He grabbed her into another hug, smothering her fervor against his coat.
“Stop it,” he whispered. “Stop it, you stubborn girl. None of that matters anymore.”
Of course it mattered. Fi wriggled in protest. “I left you.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You’re my brother, and I left you.”
“You’re my sister. And you’re the only family I have left.”
Boden held her so tight. As if she might vanish the moment he let go. Fi fought through the hitch in her breath, a treacherous prickle in her eyes.
She wanted to believe it was that simple. She wanted to believe it didn’t matter how she’d run away, how she’d left Boden to tend their father as alcohol rotted his liver and picked holes through his brain. How Boden had to track her down in a backwoods village on the Winter Plane to set their record straight.
Boden had never given up on her. For that, Fi loved him more than anyone on all the Shattered Planes. She wanted his forgiveness as desperately as she needed air in her lungs.
But he refused to talk about the past.
Anytime Fi approached the subject of reconciliation, Boden deflected, shut down. Like he could stomach moving forward, only by refusing to look behind. Seven years they’d workedtogether, this gaping wound between them, scabbed but still leaking pus.
Maybe he could still forgive her, if she didn’t fuck this up. That sole hope gave her the strength to hug him back, a moment of weakness as she sank against his chest and buried her face in his coat.
“You aren’t doing this alone,” Boden told her.
“Of course not. We have a daeyari to help us.” Fi broke from his embrace, snapping back to practiced nonchalance. “Let’s get you home. I can take you through a Curtain.”
She climbed onto Aisinay’s back before Boden could protest. The Void horse poked her snout at his coat pockets, a huff when she found no treats. He patted behind her finned ears then headed for his own mount.
Fi guided Boden through the Curtain nearby, across a Shard, out another Curtain by his ranch. He hugged her again when they bid goodnight. Too long. More earnest than she deserved.
She returned alone to her home on the ridge, to her quiet shiverpines and aurora-kissed needles, riding slow to let cold air clear her head. At last, they had a fresh plan. Only time would prove whether it was sounder than all her failures so far.
Ahead, golden light spilled out the windows of her cottage. She wondered if Antal would be gone, slipped away in her absence like a shadow in the night.
She cursed her relief when she cracked the door open, greeted by red eyes.
Antal lounged on her sofa, arms sprawled across the backrest, an empty coffee mug dangling from his claws. His tail swayed a slow arc as he glanced between her and the door, no Boden in sight, something dry and questioning in his look.
Fi sighed.
“He means well,” she said. “He’s a worrier. And a little stubborn. But he cares about Nyskya, and he’s good for a promise. He won’t rat you out to Verne.”
Antal propped his head on a palm. The slow spread of his smirk put Fi on guard.
“Fi-Fi?” he said.
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“I will end you myself,” Fi said in a low, warning tone. “Then end youagain,when you come back for me.”
Antal laughed. The sound startled her every time, deep notes reverberating through her rafters. She breathed a little easier, the weight of her talk with Boden slipping to a safer recess of her mind.
“Fi, then?” He spoke the name like a curiosity. Like he was tasting it.
“If you’d like.”
“What wouldyoulike?”
