Page 63 of Sunsplitter

“Not during business hours.”

Fi swirled her whiskey. Her defense mechanisms bristled on instinct: deny and deflect any hint of weakness, as if it might strangle her. And yes, she knew better, and all that bullshit. Knew that bottling things up only let them fester. Knew there was strength in vulnerability.

Following through was the hard part.

“Well, Antal is… a daeyari,” Fi explained.

Kashvi stared. Blinked. “I noticed.”

“And I’m not,” Fi furthered.

Kashvi’s glare hardened to a murderous edge.

“And I thought that was fine! And I think we are. Fine. But…”

“But?”

Fi clicked her nails against her glass. Took another drink.

“But his dad almost ate me. And his mom seems upset by my mere existence. And despite all the shit Antal has been through, he says he’s missed being around other daeyari. And that’s not something I can give him.”

Kashvi listened with brow lifted, taking a long drink of her whiskey.

Fi threw up her hands. “And I guess I don’t really know how to deal with that! And also, I’ve never had… what would you call it?… a healthy long-term relationship. There was Astrid, but she ended up trying to kill me multiple times, so maybe that’s not the best example.”

Kashvi’s brow migrated ever higher.

Fi hunched over the table. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.” She took another drink. Fire warmed her belly, hopefully enough to clear out the rest of her.

Kashvi leaned back on her stool, watching snow drift past the window. She touched her earring, a dangling glass capsule set in rose gold, the interior swirling with silver energy.

A marriage pact. Iliha wore a matching capsule, clasped on a chain that swung against her chest as she flitted between tables. The energy stored within each capsule was a mix from both partners, their magical essence swirling in harmony.

“When I met Iliha,” Kashvi said, “she loves reading. Every night before bed, she’s got these cute little reading glasses on, a book in her lap. And I, being a sappy piece of shit, thought I’d try it out. Just for her.”

“Let me guess,” Fi said gloomily. “You tried it and loved it?”

Not like she could grow claws if she just thought hard enough—

“Fuck no,” Kashvi said. “Books are boring as the pit of the Void.”

Fi frowned. “But you’re the governor. You read reports all day?”

“For work. Who wants to go through that torture forfun?”

Oh. Well. Take that one off the potential birthday list.

“I tried,” Kashvi said. “I couldn’t do it, and I felt like shit. Something I couldn’t give to her. But then I realized? I can ask what she’s reading. I can listen to her talk about her books, and I can buy her more books, and I can send her to book clubs to talk about books with other people who like books. And when she gets home, she has this huge smile, and I just want to…”

Kashvi sighed, wistful. The softest she ever got, talking about Iliha.

“The point is,” Kashvi said, “once the butterflies settle? You have to wade through the mud again. You have to find ways to live together. Sometimes, that means bending a little to fit your partner better. Sometimes it means supporting the shit out of them while they do their own thing. You have to figure out which version will get you through this.”

By all appearances, it seemed like sound advice. Six years, Kashvi and Iliha had been together. By far the healthiest couple Fi had ever met.

Kashvi shrugged. “The murderous parents? I’ve got nothing. You’re on your own with that.” She downed the rest of her drink. “I should get back to the capitol.”

She stood. After an appraisal of Fi’s silence, her frown at the window, Kashvi set a lighter hand to her shoulder.