Page 77 of Voidwalker
“Glad you’re feeling better,” she said. “Do you have clothes,somewhere?”
“Of course.”
She held his glare until he sighed. Vanished. Parting static lingered on her tongue.
He’d be back. Fi felt it in the pit of her grumbling stomach.
She donned a coat of dark wool and silver ermine fur from her dwindling supply—one coat lost beneath building rubble, one shredded by a daeyari, Void knew what awful fate awaited this one—then headed out to check her hare traps. When her boots creaked the porch, Aisinay trotted from the trees like a scaled phantom, finned tail swaying in greeting. Fi patted her neck.
“Morning, Aisinay. Do I have some shit to catch you up on.”
The Void horse snorted, a billow of mist on cold morning air.
“Thanks for nothing, by the way. Letting that daeyari walk right up here. Just because you’re both from the Void, doesn’t mean you have to bepals.”
After an indignant nudge from Aisinay’s muzzle, Fi climbed onto her bare back.
They traversed a couple of Curtains, emerging in a stretch of forest across the mountains from Nyskya. Beyond the canopy, dawn rose in shades of violet. The sun would barely crest the trees this time of year, days growing shorter, until night settled in for several long months. Kashvi’s tavern would be busy, packed with warm drinks and traders bartering for furs.
That was, if they still had power by then. And if Verne didn’t raze the village to ash for her amusement. Fi carried a pit in her stomach as she moved through the trap line, empathy for every rabbit caught in a noose.
She returned home with two fresh hares for breakfast—and a prickle down her neck, the moment she stepped inside.
Antal perched in the rafters again, dressed in a midnight shirt and trousers, tail dangling. Fi made eye contact and a single command.
“Down.” She pointed to the floor. “I will not have a man-eating creature lurking above my head in my own home.”
Last night, she’d let her barbs drop. They both had. Fi wasn’t sure how long that stalemate could last, whether a new morning heralded a return to arms, or a continuation of this strange new peace.
A growl rumbled Antal’s chest. He dropped from the rafters, landing with the ease of a cat. Feelingmuchbetter, then. The useless daeyari had neglected to fasten four Void-damned shirt buttons this time, leaving ample view of pale chest and sharp collarbones, his neck intact. He settled on her sofa, cross-legged, tail curled around him.
Fi inspected her home. The borrowed robe and blanket sat folded by the tub. Her growing lights had kicked on, glowing over pots of basil and sage and turmeric hoarded from warmer Planes. The fussy light panel in the corner… had stopped flickering?
“It was obnoxious,” Antal muttered, noting her attention.
During Fi’s brief visit to his home, she’d seen those masterful conduits in his floor, the metal scraps on his shelves. Then there were Thomaskweld’s energy circuits, some of the most efficient on the Winter Plane. Not the best Shaper, but a knack for technology?
“You ought to fix my gramophone,” Fi said. “Hasn’t played right for a year.”
Maybe if she asked extra nice, he’d tell her how to install that blissful floor heating in her own cottage.
Antal huffed at her request. Yet as Fi set her hares down on the kitchen counter, her peripheral vision tracked a shadow. He circled her gramophone beside the sofa, running a claw along the copper frame. Seemed they both sought distractions this morning. Easier to dwell on small tasks than their failure with Tyvo, their pathetic lack of a plan for confronting Verne. Fi’s tongue worried her split lip, tracing tender flesh.
She grabbed a knife hilt from the kitchen block. Shaped a silver energy blade. She skinned the hare with practiced motions, preserving the pelt, separating lean muscle for breakfast. The prospect of skillet-crisped meat stirred her stomach into eager knots.
At the thought, Fi’s knuckles tightened on the knife. There wasanotherproblem added to an already abysmal list. Even if Antal didn’t need to eat as often as a human, over a week had passed since the last meal she knew of.
“Hey, Antlers.”
He stiffened. A palpable moment stretched before he faced her, the tilt of his head so dramatically slow, it verged on comedy.
“My name isAntal.”
“I like mine better.”
“That doesn’t—”
“Do you want breakfast?” Fi held up a hare, the plumper of the two. So kind of her.
