Antal

He’d dreaded it would come to this.

Six months since Antal had reclaimed Thomaskweld from Verne, and he’d become complacent. He’d dared to believe this was going well — too well. He was naïve. Shortsighted. Dreams bloomed, only to wither. Everything he loved was eventually torn away.

Now, here lay Fionamara, limp in his arms.

Void and Veshri help him, she was so pale. Her breaths came shallow, rattling an awful sound.

“Fionamara, please.” He brushed the hair from her temple, her skin clammy.

“Absolutely not,” she rasped. Stubborn to the bitter end.

“There’s still time,” he pleaded. “I can take you to the hospital. Or I can bring a doctor here. Please, just let me —”

“The hospital? Go chew on some stale lichen, Antlers, why is your entire species as dramatic as burnt raccoons? I told you, it’s just a cold.”

When she coughed, it sounded like her lungs were attempting to scrape out of her body — but she was mortal, and composed of frighteningly essential organs, and she very much needed those lungs. Antal tried to hold her, but she swatted him away with a flail of uncharacteristically weak hands, groaning as she burrowed into her blankets.

His first sign that something was wrong had come in the middle of the night. Fionamara had left their bed groaning, propped herself up amongst the pillows of the sitting room, a chaotic nest of blankets, and flannel pajamas, and moans of anguish. Her eyes were glassy. Her nose was red from blowing it, another horrifying sound.

Surely, she was dying.

“You’re unwell, Fionamara,” Antal begged. “Humans go to hospitals when they’re unwell?”

“I’ve had a hundred colds before,” she returned hoarsely. “I’ll be fine.”

“This can’t be normal.”

“Are you telling me daeyari never get colds?” She coughed again. Then a muttered, “Fuuuck me. Immortality is the most stupid, unfair . . .”

“Are you sure this isn’t lethal?”

“I’m going to push you off a cliff.” Fionamara lay back against the pillows, an exasperated arm over her face. “I say that with love, because I know you’d survive it. But you deserve to be pushed off a cliff right now.”

Antal didn’t know what to do. Mortals were confounding creatures. He’d heard them mention these temporary ailments, but surely, all this wheezing and agony couldn’t be normal?

Fionamara Kolbeck was the most unshakable human he’d ever met — no, the most unshakable creature he’d ever met, mortal or immortal. As vicious as any fanged beast. As terrifying as the Void itself, in that same exhilaratingly beautiful way.

To see her so debilitated was new. Disorienting. His tail flicked anxiously as he knelt beside her.

“Is there nothing I can do to help?”

“I don’t need help,” she growled — still ferocious, despite another sniffle. Her stubborn frown could crumble onyx.

That frown crumbled him even easier, fractures down to his Void ether bones. Six months, since this indominable woman had claimed him as hers. Six months of her sweet, smoky, ember-rich scent filling his home. Six months of waking to her sprawled in his bed, so soft and raw, almost impossible to believe she wasn’t a gorgeous, snarling dream that he might wake from at any moment.

Even now, slumped in blankets and that deliciously messy hair, she looked fierce enough to carve him open.

That pained sound when she breathed might murder him, even if she survived it.

Antal’s only recourse was a pleading look, his tail a dismal sway against the blanket. Fionamara sighed and softened.

“Make me tea,” she ordered. “I’ll be better in no time.”

Oh, thank the Void. Antal could manage that.

The kitchen at the back of the room was new, carved at Fionamara’s request. The addition made his small home on the cliffside feel more . . . full, in a way he hadn’t expected. He charged an energy kettle and set it to boil, then riffled through her collection of tea tins.

“Mint,” Fionamara wheezed from her pillows. “And honey. Don’t you dare bring me straight tea.”

Antal opened the mint tin and sniffed — then gagged. The herbal onslaught burned his sinuses. This was supposed to make her better? Daeyari drank coffee, or occasionally a dark tea, stark and simple flavors. Humans ingested such a baffling variety of substances.

He returned to her with a mug that smelled atrociously of mint and honey. Fionamara clutched it to her chest and took a deep breath of steam. This, somehow, seemed to help.

“Ok,” she said. “Let me drink this. Then I’ll be ready to go.”

Antal’s tail flicked sharper. “Go?”

“To Thomaskweld. We’re already late, and I’m sure your governor is losing her shit.”

“Fionamara, you aren’t well.”

“It’s just a cold.”

“You need rest.”

“I don’t need you telling me what to do, daeyari.”

When she tried to stand, he pounced, pinning her against the pillows. Antal growled, claws curled threateningly into her flannel, fangs bared at this stubborn woman.

Her brow arched, unintimidated.

