Page 57 of Sunsplitter

Antal scowled. “She worries too much.”

Not the worst thing Yme could complain about his visit. And his muscles were plenty toned. Fionamara certainly thought so, with how eagerly she ran her hands over them.

“No, I see her point,” Syvr said gravely. “Look at you. Nothing but antler and bone.”

“By what criteria?”

“A scant step away from the Void.”

“I’m no scrawnier than you, Syvr.”

“And what have you done to yourhair? Look how short it is! Can you even braid it?”

Before Antal could protest, Syvr pinched a strand of hair between their claws, frowning at it with funerary despair. A grave offense. No greater violation of daeyari personal space. When Antal batted their hand away, Syvr snickered.

Antal flinched at the unexpected urge to laugh with them.

Old habits were the hardest to strangle. He’d known Syvr since his antlers were velvet stubs. His father’s loyal kezri, a cunning spy.

But for as long as Antal could remember, whenever Syvr had returned from trips to far-off Planes, they’d brought back gifts for him. Toys and smells from other worlds when he was a child. Stories as he’d grown, some of the fondest memories Antal had of home, those nights sitting with Syvr in a quiet corner of his mother’s garden, talking and laughing until his father’s latest chastisement felt a little farther away.

Antal had no siblings by blood. He’d had Syvr instead.

“You’ve been gone, what, fifty years?” Syvr appraised Antal with a softer grin. “You look well, Antal. How is the Winter Plane treating you?”

The words didn’t slice like Ixli’s. No dripping condescension like Avroz. They were the first daeyari who seemed genuinely interested in the answer.

Like the others, Syvr had never visited in fifty years.

But in Antal’s time on the Winter Plane, the governor’s office had occasionally received odd packages addressed to the LordDaeyari. Dried flowers. Glowing crystal. A bottle of silver wine. All subtle enough to slip beneath Avroz’s attention. Antal had never known what to make of the gifts, whether the reminders of home were meant to ache or console.

He wanted to smile back. Merciless Void, he wanted to enjoy the company of a single friendly face in this wretched place. Syvr was…

Avroz’sspy. Of course they knew how to put anyone at ease. Antal clung to the guard he’d let slip. Foolish, to trust anyone beneath his father’s hand.

“The Winter Plane has been surprisingly murderous of late,” Antal said, flat.

“Fair enough. You should have seen Qirza’s face when you sent Verne’s head back in a box.” Syvr’s tail flicked, thoughtful. “I never took you for a ‘head in a box’ kind of daeyari.”

A necessity, with his territory neighbors watching. “Was Qirza angry?”

“At opening a head in a box in the middle of the council floor?” Syvr grinned, as if delighting in the memory. “Possibly. But Verne started it. Why would Qirza be angry at you?”

“Everyoneis angry at me.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Just because Ixli’s been scoffing enough air to produce her own storm system. What did you say to her?”

Antal tensed. “Nothing.”

“Ah, yes. ‘Nothing’ typically has that effect on people.” Syvr’s tail swished amusement.

Antal grimaced, painfully aware that sayingnothingwas the root of the problem.

“So that’s one,” Syvr said. “Not unexpected, if we’re being honest with ourselves. Who else is giving you trouble?”

Antal looked pointedly at Avroz—who also, pointedly, hadn’t looked his way again.

“Well…” Syvr gave a resigned exhale. “You know how he gets, one-track mind and all.”