Kashvi drew a rasping breath. Her liquor, she handled fine, but silver veins stiffened her arm. She leaned back in her chair, taking slow and intentional breaths until the tremor passed.
“Void alive,” she said, hoarse. “Don’t suppose you daeyari have a secret cure for silver sickness hiding up your claws?”
Antal had downed his drink without expression. He stared at the empty glass. “No. Your bodies are… different from ours. More easily damaged by energy. Silver sickness is a mystery to us.”
Kashvi huffed to clear her throat. “So you give us secondhand technology. Teach us magic that burns us from the inside out. You ever done anythingnicefor a human?”
“Hey, now,” Fi said. “Rude. He’s had human friends before.”
“Friends?” Kashvi squeezed the word.
“Yes, Kashvi, friends. Of the non-dinner variety.” She faced Antal. “You said you even had one really close human friend?”
“So I did.”
Somehow, Antal turned stiffer. Fi frowned, studying the tap of claws against the table, his downcast eyes. Odd. He’d never lingered on this subject long, but…
“A close friend?” Kashvi said, skeptical.
“He was,” Antal replied.
“Was?”
There came the silence. The understanding.
Kashvi’s chair creaked as she leaned back. “How’d he die?”
“Kashvi,” Fi chided.
“What? He wants us to trust him?” Kashvi glared at Antal. “Tell us what happened to the last human who befriended you.”
Movement caught Fi’s eye—the flick of Antal’s tail beneaththe table. She’d meant the topic as a vote of confidence, not a hidden dagger. When they’d spoken about this before, she hadn’t pressed, had assumed the flat plane of Antal’s voice meant his friend was lost to age or sickness or some other human deficiency. Nothing anyone would want to talk about.
“He’s done plenty to earn our trust,” Boden said. “Repairing conduits. Getting materials.”
“All of which serve his ends as well as ours.” Kashvi pressed her hands to the table. “What happened to your friend, daeyari?”
Fi shouldn’t have brought this up. She shouldn’t have—
“My family ate him.”
31
Ask me in the morning
Antal’s words sank in slowly.
Fi replayed them. Tasted. Swallowed.
She stared at him, painfully aware she wasn’t breathing properly. Painfully aware of him looking anywhere but at her.
He’d never wanted to talk about this. She’d never pressed. Hisfriendhad…
“Antal?” she forced out at last. And still, he wouldn’t look at her.
Kashvi’s reply came louder, a humorless laugh slicing the quiet. “Well. At least daeyari are predictable.”
Fi didn’t believe that. She couldn’t. “Surely, there’s an explanation—”