“Don’t growl at me, I know you’re all bristle and no—”

She silenced, when Antal nuzzled his nose to her cheek. He unclenched his claws, brushing the soft pad of his thumb to her jaw instead.

“Please, Fionamara,” he whispered. “For me?”

She always fought hardest, when she felt the most vulnerable. Even tempered, her indignant growl rivaled that of a daeyari — until it crumbled into another cough. She leaned into his hand with a softer grumble.

“Fine,” she relented. “I’ll stay home. For one day.”

Antal exhaled enough relief to fill the Void.

She continued with a scowl, “You’ll be ok on your own in Thomaskweld?”

Antal’s short-lived reprieve snapped back to distress. “Thomaskweld? No, I should stay here and look after you.”

“Kashvi will remove your antlers with garden shears if you don’t show up.”

“But what if you need—”

“Antal.” Fionamara’s voice reached its hoarsest yet. She gripped his shirt in shivering fingers. “I’ll stay here, if you go to Thomaskweld. That’s the deal. I’ll be fine.”

Even that exertion was too much. She crumpled into her pillows, muttering curses in both seasonspeak and daeyari as she coughed. If this was the fiercest fight she could muster, this ‘cold’ was grave indeed. Antal couldn’t leave her alone.

But she was right, Kashvi would have his antlers, or head, or some body part for certain, if he shirked his duties.

A brief visit. Kashvi would understand.

And Fionamara would survive until he returned — he hoped.

Antal tucked her in to her nest of pillows, brought her fresh water. He leaned close as she dozed off, making extra sure she was still breathing. To see her suffering was anguish. To leave her to suffer without him, even more so.

When he could delay it no longer, he teleported himself to Thomaskweld.

Alone.

* * *

Antal hadn’t braved Thomaskweld alone since he’d reclaimed it from Verne. He’d spent six months rebuilding this city, working to earn the trust of his citizens, always with Fionamara at his side to make his claws seem less intimidating.

He arrived on the steps of the capitol building. Construction was proceeding well, rebuilding the sections that had been destroyed by an energy capsule explosion during Verne’s coup. Fionamara had come around to accepting partial responsibility. More importantly, if she were here, she’d remind Antal to smile, not drag his tail, not flash too many fangs as he entered the building.

When he pictured her at home, coughing herself to death, he caught himself in a grimace — only after unintentionally sending a secretary scurrying into a side hallway.

He hated being helpless when she needed him.

A very brief visit, then he’d be back to look after her.

“Good morning, Lord Daeyari,” a nervous patrolwoman greeted with a stiff bow. “The governor is waiting for you.”

Yes. He was dreading that.

Antal steeled himself with fangs and claws hidden — but ready if needed. Tail taut. He entered the governor’s office on the balls of his feet, prepared to fight, prepared to flee.

Kashvi looked up from her desk, impaling Antal with a glare. A frighteningly impressive glare, for a mortal. Solidly the fourth most intimidating glare Antal had experienced in two and a half centuries.

Six months ago, he’d asked Kashvi to step into the interim governor position, a temporary measure until a proper election could be organized.

They’d held the election at the start of the new year. After much grumbling, Kashvi had agreed to put her name on the ballot.

It came as no surprise, that she’d won in a landslide. She was the most effective governor Antal had ever had. She’d turned this city around faster than he’d thought possible, had demonstrated a fierce commitment to its people and seeing their voices heard.

She was also the first governor who Antal worried might genuinely attempt to decapitate him one day. Increasingly, he was coming to accept that this might be something he just had to endure, in exchange for her stellar management skills.

Antal bowed. “Sorry to keep you waiting, governor.”

Kashvi stood. Her narrowed eyes scraped over him with, if possible, more ire than usual.

“Where’s Fi?” she asked.

Anguishing. Suffering. Coughing her precarious mortal lungs onto the floor. Antal confined his anxiety to a tail flick. “Fionamara won’t be joining us today.”

“Where is she?”

“She . . . might be dying —”

Kashvi lunged before he’d finished speaking.

She came at him with a crossbow. Where the fuck had she gotten a crossbow so fast? Hidden under her desk, that was good information to know—

Kashvi shoved Antal to a wall, crossbow pressed to his chest, a silver energy bolt aimed at his heart. They both snarled.

“Veshri’s fucking teeth, Kashvi!”

“What did you do to her, daeyari?”

“What did I do? Nothing!”

“Then where is she?”

“I wish she was here. She has . . . you humans call it a cold?”

Kashvi blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Fionamara insists she isn’t dying,” Antal continued in exasperation. “But your mortal sicknesses are unpredictable. And she can barely speak. And won’t stop coughing. And —”

Kashvi’s demeanor shifted from furiously angry, to furiously annoyed.

