Page 90 of Sunsplitter

The whisper of clawed feet behind her told Fi that this conversation, unfortunately, wasn’t over.

“Antal,” Yme entreated as they neared the transformer.

Fi watched the weight of his mother hit him, his smile vanishing. A tired, “I’m nearly finished, azaevi. Then we can talk—”

“What’s wrong, yzir virso?”

Antal stared at her. Fi could have written an essay on the length of that pause.

She knew that silence down to her marrow. The same silence Fi had wielded at her father every time he’d spoken of her becoming Verne’s Arbiter, every time he’d told her to be grateful for her duty, every time he’d ranted about their absent mother with liquor in hand. Because he was the adult. He should have seen the things breaking their family apart, not her.

Fi knew that haunt in Antal’s eyes, the anticipation of a pointless fight, weighed against the ache of holding it all inside.

“What do you mean,” Antal said. Not a question. Flat.

“You seem distant,” Yme said. “We talked about visiting more, but even when I’m here, you don’t seem to want—”

“No.” Antal sharpened. “What do you mean,what’s wrong? You know what’s wrong.”

“I don’t!” To Yme’s credit, the crack in her voice sounded genuine. “I know we haven’t spoken for… too long. But you didn’t come to dinner, when we offered. I came here to visit instead, but you try to send me away. It feels like I hardly know you anymore.”

Antal laughed.

Not the low, confiding laugh he’d shared with Fi. This was all fangs. Guilt twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t have antagonized Yme, shouldn’t have made this worse for Antal. But before she could lay a comforting hand on him—

“Azaevi,” Antal said. “You haven’t known me for ages.”

Antal chose his weapon. Yme flinched.

“I… know you didn’t want to come to the Winter Plane,” she said. “That you wanted to join the Dusk Council.”

Antal laughedharder. “Avroz wants me to join the council, but nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough for him.”

“That isn’t true—”

“It isn’t?” Antal pulled away from the transformer. The factory fell quiet, humans watching two daeyari argue in a language they didn’t understand. Body language said enough. “Don’t pretend, azaevi. I spent my entire life trying to be what he wants me to be. Putting on a mask to hide everything I’ve ever felt. Even that wasn’t enough to make him love me.”

Fi was cursing inside. Not sure if she should intervene.

Yme looked similarly ashen. “Antal…”

“Putting me on the council was Avroz’s choice, never mine!”

“Then why are you doing this now?”

“For this!” Antal swept an arm over the factory, the people—over Fi. “For my city. For my life, the one I built. You let Avrozsend me here as punishment. But it was freedom. Finally, away fromyou.”

Yme shrank. A meek, “You don’t mean that, Antal. Every family has its faults. But we’re stillfamily. We still care about you—”

“Did you care about me when you didn’t visit for fifty years?” Louder. “Did you care about me, when you let Avrozkill the person I loved?”

“… Loved?” Yme said. So small.

“Ilovedhim, azaevi!” Antal’s shout rang across the factory. “You let Avroz slit his throat in front of me!”

Yme didn’t speak. Didn’t seem to breathe.

“You ignored me in your own house for fifty years,” Antal went on, quieter, but no softer. “You ignored me for another fifty years here. I could have died during Verne’s coup.”