Page 160 of Sunsplitter

Fi burrowed against Antal’s chest. She let his warmth swallow her, counted each rise and fall of his breaths until hersslowed to match. She had to fight this. She couldn’t let Avroz win.

But still, a hollow lingered in her chest. One a human could never fill.

Daeyari didn’t get hangovers, but Antal wondered if this must be what one felt like: nauseous, unsteady, a twinge in his head right between the eyes. Merciless Void, how did humans bear existing like this?

He had no alcohol to blame. Nor even aedari blood, the buzz worn off to crisp reality.

Today, he faced the Daey Celva.

Fionamara helped him dress. She paced around his old room, his past and present colliding. He’d woken to her nestled in his arms. Wearing his shirt. Someone praise his restraint for not taking her again right there, but regrettably, they didn’t have the time.

He wore his finest attire: black trousers embroidered with silver up the sides, a long jacket accented with vesper fabric stars and dahlias in midnight velvet, the emblem of his family. Fionamara smoothed the sleeves. She buttoned the front, leaving a comfortable gap at his collar, her fingers a tease against his throat.

She smiled. It seemed… off.

“Are you well, Fionamara?”

“Fine. Just making sure my handsome Lord Daeyari looks his best.” Her mouth twisted, contemplative, as she poked his bare antlers. “What do we do with these?”

“No adornments today.” He’d be expected to arrive unembellished.

A knock sounded at his door. Antal called the guest to enter.

Ixli slipped inside. And Antal had worried he was overdressed. Her undertunic and leggings were Void black vesper fabric glinting with silver-edged scales. Her silver armor gleamed like hardened moonlight. But most meticulous, her hair, woven into white plaits and silver clasps between her antlers, a loose fall of snow to her shoulders.

She greeted Fionamara with a nod. Antal, with a squint. Just like old times.

“Your hair’s a mess.” Ixli ran claws through the longer strands atop his head. “Too short to braid, but nearly there. We could try.”

He swatted her hand away. “This will have to be good enough.”

They moved to the sitting room, the house abuzz with activity. Yme had gathered a pile of midnight dahlias on a windowsill, Geslam helping her sort the stems. Syvr lounged on a cushion, dressed more formally than usual, their shirt and jacket embroidered with ocean waves to match their sea salt scent.

But it was Avroz who looked the daeyari dignitary, waiting at the center of the room, multilayered robes an ombre in every shade of evening, a setting sun embroidered in peach across the bottom hem, silver stars across midnight fabric on his shoulders.

He looked to Antal, and there it was again, that heart-stilling moment where something like pride warmed his father’s face.

Then Avroz looked to Fionamara, scowling again.

“She stays here,” Avroz said. “Mortals aren’t permitted in the halls of the Daey Celva.”

“Surely you can make an exception.” Antal had thought. He’d hoped. “She killed an aedari,izaevi.She could at least sit in the gallery—”

“Mortals arenot permitted.”

There was no reason to it. Only spite. Only the old way of doing things. Antal bared his teeth to argue—then stopped, when Fionamara touched his arm.

“It’s ok,” she said. “I’ll stay here.”

Antal stiffened in alarm. Fionamara, spitting and fighting? Expected. Fionamara giving in without protest? Unheard of. Suspicious. Possibly the most terrifying thing she could have said.

He pulled her aside, into the hall where they could whisper in privacy.

“Why are you staring at me like a frightened turtle?” Fionamara chided. “And stand up straight. We didn’t dress you up all nice just so you could slouch, daeyari.”

That was more in character. Something still felt off.

“I promised you, we’d do things together,” Antal said.