Fi

“Hmm . . .”

Fi tested a very loose floorboard beneath her boot. Multiple windows on the room’s far wall had been tarped over. The rafters were thick with cobwebs and clumps of . . . lichen? She tried to recall if she’d ever seen lichen growing indoors, but came up blank.

“It’s certainly . . . uh . . . rustic,” Fi offered.

“Rustic?” Kashvi said. “This place is one rotten beam away from falling into the river and being carried all the way to Calvariz.”

“It’s perfect!” Iliha said.

Kashvi’s wife twirled a delighted circle through the empty tavern, hands clasped like a flaxen-haired fairy who’d been dropped into a scrap heap, beaming at the dust and splinters. When Iliha had requested a group meeting at an “unmissable riverfront property” near the main avenue in Thomaskweld, Fi had imagined a lot less broken glass beneath her boots.

How could the air in here feel both crusty and damp? Fi—being only tangentially impacted by this business venture—was free to observe with morbid fascination.

Kashvi appeared on the verge of a crisis.

In the three months they’d spent in Thomaskweld, Fi had almost never seen the interim governor out of her midnight uniform jacket, delegating orders like a general. Now, on a rare day off, Kashvi dressed in a plain red coat and overworked eyes, her dark hair raked into a tail.

“Now, Dove.” Kashvi approached Iliha with hands raised. “I know you’re excited for a new project. And it’s been hard, you running our tavern back in Nyskya all on your own, while I’m in Thomaskweld—”

“Exactly!” Iliha put her foot down with surprising force, a snap from wistful to commanding. “You’ve been in Thomaskweld for three months, having fun without me!”

Kashvi grumbled, “Import paperwork isn’t fun—”

“So I’m going to fix up this tavern,” Iliha said. “I’ll have more customers here than I could ever dream of in Nyskya. And it’s a steal, for such a prime location!”

“I can see it,” Fi offered, nodding sagely at the dust mites. “This place will be huge with the raccoon crowd. Make sure to leave some mold on the bar counter, really adds mystique.”

Kashvi’s glare could have cracked an iceberg.

“More importantly,” Iliha said, looping her arm with Kashvi’s, “I already paid for it.”

“I could demand a refund,” Kashvi growled.

“That would be abusing your power, interim governor.” Iliha leaned into Kashvi, slight as a willow leaf against her wife’s wolverine stance, combing devious fingers through Kashvi’s hair as she purred, “And won’t you enjoy having me here in the city with you?”

For three months, Fi had watched Kashvi order a daeyari around like a trained poodle, shout every power factory foreman into cooperation, put the fear of the Void into any bureaucrat who dared send her paperwork an hour late.

Everyone had a weakness. Kashvi crumbled, her sigh no match for Iliha’s blinding smile.

“I suppose it will look better with renovations,” Kashvi grumbled.

Iliha squealed and kissed her cheek. “This will be the best tavern in Thomaskweld, you’ll see! First, a thorough cleaning. Then a power hookup, and measurements for new windows. Oh! And over here . . .”

She pulled Kashvi out the front door, practically skipping. Fi was no contractor, but Void alive, this place needed much more than a cleaning—if anyone was stubborn enough to turn it into the hottest new spot in Thomaskweld, Iliha could.

While voices murmured outside, Fi turned to the flicker of shadow near the back wall.

Antal was performing some of his finest lurking. When they’d arrived, he’d regarded the tavern’s corroded energy conduits in mute horror. Now, he’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, poking through a fuse box with wary claws.

Fi joined him, nose wrinkled. “This place smells like something died. Then molded. Then turned to dust and coated something else that died more recently.”

Antal grimaced. “Alv yzu auz’mt zalken syk yzi keni.”

Fi stared at him.

Antal stared back, tail swaying mildly.

A week ago, she’d made a terrible mistake.

‘Hey, Antlers,’ she’d whispered while half-awake, nestled warm in bed, as he roused her with soft nips down her throat. ‘Didn’t you say you’d teach me how to speak daeyari?’

He’d grinned with all his sharp teeth.

For the rest of that day, he’d spoken to her only in daeyari. At first, it had been funny: Antal communicating in full sentences of gibberish, Fi pantomiming her attempts to translate.

But then, he hadn’t stopped speaking daeyari to her.

For an entire week.

Fi, having now endured this nonsense for seven days, donned her most unamused scowl at this insufferable creature. Begrudgingly, she did recognize some of what he’d said. Alv yzu auz’mt zalken syk yzi keni . . . fuck her in the Void, that was so many words. Alv meant ‘and.’ Yzu auz’mt . . . ‘you don’t’ . . .

“What the fuck is zalken?”

