Outside, footsteps climbed the stairs. Kashvi shouted, voice rough with fatigue.
Fi, breathless for a different reason, cursed and thanked the woman’s doggedness on the same exhale. She pulled away from Antal, not fast enough to avoid a nip to her chin. She bit him back, drawing a growl.
“Stop that,” he warned. “Or I’ll have to steal you away before you can brag to your allies of victory.”
“Our allies,” she reminded him.
“No, Fionamara. This was your doing. I was merely claws at your side.”
Kashvi, Yvette, and Mal burst into the hall with crossbows drawn. Then, wide eyes. The moment was surreal—as if beforenow, these frenzied few minutes might have been a dream.
Kashvi’s stunned silence, the slow creep of her grin both confirmed this was real.
Verne, dead on the floor. Fi and Antal, standing victorious.
He nodded, urging her to do the honors. She grabbed Verne’s head by the antlers and held it up for all to witness.
“It’s done,” Fi announced with a wicked grin. “And we’re just getting started.”
48
Yzi vali yzru
Antal insisted on a bath and a change of clothes before speaking to Verne’s citizens. Fi maintained her opinion that he’d make a stronger impression shirtless and covered in blood, but that was his loss.
They spent most of the day in Verne Territory, informing the governor and attendants of their ruler’s demise, setting buttresses to keep things running without their Lord Daeyari. Temporary measures. The full transition would take weeks, months, but for now, they had a higher priority.
That night, Nyskya’s residents returned home.
Fi sat on the steps of the tavern, aching bones and a weary smile as she watched the town return to life: families gathering in the square and dispersing back to their houses. Mal serving hot cider and butter cookies from the porch of his general store, grinning despite the bandaged burn down his cheek. Kashvi and Yvette checking the roster. All thanks to…
Static pricked Fi’s tongue.
Antal appeared in the square, hand clasped with Savo, the power foreman. Savo’s daughter, Anisa, sat in the crook of Antal’s arm, though she’d nearly summited his shoulder in a bid to tug at lacquer black antlers.
“Are they real?” she said, grabbing one antler hard enough to tip Antal’s head.
“Of course they’re real,” he returned with the patience of a martyr.
“Daddy, look! They’re real!”
“Yes, sweetie,” Savo said. “Let’s not pull on the Lord Daeyari’s antlers. There we go.”
Savo took his daughter, whose interest swiftly latched onto the prospect of cookies. Antal slashed Fi a “we will never speak of this” look, which guaranteed she was absolutely going to speak of this. Frequently.
Another prickle, and he was gone, off on the next trip.
“Leave, Kashvi!” Yvette hauled the resistant wolverine toward the tavern. “That’s nearly everyone. I’ll handle the stragglers. Go rest.”
Kashvi must be exhausted, with how quickly she gave in. She approached with stiff strides, arm hooked with Iliha’s for support. Fi stood to greet them.
“Break until morning?” Kashvi proposed.
“Kashvi,” Fi countered. “I don’t want to see your stubborn face until at least the day after tomorrow. You’ve earned it.”
Kashvi laughed. Gave Fi a firm hug then Iliha the softest kiss on her cheek.
“Two days’ rest,” Iliha said sternly. “At minimum.”
