Page 64 of Voidwalker
Fi wrinkled her nose, half in annoyance, half to keep the blood flowing. She Shaped warm energy out of her abdomen, into aching extremities.
One of her father’s bedtime stories,The Selfish Herder, spoke of a human lost in the woods with his aurorabeasts. When a daeyari found him, the man pleaded for his life, promising a meal of an aurorabeastandhis neighbor should he escape the forest alive. The daeyari agreed. Guided him out of the trees. But when the man’s worried neighbor appeared to welcome him home, the daeyari dragged the herdsman into the forest screaming, leaving the neighbor with not only his life, but a bolstered aurorabeast herd.
Admittedly, the story didn’t exactly match Fi’s situation. She struggled to recallanycautionary tale pertinent to her predicament, beyond the recurring moral of, “never trust a daeyari.” And for the record, she didn’t. She kept her guard up so high it itched her nose.
“Why haven’t you eaten me yet?” Fi asked.
Antal’s tail flicked. “Why are you so fixated on that?”
“It’s areasonablething to fixate on. No one wants to be eaten.”
“Devouring mortals is far from my only priority.”
“Then why’d you demand a sacrifice after the capitol explosion?”
Antal cut her a sharp look. Fi couldn’t back down, couldn’t reveal an inch of vulnerable flesh to this beast.
“Milana and Erik were chatting about it,” she said. “While dragging me to my doom.”
“Hmm…” He turned up a snow-drifted slope with infuriating ease. Fi huffed to keep up. “Daeyari are strongest when well fed. I anticipated trouble. I needed the best edge I could.”
“So you would have beenmoreuseless against Verne, if you hadn’t eaten?”
Antal clamped his teeth. Sighed. “Iamsorry. Milana shouldn’t have brought you against your will.”
Fi gave a bitter laugh.
She shouldn’t have. This daeyari had fangs, even if he’d yet to use them. But she had to stand her ground. It feltgoodto stand her ground against one of these wretched immortals she’d feared for a lifetime. This one betrayed a sliver of restraint, and she latched on like a leech.
“Thanks,” Fi said. “Do you apologize to all your meals?”
“That’s unfair. To both of us.”
“Both of us?” Fi tripped on a submerged root. Righted herself. Glowered. “Please. Tell me all about how feasting on humans is inconvenient for you.”
“Daeyari are carnivorous. We only take what we need to sustain ourselves. You wouldn’t fault a wolf for hunting a deer.”
Fi went rigid. She shouldn’t fight with him, shouldn’t sow more conflict with the man-eater who knew where she lived, but—
“But…” Antal said slowly. “The wolf has no choice. The deer doesn’t laugh, doesn’t write music. This has long been a dilemma for some daeyari, or the peace between our races wouldn’t exist. Vavriter wouldn’t exist.”
“Peace.” Fi scoffed. “The pact gave your sheep a nicer looking pen, was all.”
His tone sharpened. “Ineedto eat—”
“So eat something else!” Fi shouted before common sense stopped her. But Void, she was so damntiredof these creatures and the prey-animal coil in her stomach. “Aurorabeasts were bred to feed daeyari. Better than culling humans.”
“What abrilliantidea. Why have I never thought of that?” Antal rolled his eyes, the gesture entirely too mortal. Another fissure in his ice-carved exterior.
“What’s wrong with it, smartass?”
“Daeyari must consume flesh infused with energy. Only humans offer sufficient quantities of both. Aurorabeasts can supplement our diet, not sustain us indefinitely.”
“So I should feelbadfor you? There’s no better option than dragging humans to your shrine?”
“They come willingly.”
“No one dies willingly, Antal. They come because someone has to. Because their villages and families need protection you only sell for blood.”
