Kashvi grumbled, “You’re rubbing off on her, Boden.” She leveled a finger at Fi. “He can come in. So long as he behaves himself.”
Maybe there was hope for Kashvi yet. Or maybe Fi’s stubborn tick act had reached a new level of success. Nodding seemed the safest response, though Fi doubted Kashvi knew what behaving himself meant for Antal.
He’d better behave himself, after all the nice things she’d said about him.
She took another warming swig of mulled wine then scraped her chair backward.
Fi headed down the dark hall, through the kitchen with its cooling ovens and lingering smells of sage-spiced stew. Out the back door, a snap of cold met her. An energy lamp glowed over the yard, lighting fresh powder and heaps of shoveled ice.
The door drifted closed, leaving Fi in a separate world—that long, still moment in the deep of night, hanging like a breath caught in the chest. No movement on the streets. No sound until she crunched a boot to the snow. Not a cloud against the starry sky that draped Nyskya in diamond and velvet.
Not alone, though. The prickle on Fi’s neck was so subtle, she might have discounted it as a passing chill, rather than the brush of unseen eyes.
“Hey?” she called out to nothing.
A soft scrape crossed the tavern roof. Fi looked up to find Antal perched on the eaves, his silhouette nearly indiscernible from shadow and moonlight.
“You’d better not scratch any of Kashvi’s shingles,” she warned. “Veshri himself won’t be able to save you from her wrath.”
His chuckle danced on night air, twirling with the cold and the sigh of wind through the alley. Soundless, he slipped off the roof, catching himself on sure feet. Fi never tired of watching him move, the effortless motions of confident muscles.
Not that she should be looking so intently.
“Noted,” Antal said. “Though I doubt I could make much worse of an impression.” He flicked a crimson eye to the door. “Finished already?”
“Just getting to the good part.” Fi grinned. “Join us?”
He tilted his head, scouring for hidden daggers or ulteriormotives. She had none, beyond the pleasant heat of wine in her stomach. Maybe a little had gone to her head.
Fi grew warmer as he circled her, slow and prowling strides, closing distance until their chests nearly touched. His tail arced behind her calves, trapping her against him.
An old intimidation tactic. She faced him with chin up.
“Scheming with Kashvi?” Antal accused.
“What makes you think that?”
“There are easier ways to have my head, Fionamara. A trap in your rafters, perhaps.” His grin flashed fangs. “Or, you could ask nicely.”
This would qualify as not behaving.
He wasn’t the only culprit.
“Please,” Fi purred. “You’d be the one asking.”
A sluggish part of her brain warned she shouldn’t tease like this, not when he stood close enough to fill her lungs with ozone, and definitely not with the buzz of wine dulling every thought. But if he insisted on taunting, only fair that she taunted back. Where was the harm? She still kept to her promise, and got to enjoy that delicious frown twitch his lips.
He pressed a hand to his false heart. “Such confidence in a skill you don’t intend to demonstrate.”
“Come inside,” she ordered.
His brows lifted higher. His voice dipped low. “Will you make me ask for that, too?”
“Antal.”
He hummed. Despite his taunts, his smirk didn’t return. “A kind invitation. But I see little point joining where I’m not wanted.”
He stepped away.
