Page 211 of Sunsplitter

“Then by my authority as speaker,” Qirza announced, “this nomination is approved.”

Antal was too stunned to speak. He parsed Qirza’s words in his head, then again, and… that was it? Thateasy?

“You will be appointed to the Daey Celva for a probationary period of four years,” Qirza said to him. “During this period, your contributions to the council will be evaluated. At the end of this period, an additional vote will determine your permanent membership.”

Antal listened in numb silence. A part of him had never thought it would happen. A daeyari likehimcouldn’t possibly…

But this was hardly about Antal. It was Avroz, getting everything he wanted. Like always. All of Antal’sachievements, simply decoration for his father’s legacy.

“Do you have any further questions?” Qirza asked.

It didn’t feel real.

Antal forced a slow head shake. “No, speaker Qirza. And thank you, to all esteemed councilors, for the nomination.”

Qirza’s eyes narrowed. But she said nothing.

Avroz steered Antal off the central floor, his smile proud—his claws still too tight on Antal’s shoulder. The world was still underwater. Antal’s ears still rang at the muddied applause from the gallery, the well wishes of the councilors they passed.

Avroz beckoned Antal to sit. His neighbor, Lyve, relinquished his pillow with a smirk, shifting to the empty spot further down the circle. This was all a show. There would be more later, oaths and protocols, new pecking orders to sort.

For now, Antal settled cross-legged upon the cushion beside his father, here upon the council floor he’d studied, pined after for so many years. It should have been the accomplishment of a lifetime.

Antal felt sick. Hollow.

He felt like, if he were to loosen his teeth from their aching clamp, he might scream loud enough to shake the Void. Unable to bear this weight, he looked up at last, seeking the surface of the abyss he was drowning beneath.

The first thing he saw was Fionamara.

Antal’s world cracked back into focus with the speed of sledge-hammered glass.

At first, he thought himself hallucinating—hehopedhe was hallucinating. She couldn’t be here, a mortal at the Daey Celva, surrounded by daeyari who’d rip her to pieces for the transgression. He’d told her to stay on the Winter Plane. Where she wassafe.

Yet there she stood at the lowest tier of the gallery, her hair a tempest of Void and crimson, her knuckles white on the railing. Her eyes locked with his: one the dark gleam he knew so well, one piercing silver that struck him to the spine.

Veshri’s high and sharpened antlers, how did she get here?

An instant later, Antal had his answer: Syvr and Ixli at hersides, attempting to pull her back from the railing. Vicious, reckless woman, always hurling herself into danger.

Always for him.

The world was too sharp now. Too loud. The gallery tiers were packed, daeyari too busy gossiping over the meeting to have noticed the human in their midst—yet.

A hand from Qirza quieted the council. “Any closing business?”

Antal dragged his attention away from Fionamara. He told himself she was safe. She had Syvr and Ixli to guard her, and he’d whisk her away from here the instant the meeting adjourned.

He could survive the Daey Celva for her. For Thomaskweld. As Qirza drew the meeting toward its close, Antal looked to his father, eager to have this business finished.

Avroz said nothing.

He sat on his pillow with tail curled, untouchable as the moon upon a midnight sky.

“Final business?” Antal hissed. “I’ve upheld my side of the deal, izaevi. You owe me yours: codifying my new system of government in Thomaskweld.”

Avroz tipped his son a chiding look. “Patience, Antal. These things take time.”

The words were coals in Antal’s chest. Razors in his teeth.