“Zalken,” Antal said simply. He sniffed the air—then grimaced.

“Smell?” Fi guessed. And you don’t smell . . . like I can. She huffed. “Look, you get to teleport, see in the dark, and live forever, it’s a fair trade that you have to smell shitty things.”

Antal shrugged. “Svyelk.”

Fi recognized that one, too, a word of resigned agreement.

This insufferable, smug creature. He thought he was so funny, didn’t he? Tormenting her with his bilingual prowess and that shit-eating smirk.

“You know,” Fi said. “I can’t help but feel like there must be more efficient ways to learn a language, than just speaking words at me.”

“Kespen vlus en daeyari,” Antal said. “Yzu hraxu sreloj.”

Speak more in daeyari, you learn faster. He spoke slowly, simple grammar to ensure she understood. Fi wondered what kind of paint Iliha might have on hand, that she could douse his antlers in. Hot pink would do nicely. Or anything with glitter.

He enjoyed her fluster too much. She’d be better off ignoring his stupid taunts and his stupid grin. That was supposed to be her new thing, wasn’t it? Calm Fi. Responsible Fi.

With forced nonchalance, she bent to pick a stray twig off the floor—but was dismayed to discover it was the bone of a small animal. Fi dropped it and wiped her fingers on her coat.

“I guess we’re using our ‘day off’ to help renovate. At least it will make Kashvi happy, and it’s nice to see Iliha, even if she’s a taskmaster . . . what are you staring at?”

Antal regarded her with veiled eyes, smoldering crimson in the dim tavern interior.

He stepped closer. Fi shivered, as his mouth brushed her jaw.

“Yzur lek haeze glaevyz,” he rumbled, breath warm against her throat. “Ery yzu mrelvu.”

They locked stares again. A battle of the Plane’s most stubborn wills.

Fi knew yzur, ‘your.’ And lek . . . ‘ass.’

She glowered. “I hope you realize your ass will be the one cleaning all these rafters.”

Antal’s head tilted, amused. “Yzu auz’mt waysen?” You don’t understand?

Fi circled fully back to her hot-pink-antler-paint plan. Or maybe some glue, combined with those crusty rafter lichens—

“Hey, daeyari!”

Iliha marched inside, beckoning to Antal. “Teleport me to Nyskya. I need to pick up some things, so we can get started here.”

Antal bowed. “Of course, Iliha. I’m happy to help.”

Fi’s scowl could have flayed this useless daeyari down to his Void-ether bones. He snickered, tail brushing fondly against her calf as he stepped around her. Iliha took his offered hand, then they vanished with a snap of static on Fi’s tongue.

Grumbling curses about immortals and linguistics, she headed outside to find Kashvi.

This was their first day off in weeks. Hardly surprising, though, to spot Kashvi on the snow-crusted plaza outside the tavern, surrounded by people in thick coats and worried expressions. As they spoke, she nodded, scribbling notes into the Plane’s smallest notebook she always kept in her pocket.

“Not a problem,” Kashvi said. “I’ll have a new box of energy capsules delivered to the artisan district, first thing tomorrow morning.”

“We couldn’t have asked for a better governor,” a woman said, the worry melting off her face. “These damaged energy conduits would have closed my print shop, if not for your help.”

“And stop by the bakery,” a man added, “I’ll save some hot scones, to say thanks.”

As the crowd dispersed, Fi sidled up to Kashvi, eyeing her notes.

“You know,” Fi said, “for an interim governor, you sure seem invested.”

Kashvi snapped her notebook closed with threatening force. “If you’re going to do a job, you should do it well. So until Thomaskweld has a proper governor’s election at the start of the new year, I intend to do this job well.”

Fi raised a prodding eyebrow at her. Then the local property her wife had just purchased.

Kashvi growled like a wolverine, too. “Come on. Let’s start clearing out this unmissable waterfront property.”

Despite all the wood rot, Fi had to admit, the location was impressive. Iliha’s new tavern was in the heart of Thomaskweld, bordering the mighty river that cut through the city, banks cased in concrete and ice-thick current a low roar in the background. A plaza overlooked the river on one side, a café and snow-trimmed townhouses around the edges, with a glimpse of the city’s main avenue bustling with shops and light-strung fir trees.

Fi and Kashvi had dragged a few armfuls of splintered floorboards into a pile outside, when static hit her tongue. Then again. Multiple trips?

“Good news!” Iliha emerged from the tavern, triumphant with her grin. “I brought reinforcements.”

Yvette stepped out behind her. Nyskya’s head metalsmith always held themself with stoicism, even more so now, in their new role as mayor. They’d done an excellent job watching over the little village, with Boden gone.

