Belatedly, it occurred to Fi—she’d practiced fighting a daeyari who was, by his own admission, abysmal at Shaping. Verne was a better Shaper than Antal. More patient than Tyvo. No reason to panic. Fi just had to focus, plant her boots, and—
Verne clutched her hand into a fist. Fi felt the impact as if Verne had grabbed the sword itself, watched in horror as the blade flickered.
Then snapped out entirely.
She had time for half a curse.
When Verne lunged, Fi pushed another pulse of energy at her, anything to slow the daeyari down. Verne splayed her fingers against the blast, scarlet energy Shaped like sickles at her claw tips, slicing through Fi’s attack with acrack. She struck Fi’s chest hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs, the sword from her hand.
So Fi could stand her ground better against a daeyari.
Still not strong enough to defeat one alone.
Her back hit the rough trunk of a pine tree. Verne pinned her with claws around her arms, not gentle like Antal, the points only missing flesh thanks to the thickness of Fi’s coat. Fi kicked. Twisted. Tried to break free.
A hand on her throat stilled her, claws digging against arteries hard enough to draw a warning trickle of blood.
A rabbit again. Fi loathed the feeling.
Verne cast her beneath appraising eyes, a hint of fangs through parted lips, tail flicking too quick for comfort. Fisteeled her nerves. She’d learned how to face daeyari these past weeks.
Except this daeyari looked at her in a way Antal never had. Like a helpless thing in her hands. Like a hare waiting to be skinned.
“You’re Antal’s pet.” Verne’s accusation wasn’t biting, but all the more stinging because of its flatness.
If anyone was going to call Fi a pet, it would be if she damn well asked for it. She bit her lip, a taste of copper on her tongue, a sting of claws at her neck.
“My derived daeyari returned alone,” Verne said. Less flat. A serrated edge of annoyance. “So what have you done with my Arbiter? Where’s Astrid?”
The name was vile on Verne’s tongue, spoken with all the empathy one would show a misplaced tool. A sliver of relief, though, knowing Astrid hadn’t gone crawling back to her mistress. Fi hoped she was a hundred Shards away by now.
“Dealt with,” Fi said. “She was stupid enough to fight me on my home terrain? She got what was coming to her.”
She’d spin any lie, weave any spite into her words if it meant keeping Astrid safe from this beast.
Verne’s lips thinned, only ire in her expression, not a fleck of grief.
“Astrid told meyouwere meant to be my Arbiter, rather than her.” Verne’s claw dragged Fi’s throat, catching at skin. “Maybe you should have been, if you bested her. What a waste.”
Not in a lifetime. Not if Verne offered Fi all the riches on the Winter Plane. She held her tongue, shaking at the thought of Verne’s teeth on Astrid. The scars she’d left on both of them.
Anger was a hindrance. Fi had to think, had to get these claws off her neck. She shouldn’t have come back here alone, stood a piss-poor chance of fighting Verne without help. Fi hadto run. If she could reach a Curtain, she might get out of this alive.
But Fi knew Nyskya like the back of her hand. There were no Curtains close enough.
Verne leaned close, a smell like ice and burnt timber. “You’re little use to me on your own, human. Where’s Antal?”
“Kicking him out wasn’t good enough for you?” All this time, and bristles were still Fi’s weapons. A shield when fear threatened to buckle her.
“I’d be delighted to never see him again.” Verne’s claws pressed sharper. “And yet, Tyvo tells me you and Antal paid him a visit. Astrid reports you’ve been gathering metal. Too stubborn to walk away. But if Antal insists on being a poor loser, I’ll deal with him more permanently. Where is he?”
Fi spat in her face.
A solid hit to the cheek. Excellent consistency, plenty of mucous from sobbing her eyes out, mixed with blood from a split lip. Verne, disappointingly, didn’t flinch. She wiped her cheek clean with slender fingers, eyes a flare of scarlet beneath dark lashes. Not even a panther with a rabbit. A lioness with a flea itching her hide.
“So simple, your kind. Simple insults. Simple fears. Do I need to give you more to be afraid of, little pet?” Her claw traced Fi’s cheek. “Or will you cooperate?”
Verne could go fuck herself. Preferably, with something sharp and uncomfortable.
