Page 223 of Voidwalker
“Letters from my daeyari neighbors,” he explained, sounding profoundly unenthused. “Proper etiquette, during any shift in power… oh good, this one’s from Tyvo.”
The sharp text was inked in daeyari. Antal had peppered Fi with language lessons all week—mostly greetings, curses, and “your ass looks magnificent when you bend over like that”—not enough to decipher a letter. Other than the curses, of course.
Antal read. Scowled. “Tyvo says if I set foot in his territory again, he’ll stake my head on top of a shiverpine.”
“Just with a lot more fucks than that?” Fi said, noting the familiar words.
“A lotmore fucks than that. Hardly unexpected.” He tossed the letter to the trash bin and reached for the next.
“Ah.” He hummed, eyes darting over the page; no curses, this one. “From Kyl, Verne’s eastern neighbor. Well wishes on my return… her support as we review candidates to replace Verne… at least we won’t have a territory war.” He discarded the letter and picked up the last, tied to the wine bottle.
Antal went so still, Fi nearly waved a hand in front of his face to check for consciousness.
The envelope was thick gray paper, Antal’s name written in a swooping yet ruthless script. His tail gave a violent flick. He flipped it, revealing a seal of midnight blue wax. An imprint of a dahlia, same as the carving on the base of his antlers.
“Fuck,” Fi said. “Antal… is that…”
He opened it with a slice of claw.
The letter was brief. Shortest of the three, two succinct sentences in glistening midnight ink. Then a name: Avroz.
Antal had never spoken his father’s name to her.
“What does it say?” Fi asked.
He read it several times, eyes flicking across the page. At last, he ripped the paper in two and tossed the scraps in the trash.
“Antal,” Fi said, firmer. “What does he want—”
“Well done on not dying,” he recited stiffly. “Leaving her alive would have been preferable.”
Fi blinked. “Void… what anasshole.”
Antal hummed in agreement and picked up the wine, a swirl sending the contents spinning like a bottled blizzard. Heseemed more annoyed than worried, an act he’d had two and a half centuries to hone.
His father was watching. Verne had warned that the Daey Celva—theDusk Council—wouldn’t be pleased with any changes in policy.
“Daeyari wine?” Fi asked. “Is it any good?”
“It would possibly kill you.” Antal dropped the gift in the trash with a resolutethunk.
Fi agreed. A problem for another day, once their city was restored.
Kashvi returned, another binder in hand.
“Here are all the reports of faulty energy conduits within the city.So far.” Kashvi thrust the binder at Antal. “Most urgent is the South River District. Replacement parts should arrive this morning, if our humble Lord Daeyari would be so kind as to help install them.”
Antal scowled at her condescending tone. Fi snickered.
They left the capitol, crossing the complex through stone plazas and gardens glittering with frost. A quiet morning. As the sun crested the valley, slanted rays caught on the plated copper and glass of the trade warden offices, on the green and silver dome of the courthouse. Then, the red stone of the perimeter wall.
The gates stood open, a path to the waking city.
At times, Fi had viewed Thomaskweld as a hostile place: the metal constructs and tight avenues, hustlers in smoky pubs looking to make lopsided deals. To say nothing of the capitol stuffed with law enforcement. The lurking eyes of an immortal with teeth.
Other times, Thomaskweld brimmed with possibility. There were walks down riverside parkways lit with energy conduits.Music and dancing in cellar bars. The aurora reflected in windows of dark glass.
Today, she found a new perspective. In that maze of streets lay more than hostility. More than entertainment. Here was a new home, a chance to build something larger than her.