Fi was grateful, knowing her brother’s legacy in Nyskya was in good hands—while she worked to spread it even farther here in in Thomaskweld.

Next came Mal, Nyskya’s general store owner, barely able to fit his hulking frame through the door. He appraised the rundown tavern with an even wider grin than Iliha—and the same enthusiasm, unconcerned with splinters or structural integrity.

“A fine location!” Mal boomed. “Outstanding architecture. You’ve chosen well!”

Iliha cast a smug look at Fi and Kashvi.

“Outstanding architecture?” Kashvi muttered.

“That raccoon chic,” Fi agreed. “Look around, there’s nothing else like it.”

Behind the group, Antal lurked in the doorway, a crimson-eyed wraith flanked in shadows. Even the beast’s silhouette caught the attention of several people passing through the riverfront plaza—human instinct, honed by centuries as prey.

Three months ago, that plaza would have been empty. Fi counted this as a small improvement, Thomaskweld’s mortal residents meeting their Lord Daeyari with wary eyes rather than terror, bowed heads and cautious distance instead of clearing from the carnivore’s sight.

He hadn’t eaten a live sacrifice in three months. Fi had heard murmurs on the main avenue, in the capitol building, in the hospital where Antal now entreated for meals from the already dead, more and more humans surprised that this daeyari had kept his promise so far.

Antal’s tail dropped low all the same. He retreated inside, away from the stares.

Too swiftly, Iliha was behind him, a shove forcing the immortal beast into daylight.

“Don’t lurk inside! Stand out here, where everyone can see you!”

Antal caught himself on bare, nimble feet, a worried glance scanning the plaza. “I’m better off inside, Iliha. This won’t look good for your new business.”

“Nonsense.” She stood unflinching beside the daeyari. “Make sure everyone sees you here. Then they’ll know what terrible fate awaits them, if they try to swindle me.”

His tail lashed. “I would never.”

“Sure, sure, but they don’t know you’re actually pathetic. Yet.”

Fi cackled loud enough to be heard across the city. Antal glared at her, but couldn’t protest, with Kashvi’s stare threatening to remove a body part if he dared touch Iliha.

After three months of hard work, here was another reassurance to cling to. The people of Nyskya had also been wary of Antal, at first. Now—

“Lord Daeyari!”

A small blur crossed the threshold—Anisa, the young daughter of Nyskya’s power foreman, sprinted outside in a poofy, half-buttoned jacket.

Her father, Savo, was close behind. “Wait, Anisa! I’m not finished with your coat—”

She launched herself at Antal, a gleeful chant of, “Up, up, up!” as she attempted to climb him, until he relented and lifted her onto his shoulder. He swayed to regain balance, regarding the small, giggling human with as much bafflement as ever.

“Good to see you, Anisa.”

She gripped his antler like a ship rudder and pointed to the city. “Look, Lord Daeyari! Thomaskweld is so big! Daddy says while we’re here, we can visit the shops!”

“That sounds . . . delightful.”

As Savo helped coax the child back to the ground, Antal stood as stoic as a proper Lord Daeyari — but even the reigning champion of moping betrayed a grin. While Iliha delegated tavern renovation duties to her assembled workforce, Anisa ran circles around Antal, chasing the tail he kept swaying just out of reach.

With the reunion over, they set to work.

Fi spent her afternoon testing the tavern’s floorboards, prying up anything too rotten, nailing down replacements. The room bustled as Mal and Yvette measured for new window fittings, Iliha and Kashvi cleaned mold off the bar counter.

Fi flinched, when Antal dropped from the rafters right in front of her.

“Are you done scraping all the lichens off already?” she asked.

Antal nodded and pointed to the cleaned beams. “Haezen.”

Fi glowered. Up? There? No . . . “Look?”

He returned a pleased grin. Prick.

And what he’d said earlier. “Yzur lek haeze glaevyz,” Fi muttered. “Your ass looks . . .”

She didn’t know glaevyz. Fi blushed all the same, unsure whether his smirk made her want to tie his tail around a pole, or do unspeakable things to that taunting mouth.

Possibly both.

It was late, when they finished work for the day.

The renovations were only beginning, but they’d cleaned out the main tavern room to a tolerable state, even revived enough energy conduits for the heater and some dim overhead lights. Iliha passed around mugs and started heating a pot of spiced wine.

Fi had missed these small comforts, a quiet night with familiar faces, the way Nyskya had felt like a haven nestled in the mountains. She’d only visited her old cottage a couple times in the past three months, quick trips to grab her things, then back to work.

Thomaskweld was so big. So endlessly demanding.

“We’ve missed you, in Nyskya,” Mal said, raising his glass.

