“Do daeyari have velvet when they’re younger?”
Antal gave her an appraiser’s look, bright-eyed with a glint of teeth. “Velvet?”
“Like when elk grow their antlers, they start off covered in velvet. Have to rip it off in a bloody mess.”
“Ah, yes. It’s atrocious. A peril of daeyari puberty.”
“Ew. Really?”
“Worst part of the first few decades.”
“Still better than dying.”
“And you, Fionamara? How did you die?”
“Excuse me?”
Fi hated every time he made her stammer.
“Daeyari see Curtains innately,” Antal said. “As do mortals who’ve died and returned, touched by the Void.” His voice lowered. “You said you’d been to a daeyari shrine before mine. Did Verne…”
“No.” Fi spoke quickly, before those eyes could crack into her. “Stupider than that. I fell into a river when I was a kid. Nearly drowned. Then I started seeing Curtains, and…” She clutched her knees, glaring at snow-crusted boots as the wordsbottled up on her tongue. She could spare a speck of honesty, couldn’t she? Antal had told her about his father. Fair trade. “I was supposed to be Verne’s Arbiter.”
Antal’s tail fell still. “She refused you?”
“I ran away.”
Ran and never came back, like a coward. Left Astrid to take her place. That part stayed stoppered in her throat. Fi couldn’t let Antal see that trembling creature locked inside of her. Not when she’d fought so hard to gain his respect.
“Verne took the vavriter instead?” Antal asked.
“Astrid.” The name settled bitter on Fi’s tongue.
“You two were close?”
“We grew up together. Became friends, then best friends, then we were…”
A memory slipped back of the first antlers she’d gripped, shorter and wreathed in longer hair. The heat of Astrid’s whispers against her neck. Long fingers tracing Fi’s ribs.
She couldn’t fight this blush, not when Antal’s brow climbed to a knowing arc. It was low-hanging fruit. An easy place for a jab, soft flesh she’d been stupid to expose.
Antal didn’t strike.
“Verne’s Arbiter,” he mused. “We would have met under very different circumstances.”
Fi doubted that. She couldn’t imagine joining Verne’s plans for conquest, but she didn’t picture herself a hero, either. Most likely? She’d be dead, cast aside by an immortal who didn’t abide inconveniences.
“Why don’t you have an Arbiter?” Fi asked.
“Never needed one. I’d rather leave my people to their own devices.” Antal huffed. “I suppose I have one, now.”
The drop of his voice twisted Fi’s stomach. The silence between them hung with gratitude unspoken, a growing bondneither human nor immortal seemed capable of verbalizing, tied together by fate beneath the endless black of the Void.
Antal shrugged. “And an Arbiter who moans well. Who could have guessed?”
Fi punched him hard on the shoulder. She hoped it hurt.
The train came into full view: a Shaping-powered engine charging down the tracks, three passenger cars with copper plating and lighted windows, another five cargo cars in back. Their target lay onboard: a shipment of conductive metal perfect for weapon smithing.
