Page 220 of Sunsplitter

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, butfierce.

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’tneedantlers—but she’d gladly wear this, if only because it lookedvery 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.