51 Until the Void takes me
Fi, like any starry-eyed little girl with a less-than-healthy home life growing up, had envisioned her wedding day many ways.
A giant party perhaps, a night of dancing and food and music.
Or maybe a quiet retreat, two lovers secreting away to confess their devotion.
Whatever she’d imagined, it had never involved the entire city of Thomaskweld on the guest list. Nor a dressing room in the visitor wing of the capitol building, standing mirrors drawn into the center of the aurora-themed bedroom.
Definitely, there’d been no expectation of a governor in full regalia, midnight jacket with silver buttons and a ceremonial sash across her shoulder, watching from a chair in the corner.
“We didn’t have to invite the whole city,” Fi told Kashvi, not for the first time.
“You’re marrying a Lord Daeyari. And you think the whole city doesn’t want to snoop? Besides, will do wonders for his public image.”
“If his public image gets any softer, I’ll have to scoop him off the cobblestones—”
“Stop fidgeting!” Iliha complained. She bent at Fi’s back, slender fingers making efficient work of clothing ties.
The dress, too, was more than Fi had ever imagined.
A crimson bodice encased her torso, strapless, an overlay of black silk flowers framing her breasts and bunched at her waist. The tulle skirt blazed red to silver ombré, veiled in black gossamer and tiny white moonstones, pooling like starlight at the hem.
Fi’s hair, matching curls of Void and crimson, fell against her shoulders. Maroon painted her lips, silver dust on her lashes—bright as the silver iris glowing back in the mirror.
Since Antal’s appointment to the Dusk Council, there’d been a dizzying number of meetings to attend. Her favorite had been, of course, hearing Avroz declared guilty and dragged away in glowing red handcuffs.
A close second, the council had summoned her to stand before them and explain what, exactly, had happened to her eye.
The story had been impressive enough that Fi earned a “partial-immortal” invitation to all future meetings.
The grumbling among the older daeyari suggested this decision wasn’t unanimous.
Qirza had silenced them with a dry, “Perhaps the dissenting councilors would like to share their personal experiences of speaking with Veshri?”
Qirza seemed fun.
Finished with the dress, Iliha fussed with Fi’s hair, settling the curls just right on her shoulders, pinning back the front strands to display each gold-marked ear.
“You look stunning,” Kashvi said with rare solemnity. “That daeyari better realize how lucky he is.”
“Lucky to have the honor of my presence?” Fi said mildly. “Or that you haven’t shot him with a crossbow yet?”
Kashvi’s muttered, “It wouldn’t have to be lethal…” made Iliha chuckle.
A knock sounded at the door.
Ixli slipped inside, dressed in a rare outfit of not-armor: dark trousers and a soft tunic trimmed in white vines that matched her hair. A wide braid topped her head, several smaller plaits around her antlers.
“Welcome,” Fi greeted airily, “esteemed neighbor.”
When Ixli and Syvr had been appointed to the neighboring territories, the daeyari had celebrated with that strange, silver-swirling liquor of theirs. Fi had finally sneaked a sip, and Void alive, the headache she’d had the next morning. All worth it, to see Antal smile.
Ixli took a long look at Fi, eyes wide enough to flatter.
“You’re going to ruin him,” Ixli praised.
Fi scoffed. “I’ve already ruined him. All the rest is semantics.”
She’d not expected any more visitors. Ixli’s tail dipped, as the door opened wider.
Yme entered on wary steps, the look of a predator caught off guard, carrying a sizable metal box and a bouquet of midnight dahlias. Her purple dress hung to the floor, a silver shawl draping one shoulder. A single braid crowned her head, sides loose.
Bright crimson eyes—Antal’s eyes—swept over Fi.
“You look wonderful,” Yme said.
Fi appraised the words as barbless. Entreating, even.
For all Yme’s faults, she’d stood with them against Avroz, provided the most important testimony before the Dusk Council.
Since the trial, she and Antal had met a few times, timid steps toward reconciliation.
Her demeanor around Fi was slower to warm.
Yme crossed the room with her gifts. The dahlia petals were velvet blue, glinting specks of silver as she set them down on a table. A heavy silence followed. Ixli, Kashvi, Iliha, all watched with protective scrutiny as Yme faced Fi.
“He’s chosen well.” Yme said. “I’m honored to have you.”
She offered the box.
Fi took it, impressed by the heavy metal. She cracked it open. Gasped.
A circlet rested inside, silver polished to a mirror sheen. Delicate strands of interwoven metal formed the band—then up, sharp points branching on either side, reminiscent of antlers.
“Syvr helped me find a human smith,” Yme said. “An excellent craftsman. It suits you well, I think.”
