Page 35 of Voidwalker
What use did a daeyari have for guards? What human could threaten such a beast, the fiercest mortal swords no match for immortal claws?
No, the humans scattering from Antal’s path wore simple coats, work trousers, the occasional pin of an artisan—petitioners, Fi realized with a twist in her stomach. Verne kept a tighter leash on her territory than most daeyari. All edicts were enacted by her governor, yet she still made her subjects climb up here to grovel in the cold and make requests.
Not that Verne entertained such pleas in person. A steward in silver robes paled at Antal’s approach, hurrying inside without a word. Fi wasn’t sure if she ought to be horrified or relieved to walk beside this beast, while her more level-minded kin had the sense to run.
“Hey, real quick?” Fi hissed.
The daeyari returned a curt—and unappreciated—sigh. “Yes?”
“Am I meant to shiver quietly at your heels? Or do you have a plan?”
“Milana claimed she was conscripted. Offered reward for her subterfuge, by an Arbiter of Verne.”
He might as well have slapped her. The cold in Fi’s bones turned from sharp to numbing, a slow bloom up her spine.
“… What?”
“An underhanded tactic.” Antal’s tail flicked. “I must know if the Arbiter acted alone, or at Verne’s request.”
No, no, no. He was wrong. Milana lied, or he’d misunderstood. Astrid wouldn’t do this. Astrid wouldn’t do this toFi, wouldn’t lure her in with smiles and reminiscence only to toss her into an exploding building. Sure, Astrid might have been working with Milana and Erik…
And sure, they hadn’t parted on… the best of terms…
Another shiver went through her, that memory of the dark forest. Hands on her arms. But that wasten yearsago.
“Can you be stealthy, smuggler?”
Fi squinted. “Not really the purview of asmuggler, but—”
“While I entertain Verne, you’ll speak to her Arbiter. Determine who’s behind this.”
“That’syour plan? That’s an awful plan!”
He bared a fang. “What’s wrong with—”
The chateau’s double doors opened, timber groaning on cold-strained hinges. Fi froze, arms clutched over her chest, a deeper cold carving her sternum.
Astrid stood upon the threshold.
Astrid—who looked perfectly fine, compared to Fi’s feral hunch. A perfect, toothy grin as she bent for a bow.
“Welcome, Lord Antal,” she greeted warmly.
Astrid had wrung Fi’s heart a thousand times before this. At seven, their first big fight, Fi accidentally broke Astrid’s training crossbow, earning the silent treatment for a week before they made up over cinnamon cookies. At fourteen, Fi confessed a crush on a boy at school. It took her dense brain a month to figure out why Astrid was pouting. At eighteen, they lay alone in Fi’s room, limbs tangled, Astrid’s skin warm as hearthfire.
Now, Astrid guarded the entry to Verne’s chateau, dressed in tight leather trousers and a sable elk coat, dark hair swept across her antlers. Her ruby eyes snapped onto Fi.
A pause. One breathless moment.
But not a word of acknowledgement.
Fi had her fill of granite looks from the daeyari who’d stolen her. Receiving the same blank glare from her oldest friend cut to the bone.
A misunderstanding. Itmustbe.
Astrid addressed Antal. “A pleasure to have you back. You wish an audience with my Lord Daeyari?”
“Please,” he commanded.
