Page 49 of Sunsplitter

“And you’d do this anyway?”

Antal leaned against the railing, river roaring at his back.

His city lay ahead, bright and warm and alive.

“Do you recall why Avroz sent me to the Winter Plane?” he said. “Why heclaimedto send me here, that is. We both know it was a punishment.”

Yme’s mouth thinned, her tail uneasy.

“To learn responsibility,” Antal continued. “To become more worldly. And I have, azaevi. I’ve learned that fear is a poison. I’ve learned that humans are clever, hard-working. Kind, when given a chance. Thomaskweld’s energy exports have increased threefold with this new system, its population growing. I’m honored by my place beside them.”

Yme fell silent too long. Long enough that Antal knew.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“No.”

As expected. Still, it stung. His own mother, looking upon all he’d built, unable to see—

“But I’d like to,” she said.

Antal’s head tilted, confused by the earnest sentiment. And equally distrustful.

“Perhaps I could visit more often,” Yme said. “If you’d have me?”

“Azaevi…”

“I could see more of your city. Your people. Maybe then I might understand better.”

Antal wanted to say no. To be strong, like Fionamara had told him to be.

Yme stepped closer.

“Please, Antal.” Her tail brushed his, not the casual welcome she’d offered before, but tentative. Entreating. “Fifty years has been too long. Let me take this step to start fixing things.”

She’d been like this for as long as Antal could remember. She said she loved him—but hadn’t visited in fifty years. She claimed she’d do anything for him—but hadn’t said a word when Avroz had killed Razik, had pretended Antal would be fine when he could barely bring himself to eat in the months after. Every scrap of hurt and neglect festering in Antal’s chest urged him to say no. To hurl this injustice back at her like sharpened claws.

He couldn’t. Not when his mother looked to him with such wide eyes, a mirror of his own. Not when she brushed a knuckle to his cheek, as soft and comforting as it used to be.

“I have conditions,” he said.

Yme brightened. “Of course. Name them.”

“If you need food, you’ll ask me. You will never harm any of my people.”

She nodded. “You have my word.”

“And if youtouchFionamara…” Antal bared a fang in emphasis. “I’ll never speak to you again.”

Yme blinked in surprise. Then came that probing look, a subtle crease on her brow.

“What Avroz said is true,” she whispered. “That human woman. Antal, yzir virso, surely you don’t—”

They were interrupted by a commotion down the street. A clatter of hooves.

Fionamara sat astride her Void horse, urging the scaled beast as swiftly as the crowds allowed, face set in a scowl Antal knew well.

Void and Veshri have mercy on whoever earned the brunt of that scowl.