Page 170 of Sunsplitter

Oh. No.

That particularly dreadful smirk never meant good things for Antal.

“Ixli, how did you know?” Fionamara dug her fingers into the box, returning with…claws. One of Ixli’s sets of reinforced metal tips. The weapons glinted on her human fingers, wickedly sharp, though not half as much as her grin.

Antal vacillated between terror, and the desire to kiss every finger on her hand. In other words, the usual extremes.

Syvr leaned close to whisper, “Betyou’llenjoy those, too.”

Antal tossed the empty vial at their head.

“They’re daeyari made,” Ixli said. “They may need adjustments to fit properly, but I’ve no doubt, you’ll wear them well.”

Fionamara tilted her hand forward and back, admiring the gift. The glisten in her eyes grew brighter. Of course, a weapon was what made her emotional.

“They’re gorgeous, Ixli. Thank you.” Softer, “All three of you. Thank you. I know I’m no daeyari, but…let me finish, Syvr!”

Syvr clamped their mouth shut. A dramatic hand gesture beckoned her to continue.

Fionamara slipped the metal claws back into the box. “I’m sorry I misjudged you, too.” She looked to Ixli, to Syvr, even a glance to Antal. “I know I’m different from you, but you’ve helped me feel like I belong here.”

Antal was relieved to hear it. He hated that she had to say it at all.

She should never have had to accompany him home disguised as an Arbiter rather than a partner. She should never have had to prove her worth by fighting an aedari. She should have sat beside them to receive her bands.

“It’s bullshit,” Antal said. “Only those of ‘immortal, Void-woven flesh’ are permitted entry to the Daey Celva? Avroz made me read that charter a thousand times. The detail’s a relic. Left over from the fissure, the council separating itself from the governance of the remaining mortal daeyari, a race that doesn’t even exist anymore. Yet that’s still the standard?”

“Perhaps you’ll change it,” Ixli said. “Once you’re appointed to the Daey Celva.”

He could.

Hewould. That spark of possibility, growing bolder—not just Antal, but Syvr and Ixli, their scheming on the rooftops of Thomaskweld, a plan for an alliance of neighboring territories. Fionamara, eyes locked with his in indomitable anticipation, a wordless promise that she’d fight tooth and claw for everything they set out to build.

“Perhaps all of us, together, could manage some change,” Antal said. “More than just protecting Thomaskweld. There are hundreds of daeyari territories. The humans who live in them deserve to do more than spectate the Daey Celva. They should have avoiceon it.”

Fionamara whistled. “Look at you, Antlers. Ready to make some old daeyari angry?”

He ignored Ixli’s snicker at the nickname. “It will be a daunting task. Edicts to rewrite, entire systems to dismantle. But we have to start… What’s wrong, Syvr?” Antal slumped, interpreting Syvr’s tight tail flicks as disapproval.

Until he noticed how alert they sat. Their attention, not on the conversation—a low growl as they stared upward… atanother daeyari, perched high atop the statue of Veshri, silhouetted in twilight. Watching.

Antal’s core went Void cold—the mere audacity of speaking a dream out loud, enough to summon his father to crush it again.

And with startling swiftness. Avroz shouldn’t have noticed their absence so soon. He shouldn’t have found them here. Antalshouldhave been able to covet one single evening free from his father’s claws. But that was never how this worked. He shrank like a guilty child, rendered miniscule beneath that towering gaze, never able to run far enough.

Except… the daeyari’s eyes were too light a red. The antlers curved too high.

NotAvroz.

The figure slipped sideways like a wisp of shadow, vanishing.

Ixli was first on her feet, Antal close behind. This was a public shrine. Any daeyari could visit, but etiquette demanded one predator didn’t sneak up on another unannounced, not if intentions were peaceful.

“Daeyari!” Ixli called out, still armor-clad. “Show yourself. This is a hallowed place.”

Silence hung upon the old stones, drifted in whispering grass fronds.

Then, a hushed laugh, scarcely louder than the breeze.