Page 112 of Sunsplitter

“Syvr?” Ixli snarled.

“I didn’t want to make things worse,” they said quietly. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Ixli. I figured Antal would come back when he was ready. I didn’t realize it would take so long.”

For Ixli, Syvr wore the look of a chastising mentor. For Antal, they softened, all raw and rib-rending.

“When Verne staged her coup,” they said, “I was working on another Plane, so far from here. By the time I’d heard the news, you’d already settled everything. As Veshri watches from the Void, I would have been there for you, Antal. No matter what Avroz said.”

Antal listened to his old friends confess their apologies. Their struggles. This quiet moment in a sunlit forest, so treacherously close to how things used to be.

And it hurt.

Because Antal wanted this.

He wanted to comfort Ixli, to hear how she’d grown, to see those softer moments when she let her guard down. He wanted to sit with Syvr for a long evening and just talk, share secrets and stories and laughter with no strings attached.

Antal wanted all this, so badly it ached. But it wasn’t worth the cost.

“I appreciate the kind words,” Antal said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to continue your hunt without me. Fionamara and I are returning to the Winter Plane.”

He could have snapped his antlers off, and received less stunned looks.

Antal felt wretched enough. Minutes ago, he’d sat at Ixli’s side and vowed to help find her aedari. He’d felt emboldened. Optimistic.

Then he’d returned to Fionamara with claw marks in her stomach.

He had an older promise to uphold: protecting her. Antal had promised her. He’d promised her dying brother. He’d promised himself he’d never let another lover come to harm through his own hubris.

Even if it meant leaving everything else behind.

“What did you say?”

Of course, the most slicing words came from behind him. Fionamara, quicker to fangs than either daeyari. Antal faced her with what courage he could muster.

“This was a mistake,” he said. “I never should have brought you here.”

She stepped closer, teeth bared. All daeyari intimidation tactics. She wore them like a costume, a mortal play at immortality.

“You made a deal, Antal. We need this deal. For you. For Thomaskweld.”

“None of that will be worth anything if it gets you killed!” He bared his real fangs at her, flexed real claws. “We’ll find another way. One that doesn’t require an aedari.”

“This is our best option. Don’t you dare walk away.”

She was angry. She had been for days, building steam through their hunt for the aedari, the way he’d pulled away on the rooftop in Thomaskweld that morning, her scream when he’d left her behind. Each glare was a splinter in Antal’s ribs.

But he was angry, too. This vicious woman, this bristling creature he’d given his heart to, but she kept digging her heels in deeper, more and more reckless. An old vice. She should know better. She should know she didn’t have to prove herself like this.

“It’s too dangerous,” Antal said.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me!” Fionamara shouted back.

“Someone has to! Because no matter how loud you shout, no matter how stubborn you act, you’re still as fragile as anyhuman.” His fangs snapped on the word. “You’re still flesh and bone. I could still rip you to pieces with my bare claws. So can Avroz. And so can that aedari!”

He realized his mistake the moment the words were out.

Fionamara’s eyes went so wide. Deep brown in this light, framed in Void-black eyeliner.

She passed a moment in stunned silence.