“But Thomaskweld needs you,” Yvette added. “We’ll take care of things back home. Nyskya will always be waiting, when you want to visit.”

“Where’s the daeyari?” Kashvi said with her usual bristle, eyeing every shadowed corner.

“I think he’s still outside,” Fi said. “Working on the conduit hookups. I’ll get him.”

She bundled into her coat and stepped out the door.

Outside, the night was cold, frost coating the plaza and biting Fi’s cheeks—but warmer, for the glow of lights from the main avenue. She lingered a moment, listening to the distant hum of voices and laughter, the music of carriage wheels and a soft guitar from one of the restaurant patios.

As much as she missed the coziness of Nyskya, and as daunting as Thomaskweld felt sometimes, the city was also . . . alive. Invigorating. Streets full of opportunity.

A new home just needed time to settle in.

She didn’t find Antal at the energy conduits. Scanning wider, she spotted a shadow across the plaza. He stood at the railing overlooking the river, ice-thick water thundering by.

Worry tightened her chest. Had today been too stressful? Too many distrusting stares, sending him back to sulking? Yet, as she approached, Antal’s tail was a relaxed sway. His head tipped upward, studying stars and whispering waves of aurora.

“Beautiful night,” Fi offered, joining him at the rail.

He didn’t look like he was sulking. Tired, maybe. But still wearing that fanged smirk he’d tortured her with all day.

Antal swept a hand across the sky. “Glaevyz,” he said in a hush.

Fi considered the stars, the aurora.

“Beautiful?” she whispered.

He shook his head, a grin quirking his lips.

“Shiny?” she tried.

His laugh was a soft, delicious thing. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and Fi obliged, letting this insufferable, wonderful beast pull her against him, his forehead pressed to hers.

“Glaevyz,” he said. “Magnificent.”

Heat bloomed on Fi’s cheeks—not unpleasant, in the cold. “Yzur lek haeze glaevyz,” she mused. “Your ass looks . . . magnificent?”

“Ery yzu mrelvu,” he finished.

Oh, right. There’d been a second part. She tried to brute force it. “When . . . you . . .”

Antal held up a finger—then bent it.

“When you bend over?” Fi blushed fiercer, as he grinned.

He’d smiled more in this past week than she’d ever seen.

As obnoxious as his language lessons had been, the strategy had made her learn a shocking number of words in a short time. And as much as his smirk was meant to taunt her . . . it looked good on him. Those grins, this levity, all these soft and vulnerable pieces he was revealing more of, now that Verne was gone and they were settling back into his city.

It must have been lonely, having no one to speak daeyari to.

Fi took a deep breath of frozen air, laced with his pine and ozone scent.

“Yzu . . . vu glaevyz . . . nauss,” she said slowly, trying to shape her syllables with the same sharpness he did. You are magnificent also.

Antal was silent a long moment.

He studied her with bright eyes. Then one of those slow, soft, unguarded smiles that melted the coldest frost from her cheeks. It left her warm in that disorienting way, all the Plane falling still as this eternal creature regarded her with quiet awe, as though the scowling beast in his arms was more precious than every star overhead.

To maintain her dignity, Fi feigned nonchalance as she straightened his shirt collar.

“How do I say lurking in daeyari?” she asked.

“Crelken,” Antal replied.

Fi paused to assemble the words. “Jys yzu crelku eev?”

Why you lurk here? Her grammar was abysmal, but Antal was still grinning, and fuck, Fi’s heart was doing that fluttering thing again.

“Zhemt crelken,” Antal murmured. Not lurking. “Yzi . . .” His gaze drifted to the lights and voices of the main avenue, his tail back to that slow sway. “I spent so many years watching this city from the cliffs, the rooftops. Always at a distance. The view is nice, down here.”

It was, wasn’t it? Fi looped her arm with his.

“We’ll have plenty more time to appreciate it,” she offered.

Antal tapped their foreheads together again. A whisper of, “Thank you, Fionamara. I’d have spent the rest of my life up on that cliff.”

“And I’d have spent the rest of my life hiding in the mountains.” She kissed his cheek. Then tugged him toward the tavern. “Now let’s go inside. Your friends are waiting.”

Antal muttered, “Kashvi wouldn’t call me a friend.”

“She hasn’t pulled a crossbow on you in three whole months! If you’ve made this much progress with her, you’ll win the city over in no time.”

He smiled. “Yix. Alv yzu ex kespu daeyari, en zhem chroz.”

“Sure, Antlers. If you continue being as obnoxious as you’ve been this week, I’ll speak fluent daeyari in no time.”

Despite Fi’s huff, she betrayed a grin.

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“Keep telling me how good my ass looks,” she said, leading him back to the tavern, “and I’ll learn even faster.”