The aurora hummed overhead, a song for a starless night. In the distance, ice creaked upon the frozen lake. Antal brushed a thumb to Fi’s cheek, inspecting dried blood and her swollen nose.
The tight line of his jaw said what he thought of her compassion. He let Astrid go, anyway.
“Thank you,” Fi whispered.
“Why?” There was an edge to his voice. And a slip of uncertainty. An unspoken question ofwhat in Veshri’s mercy did I just watch, and why did we let her go?
“I was supposed to be Verne’s Arbiter,” Fi said. “She took Astrid instead. She’s only part of this because of me, and…” A steadying breath. “Now we’re even.”
Antal hummed. He licked his thumb, then gently wiped the crust of blood from her lip.
“If she ever touches you again,” he said, “I’ll carve her spine out, piece by piece.”
“Yeah. I’m sure she realizes that, Antlers.”
Fi gave a small laugh, grateful for the levity. For the comfort of his touch. Never long enough, before reality sank its claws in.
“The fighters in Nyskya,” Fi said. “They went after the Beast.” She looked to Antal, hopeful he had more news since she’d left.
He shook his head. “I came for you.”
Of course he did. Tender creature.
They pushed through the Curtain, back onto the Plane. Fi didn’t look for Astrid’s tracks in the snow, didn’t want to know what direction she’d fled.
Antal offered his hand.
They emerged from the teleport in Nyskya’s square. A wretched sight: snow stained red and black with blood, ground strewn with broken energy capsules, buildings marred by claws and stray bolts. And quiet. So quiet, with everyone gone.
Then, voices ahead.
Fi ran toward them. The haggard, human-shaped amalgamation of bloody coat and flyaway curls that was Fionamara Kolbeck ran because her heart felt like week-old pudding, her bones were barely strung together, and the sight of Nyskya’s fighters returning down the main avenue seemed the only balm to hold her in one piece.
She grinned upon spotting Kashvi—actuallygrinnedat that frazzled wolverine limping back with a knife-honed slant to her brow. And Boden…
Fi nearly lost her footing on the snow.
Nearly fell. Nearly screamed.
Ran faster instead.
Two fighters carried Boden between them, his arms draped across their shoulders. Head slumped.
Blood drenching his coat.
39
I already forgave you
Boden was fine.
He had to be fine.
Fi slipped underneath her brother’s arm to take his weight, relieving the woman who’d carried him here with a limp of her own. Around her, people were speaking, a hum of worried voices. She hardly heard them.
There was so much blood soaking Boden’s coat. His breaths were too shallow.
“Bodie?” she urged. “Bodie, look at me.”
