Page 100 of Sunsplitter

Her head snapped up, fangs bared and eyes molten. “What does it matter toyou?”

She’d never looked like this before. Always lethal, a little wild, but never strung so tight.

Antal had been scarcely over fifty when they’d met. Avroz had taken him on a tour of several Planes, making introductions in preparation for his travel years. And to see to Avroz’s interests, of course. They’d visited one of the combat academies. Antal had sat with his father in an observation box, watching the year’s applicants spar in the ring below. One newcomer from the territories had upset all the rankings, a fearless beast with snowy hair braided to her waist.

Avroz had watched her matches with a coveting look. A look Antal wouldn’t learn until too late—evaluating something he wanted.Keep an eye on this one, he’d told his son.

Antal hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. The way she’d moved like flowing water. The way she’d held her head with unbroken confidence. Like she knew exactly what she was, born to hold a spear in her hand.

Born to wear gold on her antlers. The lengths were carved with the moonlit forest of her home Plane, the sigils of every academy she’d mastered, the dahlias of her pledge as Avroz’s kezri. But still no Sunsplitter bands.

“Avroz hasn’t let you on another aedari hunt?” Antal asked.

Ixli growled. “Syvr can mind their own damn business.”

“Why hasn’t he let you?”

“Avroz says I’m not ready.”

“Thatwas not ready? What I just saw?” Ixli had held off an aedari on her own. She’d drawn first blood. “You saw how well I did against that creature.”

“Atrocious,” Ixli agreed a little too earnestly. “You’re still using your claws? Not a single weapon? I got you daggers!”

She had. Two beautiful silver hilts engraved with dahlias, an anniversary gift.

“I know,” Antal said. “I… don’t have them anymore.”

Ixli fell dangerously still. Spoke low. “You really hate me that much?”

“No. That’s not…” Antal clamped his teeth, never able to say the right thing. “It’s not because of you, Ixli. I…”

He’d gotten rid of so many things after her. After Razik. Memories he couldn’t bear to hold any longer.

“They were a kind gift.” He attempted a grin, scraped for it with all he could. “I remember you teaching me to use them. Or, you tried teaching me.”

“Stop it,” Ixli said.

“I held the hilt too close to the blade. Burnt my fingers. You laughed for a solid minute.”

“Stop.”

“Why?”

Ixli’s eyes burned like hot steel. Her voice cracked, head bowed until snowy hair brushed her cheeks. “You have no idea how much I missed you after. How much I regretted it.”

She’d told him that a hundred times. How sorry she was.

It didn’t change what had happened, did it? That Antal had trusted her with his most dangerous secret: his earliest doubt that, maybe, he didn’t want to join the Daey Celva. Didn’t want to be what Avroz chose for him. Maybe he could be a conduit engineer, or a musician, oranythingmore than his father’s shadow.

It didn’t change that Avroz had found out. Because of Ixli. That his father had dug his claws in so tight afterward, Antal couldn’t breathe for a century. Was still straining for air.

“I thought he knew,” she said, tail wrapped around her legs. “I assumed yourfatheralready knew, but by the time I realized he didn’t, it was too late, and he was angry, and…”

Ixli had told him all that, too.

After Antal had ended things between them, after he’d realized he couldn’t trust Ixli like he used to, he’d been disconsolate. He’d spent sleepless nights wondering if he’d made a mistake, missing her warmth in his bed, the twine of their tails.

But as with all things, those feelings had passed with time.