Last, he looked to Fi.
“And you, Fionamara? What would you ask of me, to have your aid?”
Fi straightened. She opened her mouth, but to her dismay, nothing jumped to her tongue. That wasn’t right. She ought to be ready to haggle at a moment’s notice.
But the way Antal looked at her. That crack of exhaustion and relief pulling his brow. The way she could almost see the shape of “thank you” in the curve of his lips…
“A favor,” she said. “For me to call on when I wish.”
Antal nodded without hesitation.
A fool. He was afoolto trust her that easily, to grant a deal so broad.
And they were partners in this.
“Well,” Yvette said, an enterprising glint in their eye, “I’d like to hear the daeyari out.”
“How many in Nyskya will fight?” Savo said.
“How manycanfight?” Mal amended.
“We don’t need many.” Fi took the floor. “We only have three targets. A small force will be enough to clear a path, then…” She glanced to her side, locked eyes with crimson irises. “Antal and I will take care of Verne.”
Antal nodded, though there was a grimness to it. Couldn’t fault him for that.
“We don’t have many fighters in Nysksa,” Boden said. “But perhaps they’ll be eager to learn. If another daeyari is willing to teach?”
“And weapons?” Mal pressed. “Where will we get those?”
“We can smith weapons.” Yvette strummed their fingersagain. “Though we’ll need better metal, conductive alloy. Not easy to come by.”
Fi lit with smug anticipation before anyone even said it. A wicked grin, by the time Boden looked to her.
“How fortunate,” he said dryly, “that we have an accomplished smuggler at our disposal.”
26
A dance with claws
Trust didn’t bloom overnight. But in the following days, Nyskya’s advisory council grew to regard Antal with less open spite—aside from Kashvi, the stubborn ice toad.
Under Savo’s direction, Fi and Antal paid nightly visits to the village’s energy conduits. Antal was, Fi had to admit, impressively good with his hands, his improvised engineering enough to get most of the system running again.
With Mal and Boden, they met in the general store after hours, strategizing supplies and shelter for Nyskya’s residents who didn’t want to fight when the time came.
With Yvette, they toured the metal smithy, taking inventory of what metal they’d need for new crossbows and sword hilts. Yvette brought villagers to meet them in small groups, those willing to fight, and who could be trusted with knowledge of Antal’s involvement.
Kashvi, they avoided. Though Fi had to listen to Boden groan daily about the tavern keeper’s complaints. Fi started out sympathetic. By midweek, she was thoroughly over Kashvi’s stubborn spite. Warranted spite, but the greater enemy they faced required cooperation, even if forgiveness was out of the cards.
Exhausted, Fi dragged herself through meetings with Bodenand his council, grumbling an internal monologue on how this was why she’d always left politics to her brother. Give her a Void sky and an empty horizon. Her latest meeting—discussing vulnerabilities of upcoming metal shipments with Boden and Kashvi—ran late. Antal, for the sake of productive conversation, didn’t attend. When at last she trudged back to her cottage, the forest was dark, a green aurora whispering overhead.
The lights were on ahead of her.
Fi, accustomed to dark windows and a quiet sofa to sprawl on after a draining day, still found this homecoming strange. Though not unpleasant.
She entered to find Antal cross-legged on her cushions, tinkering with a disassembled crossbow. He appeared fresh-clothed and freshly-bathed, lingering drops of water glinting on his antlers. Still an upsetting number of buttons undone, baring a wide view of smooth chest, the clean lines of his clavicle.
Fi never seemed to adjust to that first sight of him: the predatory tilt of his head, the glint in his eyes when he looked up to greet her.