“Just a cold?” she growled. “You couldn’t lead with that?”

“So you lead with a crossbow?” Antal bared fangs at her weapon — still aimed, ineffectively, at his chest. “Hasn’t Fionamara told you, piercing a daeyari heart isn’t lethal, it will only . . .”

“Hurt like shit?” Kashvi supplied.

Antal glared. Her brow raised a daring arc.

“Noted,” he muttered.

Kashvi grumbled as she released him, then stalked back to her desk, stowing her crossbow out of sight. Antal wouldn’t survive to see three hundred, if he collected any more of these feral humans.

“So, Fi’s taking a sick day.” Kashvi flipped mildly through her paperwork, as if she hadn’t just attempted to skewer him to a wall. “I’m impressed, daeyari. Didn’t think you had the spine to talk that stubborn tree stump into staying home.”

As if it had been easy. “I’m sorry, but I should return to her as quickly as possible.”

“Why? You said it was just a cold.”

“She’s very unwell. She woke in the night, coughing.”

“Yeah . . . that’s a cold.”

Kashvi must not understand the gravity. Otherwise, she’d not treat this so nonchalantly. “Her skin feels strange. She might have a fever. She keeps groaning, and shivering, and . . .”

Kashvi, still alarmingly unperturbed, raised a brow. “Do daeyari not get colds?”

“No,” Antal said, exasperated by these stubborn mortals and their questions. “Void ether flesh is not susceptible to these nuisances of aging or disease.”

She shrugged. “Lucky you, I guess.”

This wasn’t helpful. Kashvi didn’t understand. Antal leaned over her desk, tail lashing low to the floor, an anxiety tightening his chest that he hadn’t felt in . . .

“What do I do?” he said. “To make her better?”

Kashvi shrugged again. “Not much you can do. Tell her to suck it up and stay in bed. She’ll be better in a few days.”

“Days?” Antal bared his fangs, claw tips pressing the wood of the desk as that vice of helplessness grew in his chest. Strangling. Familiar.

Kashvi eyed the impending property damage. “What’s got you all bent out of shape?”

“Because I love her, Kashvi. And I failed the last person I loved!”

The admission struck Antal unexpectedly. This was an old wound. One he’d survived. Made peace with. Tucked away where it would no longer paralyze him, but forever occupied that tiny aching space within his ribs. Mostly, he tried not to think of it anymore, a rare occurrence to be hit with such a vivid memory of . . .

Warm, trusting eyes — before they’d gone cold.

That smear of fresh blood across his family’s sitting room.

Antal composed himself swiftly. It was easy, to settle the ache back where it belonged. To hide the fangs he’d carelessly let slip. He frowned longer at the claw pricks he’d left in his governor’s desk.

By some miracle, Kashvi hadn’t drawn her crossbow again. Her hard look was no less piercing.

“My deepest apologies, Kashvi.” Antal bowed and touched a claw to his highest antler tip. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper—”

She brushed past him with a huff. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Antal’s tail swayed confusion, as the governor donned her coat. “Go?”

“You’re clearly not going to accomplish any productive work for me today. So you’re going to take care of Fi, instead.” She fastened her buttons with ruthless efficiency. “Come with me. Quickly. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour.”

Antal, ashamed of his outburst, slunk after her without protest.

Kashvi led him out of the capitol building, across the plaza dusted in fresh snow. As they walked, Antal struggled to gauge his stoic governor’s demeanor. He’d made slow, but steady progress in their working relationship, was worried at how much baring his fangs at her may have set that back. Kashvi didn’t look murderous.

It could be calculated, a plan to remove his head and dispose of the body.

“Your last human,” Kashvi said. “He never got a cold?”

On second thought, decapitation might have been preferable.

“Not . . . like this . . .” Antal stammered. Though, as he tried to recall century-old details, a frustrated flick returned to his tail. “Or . . . maybe? I don’t know.”

Kashvi’s brow arched. “You don’t know?”

By Veshri’s mercy, how could Antal not know? The realization settled like a cold chill in his ether, that tightness in his chest again.

“We didn’t live together,” he explained. “Couldn’t live together. That would have been too dangerous. He probably did get colds, but I . . . never knew . . .”

Kashvi’s low hum only confused him further.

Based on what Antal did know of human illness, he expected her to lead him toward the hospital, or maybe an apothecary on the main avenue.

Instead, they arrived at a soup shop, the one Fionamara loved visiting, especially when working late nights in the capitol building.