The piece was gorgeous. Fi gaped at her reflection in each curve of metal, the impossible lightness as she plucked the circlet from its box. She ran her fingers over the antlers, pricked a thumb on the points. Not just beautiful, but fierce.
A few months ago, Fi had thought she needed antlers, for Antal to love her properly.
Almost laughable now, the feeling of holding exactly what she’d yearned for—of realizing she didn’t need them. She could make immortals tremble, without any fangs. She could stand proudly at Antal’s side, without antlers or tail.
Still, Fi knew the significance of Yme gifting these. She knew the significance of the midnight dahlias, the symbol of Antal’s family.
Fi didn’t need antlers—but she’d gladly wear this, if only because it looked very cool.
Yme bowed. “Thank you for inviting me today. I’ll leave you to prepare.” She turned.
“Yme?” Fi called after her.
Yme paused, tail low. She wore concern like her son, bright in her eyes with a subtle twist of the mouth. Fi swept her skirt to one side, lowering herself onto a chair. She kept her chin up, as always. Tone mild, as always.
“Would you braid my hair?”
Yme stared at her.
The whole room stared at her—Iliha, notably harder than the others, after all the time she’d spent getting Fi’s curls perfect. Fi cast a look of apology. Iliha clicked her tongue.
Still wary, Yme returned to Fi’s side.
“You want me to…”
“Braid it, if you don’t mind.” Fi faced the mirror, casual, contrasted against Yme’s flustered reflection.
The daeyari’s touch was light at first, a single claw testing the weight of Fi’s curls.
Silently, she set to work. Her motions were practiced, her lines crisp as she separated the top section of Fi’s hair. As Yme began her task, she relaxed, tail dropping to a focused sway.
The room settled with her. Kashvi found a seat on the sofa, Iliha nestled at her side with only a minor scowl at seeing her work undone. Ixli perched on the windowsill, cross-legged and tail content. Fi, pleased with her diplomacy, watched Yme in the mirror.
Before long, her brows rose, mouth open in astonishment.
Yme’s work was masterful. She wove the most intricate top braid Fi had ever seen, a thick central plait bordered in thinner accents, leaving Iliha’s flawless curls draping Fi’s shoulders.
Yme placed the circlet at the dividing line between braided and loose hair, where a daeyari’s antlers would sprout.
Outside the windows, the murmurs of the crowd grew. The room was quiet, a comfortable space despite unusual company. Yme plucked midnight dahlias from their stems, piling the blooms at the back of Fi’s head, fastening her hair amidst glittering petals.
Not just a braid. A crown.
With the ceremony due to begin soon, Yme and Ixli bade farewell. Iliha moved around the room, packing up her hairbrushes and makeup.
Fi had no family to walk her to her wedding: no mother, no father, no brother.
At the door, Kashvi offered an arm. Fi took it with a somber smile.
They walked down an empty hallway of the capitol building, part of the wing demolished by Fi’s energy capsule bomb all those months ago.
Rebuilt nicer than before, in her opinion.
Her heels clacked dark tile, skirt swishing, moonstones glinting white opalescence.
Tall windows were filled with purple dusk and an arc of aurora.
Antal waited in a slant of twilight, faced away. Fi’s besotted heart leapt at the sight.
Her daeyari had always been handsome, but today, there was unfair beauty in the high tilt of his jaw, the glow of crimson eyes in dim light.
He was always sharp, but today, the fit of his slim black pants was cruel, his jacket a flawless match to Fi’s dress, deep red at the collar shifting into starlight silver, luminescent with swirls of vesper fabric.
Syvr was with him, smoothing a strand of the top braid Antal’s hair was just long enough to weave, a new and—Fi had to concede—delicious look on him.
His antlers glinted with silver caps and golden bands.
Syvr said something low, unintelligible, followed by a laugh.
Antal smiled, a simple ease that looked more gorgeous on him than any attire.
He sniffed. Perked.
When he saw Fi, his eyes widened, a visible inhale lifting his chest.
Kashvi patted Fi’s arm then slipped away. Syvr departed with a smirk, then a friendly brush of tail against Fi’s side. She hardly noticed.
It was impossible to notice much else, the way Antal was staring at her.
Alone in the hallway, he took her in slowly.
First, her hair, the circlet, earning her a predator’s head tilt.
His eyes ticked down, lingering on the swell of her breasts, blatant enough to flush Fi’s cheeks.
Down again, his attention turned glossy, wistfully tracing the curve of her waist. His mouth parted, tongue brushing his lip slow enough to make her shiver.
“You look startled, daeyari,” she greeted, low in the quiet hallway.
“Do I?” he returned, rough. “How do I look when I’m startled, Fionamara?”