Page 44 of Sunsplitter

Fi wasn’t sure she’d ever heard Kashvi string that many sentences together about her illness, more prone to gruff shrugs.

“You can rest,” Fi said. “Void knows you’ve earned it.”

There came the shrug. “Bad habits.”

Both of them still fighting old impulses. The past year had brought change, but maybe not as much as Fi thought. Maybe not all of it as good as she’d thought.

She’d hoped, for example, that escaping the Twilit Plane would feel like a victory. That Antal would be glad to return home—his real home, here on the Winter Plane.

The cracks were so glaring, Fi could slap herself for not seeing them sooner. The subtle tilt to Antal’s posture on a human sofa, the backrest cramping his tail, compared to daeyari floor pillows. The too-bright glare of sun through the window. His coffee, clasped for amicable conversation, but hardly touched. Merciless Void, how had she never realized the coffee would taste different on another Plane?

The greatest insult was that he’d never told her.

The meeting ended in good spirits. Antal walked the councilwoman to the door with a careful, fang-less smile. He’d dressed in mortal fabrics, unornamented. A panther, terrified that these hares would turn on him if he showed too much of himself.

When the door closed, his smile fell, exhaustion slumping his tail.

“She’s requesting timber,” he said. “An influx of residents, like everywhere else. They need to build.”

Kashvi nodded. “We can send some shipments that way.”

“Her greater worry is the territory next door.” Antal returned to the sofa, dropping to the cushions with a less formal sprawl. “Sunip sits near the border. They’ll be closest to whicheverdaeyari takes Verne’s place. I’ll try to hold out for a good replacement but”—he ran a hand over his face—“I won’t be able to stall forever.”

“Keep track of your promises, daeyari. I’ve got plenty to keep you busy already.”

While Kashvi assembled her list of to-do items, Fi joined Antal with an equally dismal slump on the sofa. Her sweater was thick and oversized, soft fabric perfect to mope in—and gentle on the claw marks healing across her collarbone.

Fi watched Antal’s gaze trace the cuts on her temple. A longer pause on her frown. Worried that she was still angry?

Of course she was angry. How could Fi not be angry to realize she wasn’t giving him what he needed? She’d tried to learn how daeyari acted, baring teeth and biting chins, even speaking the language.

But those were tiny things. They could never replace an entire world.

A world that had hurt him, over and over. Yet he wanted to cling to it?

“You don’t like the coffee?” she asked.

Antal’s tail twitched. He studied the mug he’d set on the table. “It’s fine.”

“But not the same?”

A pause. “No.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

His eyes narrowed. Another appraisal of her posture, her flat tone.

“You’re pouting,” Antal said softly. “Honey sweet.”

Fi sat upright. “Excuse me?”

“You pinch your face when you pout—”

“Honey… sweet?”

Fi gawked at him. Antal returned a slow, perplexed blink. An anxious tail swish.

“You requested a pet name,” he said.