When they stepped inside, the hit of smells was overwhelming, broth and spices and aromatics, meat and rich dumplings. Despite the strangeness of human cooking, it was a fascinating art, combining so many disparate ingredients into a whole.

The woman at the counter greeted Kashvi with a warm grin. Even Antal received a kinder nod than he would have a year ago.

“Morning, Hanna,” Kashvi said.

“Welcome in, governor. Early lunch?”

“Nah. Fi’s sick with a cold. You got something to help her feel better?”

The soup maker’s face filled with sympathy. She set to filling a large earthenware crock full of soup, wrapping it up in brown paper for easier transport.

As she worked, Antal held still in the small space. He was grateful for the invitation to share it, these small moments that had become more common over the past several months, these new views of his city he’d never known before: warm smiles. Warm doorsteps. His people, sharing their earnest lives.

Sharing their love for Fionamara, as well. Hanna handed over the soup with plentiful well wishes for a speedy recovery, entreating them to return tomorrow for a refill.

Antal nodded his thanks, then followed Kashvi back outside.

A light snow had begun to fall. The flakes tickled Antal’s tail, dusted Kashvi’s hair as she pushed the crock of soup into his hands.

“Keep her in bed,” Kashvi ordered. “Make her rest, even if she fights you. Hot liquids are key, soup and tea, as much as you can get into her. It will still take a few days to get better, but that should make her less miserable.”

Antal accepted the precious parcel, and the even more precious guidance.

“Thank you, Kashvi.”

His governor wielded that piercing look again. She turned away, frowning at snowflakes as they swirled against her lashes.

“Fi doesn’t like asking people for help,” Kashvi said.

“I’m aware —”

“Which means we have to take care of her.”

Antal cocked his head. “We?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, daeyari. Check in tomorrow morning, let me know how she’s doing.”

Kashvi headed back toward the capitol building, leaving Antal alone in the snow-quiet street — grateful for a governor he could rely on.

Even with the crossbow hidden under her desk.

* * *

When he returned home, Fionamara was nestled under her blanket where he’d left her. Still breathing. Thank Void and Veshri for that.

She stirred with a groan, hair splayed in messy waves.

“Why are you back already?” she rasped.

“Kashvi’s orders. Would you like some soup?”

“Soup? Veshri’s fancy pointed antlers, yes, please.”

“That’s . . . not the saying.”

“Well, it should be.”

Antal poured a bowl of soup, then returned to her bedside. When he cozied up beside her under the blanket, she tried, ineffectively, to push him away.

“Not too close,” Fionamara whined. “Or you’ll catch . . .” She frowned. “Wait. You can’t catch this?”

“I can’t,” Antal agreed. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, pressed the bowl into her hands. “Here. Eat this.”

As she ate, he settled an arm around her waist to help her sit up, his tail curled around her calf for comfort. She drank the hot broth with timid sips, at first. Then longer gulps. At last, her shivers eased. She breathed out her first sighs of relief, instead of agony.

What a strange medicine.

So much of this was new to him. He’d spent two and a half centuries on these Planes, yet humans still had so many fascinating aspects to discover.

Fionamara had so many aspects to discover, both the wonderful and the taxing, these raw pieces of her that she’d chosen to share with him. Antal was determined to learn them all like the threads of his own ether.

When she’d finished her soup, Fionamara curled up against his chest. Her breathing was better, but still a rasp on each inhale. He could practically hear her pouting.

“Thank you for bringing me soup,” she murmured.

“Of course, Fionamara.”

The way she clung to him was both ferocious, and fragile. That vulnerability, she was still getting used to showing.

“I hate being sick,” she said, lower still. “It makes me feel useless.”

“Sazny, kasek aza,” Antal purred into her hair. “I have no doubt that, even in this state, you could triumph against a dozen derived daeyari single-handed.”

She hummed at his flattery. “Maybe later. Right now, I’m . . . tired.”

Fionamara yawned and curled tighter atop his chest. Antal brushed his thumb along the warm, soft slope of her hip, a soothing motion.

“You deserve to have people taking care of you,” he murmured.

She was silent a moment.

Then, barely audible, “Boden used to take care of me, when I was sick.”

Antal waited for her to say more.

When she didn’t, he respected her space. Fionamara spoke of her brother when she felt strong enough. And when she didn’t . . . Antal pulled her tighter, wrapped in the assurance of his arms, helping her feel as safe as she’d done for him.

These human illnesses were strange. Frustrating.

But she’d get through it, like she always did.

He listened to Fionamara’s breaths shallow as she slipped into sleep. He held her long after, dozing against the pillows, ready for whatever she needed when she woke again.

This time would be different.

This time, Antal would keep his partner safe, no matter what lay ahead of them.