Page 21 of Sunsplitter

Fi kept her guard up. Vavriter were the rarest of their three races, not as dangerous as daeyari—yet the last vavriter she’d known had been equal parts alluring and deadly.

This vavriter grinned, fangless.

“Antal.” He bowed and touched an antler tip. “Maelvasi kezros.”Welcome home.

Antal returned the gesture, spoke back in daeyari. “It’s good to see you, Geslam.”

Fi was, annoyingly, grateful for the language lessons this past year.

Inside the house, swift footsteps padded tile. Geslam stepped aside as a daeyari lurched onto the threshold, then froze just as swiftly.

Her mouth parted, eyes widening to pools of Void black and glowing red.

She had light gray skin, a face that could have been in her forties by human standards—despite seven points to each black antler, sevencenturiesold, the lengths carved in sunset hues anddecorated in silver chains. Slate hair wove three plaits between her antlers, fell loose to her shoulders below. Her dress was dark purple with cascading flowers in silver thread and agate, slitted at the thighs, room for slim legs and tail as it cut a delighted swish.

She had the same soft cheeks.

Irises such an identical shade of crimson, Fi withheld a gasp.

“Antal?” she said, a hopeful whisper at odds with fangs.

Fi could have broken bricks on Antal’s spine.

“Yme,” he returned, uncomfortably formal. “Thank you for inviting me—”

She raced down the stairs in a flurry of skirt and tail, practically throwing herself onto him—but not with a hug. Fi was flummoxed as the daeyari, Yme, folded claws into her palms, pressing the backs of her hands fondly against Antal’s chest. She leaned in to touch her forehead to his.

“Yzir virso,” she said.My son,so soft, it was nearly inaudible. “It’s good to see you.”

Antal performed a flawless impression of petrified wood.

Yme’s tail brushed his in the oddest, lightest gesture Fi had ever gawked at, Antal’s meek inhale like something out of a stupor. Slowly, he wound his tail with hers. His shoulders softened almost imperceptibly.

“Good to see you too, azaevi.”

Mother. Antal spoke the word differently to her than when he’d taught Fi. Like it meant something. Like it had aged for centuries on his tongue.

Fi shouldn’t be staring. She ought to clamp her mouth shut, focus on her boots, but it was sostrange. She’d never seen affection between daeyari, only snapping teeth. Yme brushed her knuckles over Antal’s cheek, claws still folded into her palm. Avoiding the claws made sense, if one were being polite.Was that why Antal sometimes looked at Fi so strangely when she brushed her fingers over him?

“Look at this!” Yme inspected an antler, arcing back over Antal’s head, then a short curve upward. Hers curved far higher. “They’re branching beautifully.”

“I suppose,” Antal said.

“And another point coming in already?”

“That’s how antlers grow, azaevi. What else did you expect—”

Another shadow appeared in the doorway.

A silent arrival. The smooth gait of a predator, despite his ornate attire: several shades of dark blue, layered tight for his tunic, loose in a shawl draping one shoulder and pooling midnight at his calves. Every hem was stamped in silver and dangling beads, yet not a rustle as he paused upon the threshold, observing his guests.

Antal went deathly still. As tense as the prey animal Fi had once been around daeyari.

She appraised the creature. Her first impression? He was old. Absurdly old. Mortals weakened with age, but daeyari only seemed to sharpen.

His eyes were darker than Antal’s, burgundy like wine. His skin was the same bone pale. The same knife-cut brow. The same uncompromising jaw. His blue-black hair was braided into a bun, framing nine-pointed antlers, the older tips wickedly sharp. Carvings covered the length with dahlias, constellations, foreign sigils in blue and green.

And something Fi had never seen before: a golden band on either antler, brighter than the other markings. Almost luminous.