as the capitol plaza.
“You haven’t visited him?” she asked, more curious than accusing.
No, Antal hadn’t.
Avroz’s guilt had been decided swiftly. Longer debate had been necessary to decide what to do with him.
Execution was out of the question, with the threat of reincarnation.
Banishment was the typical sentence for egregious crimes, but the council worried over Avroz’s involvement with the aedari, his potential for retaliation.
They’d settled on imprisonment, to be reevaluated at a future time.
A difficult and energy-intensive endeavor for daeyari, the constant guards and charged bindings necessary to prevent escape.
Despite high security, Antal could levy his position on the council for a visit, could confront his father one last time to see if anything had changed.
But that would only keep giving Avroz power over him.
“I don’t think there’s anything more to say,” Antal replied, his chest growing lighter still.
Qirza nodded quiet approval.
“As for my proposal,” Antal continued, “I hope this interim approval applies to more than just my territory?”
“Ah, yes. I assume your new neighbors wish to adopt the system as well?”
New neighbors. Antal could hardly believe that, either.
One of his first acts on the Daey Celva—after the treason business—had been nominating Syvr to take Verne’s former territory. The process had been, true to Syvr’s prediction, swift: Antal’s vote a given, the remaining territory neighbors swayed by some combination of dazzling smile or owed favors.
Then, Ixli’s vote had passed just last week, Antal and Syvr agreeing unanimously to appoint her to the territory Tyvo had abdicated.
The celebration afterward had been momentous, all three daeyari gathered in Antal’s sitting room and laughing like they wanted the stars to hear, several bottles of swirling silver liquor uncorked between them.
“More than that,” Antal said, bolder, “I’ve spoken with other territory lords, interested in an alternative to living sacrifices. Across the Season-Locked Planes. Maybe farther.”
Qirza returned a thoughtful hum. “You aren’t the first to try something like this.
None as extreme as your version. Though you are, I’d say, in a unique position to attempt these changes and have your humans believe they’re genuine, given your prior history of territory governance. And given, of course…”
She glanced to the stairs of the capitol building.
Fionamara descended the steps, head held tall as a Winter-honed deity.
Sunlight tangled in her hair. Cold air bloomed color in her cheeks, darker red painting her lips. She wore black boots embroidered with silver snow fractals, a silver jacket crisp as moonbeams, the cuffs and collar inlaid with red stone—his colors, and hers.
And of course, that ruthless silver eye.
Fionamara grinned at both immortals, touching a finger to the spot above her head where antlers would be. Antal guessed that, for many daeyari, the gesture would be obnoxious at best, insolent at worst. A grin tipped Qirza’s lips.
“Greetings, councilor,” Fionamara said in daeyari.
“Voz-relev,” Qirza returned.
Void-touched.
Several daeyari had begun using the title when Fionamara had testified before the Daey Celva. She’d donned a smirk and not admonished them.
Her greeting for Antal was softer, veiled lashes and a gloved hand offered at her side. He lay his tail in her palm, warmth blooming in his chest at the light squeeze of her fingers.
He braced, on instinct, for a challenge.
Qirza said nothing, head tilted in mild intrigue. On the day Antal had accused Avroz of treason, Qirza had permitted Fionamara entry to the Daey Celva gallery. Fionamara’s eye made her part immortal, she’d argued.
But Qirza would have allowed it anyway—she’d admitted weeks later, a whispered passing between her and Antal in a hallway—after being told Fionamara was his partner.
Bonds of choice are stronger than bonds of blood, Qirza had said, then kept walking, as though there was no more discussion needed.
“How have you enjoyed Thomaskweld?” Fionamara asked. “I hope Councilor Antal has given you a memorable tour.”
“Indeed,” Qirza returned. “You have my support for this new direction. I hope the transition continues peaceably. Humans and daeyari still have a long history of grievances.”
“Well.” Fionamara braced a hand on her hip. “Maybe, if the Daey Celva had a human representative, my people would feel our voices were better heard?”
Antal worried, still, she pushed too much. He flicked his tail in her hand, urging delicacy.
Qirza scoured her with sharp eyes. Then, an amused look at Antal. “Perhaps, if a council member were to make the proposal, we could discuss it.”
He pitied any daeyari on that council, not realizing what beast they were up against.
“But I’ll be on my way,” Qirza said, lighter, the hint of a grin. “I wouldn’t want to take too much of your time, when you have a wedding to plan.”
Antal bowed his lowest yet. “I’ll be honored to see you there, speaker.”
Qirza departed with a snap of static on Antal’s tongue, optimism warming his chest.
“A human councilor…” Fionamara mused, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
“They’d have to be fierce,” Antal said. “Accustomed to wrangling beasts.”
Her grin alone could flay any of those old daeyari. “They don’t stand a chance.”
No. They certainly didn’t.
His fearsome beast nuzzled a nose to his cheek, a contented purr on her lips. Antal breathed in the sweet ember scent of her hair, daring to imagine the endless things she could accomplish. The things they could accomplish, together.
“Proud of you,” she said with taunting affection. “Now, shall we get to planning that wedding, Lord Daeyari?”