Page 23 of Voidwalker (Beasts of the Void #1)

What have you done?

For the last seven years, Nyskya had been Fi’s refuge.

Whether work had her fleeing trade wardens on the Autumn Plane, stowed away on a Summer train past cerulean seasides, drenched in a warm Spring rain while contraband bottles clacked in her cart, she could always retreat here to the cold and quiet.

She’d hide away in her cottage, enjoying hot bubble baths and the music of her gramophone, pestering Boden until her next job.

Out here, problems like capitol explosions and daeyari coups could seem blissfully distant, buffered by miles of forest and snow. Distant, but not inescapable. All these years, Antal could have come to Nyskya to press the settlement beneath a firmer claw. Nothing stood in Verne’s way of doing so.

And it was all Fi’s fault.

She could weave excuses about lying clients, a friend’s betrayal manipulating her into business she should have no part in.

But Fi put the bomb in that building. She’d let her guilt over Astrid make her complacent.

Who knew how many bodies lay under the rubble of the capitol?

What fate awaited Nyskya, under Verne’s rule?

Maybe Boden would know what to do—if he could forgive Fi for screwing up again.

She stepped off the Plane through the Curtain near her cottage, crossed the distorted distance of a Shard, out another Curtain that placed her at the outskirts of the village.

The streets were drowsy in the early hour, muffled by fresh powder.

With hair tucked into her hat and face obscured by the white fur collar of her coat, Fi slunk past buildings, over boot tracks and sled trails heading into the forest, coming at last to the ranch south of town.

A herd of aurorabeasts browsed the pasture, hooves rooting for forage beneath the snow, green energy glowing along their backs.

Daeyari had brought the animals to the Season-Locked Planes, bred as a high-energy food source to sustain the immortals if their preferred prey ever ran scarce. Humans found other uses for the beasts: meat and milk and fur, valuable in endless Winter.

But mostly, Boden enjoyed their company. Fi found Nyskya’s mayor amongst his herd, tromping through snow to haul hay into feeding troughs.

He stilled when he spotted her, ice crusting his beard, exhale billowing into steam.

Boden broke into a run.

Fi cracked at the sight. Aurorabeasts snorted as he passed, his strides laboring against the crust of old snow on the field, closing the distance to grab her in a rib-crushing hug.

There were normal, sibling hugs. Then there were Boden’s worry hugs, that sixth sense he had whenever Fi acted too recklessly.

Normally, she’d tease him for the sentiment.

This time, Fi hugged back, distressed to find herself no less desperate for the anchor. His coat smelled of aurorabeasts. His messy hair, of the old wood musk and hearth ash from their family home. The only one left who did.

“ Fi ,” he breathed, heavy with relief.

“ Bodie ,” she returned, muffled by the shoulder he’d smushed her face into.

He held her at arm’s length, worry creasing his thick brows. Shadows framing his eyes. “We’ve gotten telegrams from Thomaskweld. People say the capitol building collapsed. Some kind of explosion . And when you didn’t come back… are you all right?”

Curse him for piecing this together before a word left her mouth. Curse him for caring so damn much. Which would be worse: watching Verne cut Boden down as an example against rebellious magistrates? Or Fi abandoning him again so she wouldn’t have to witness the aftermath? Either would shatter her.

“I could use breakfast.” She forced a smile. “Kashvi’s tavern?”

No hiding the strain in her voice, or her uncharacteristic lack of proper eyeliner. Boden chewed his lip but didn’t push. For now.

Still, Fi endured an onslaught of worried glances as they retrieved a crate of aurorabeast milk from his home, then set off into the village. They had the paths to themselves, flanked by houses with steep roofs and dark windows, wreaths of purple peatberry brightening several doors.

Boden’s bottles clinked as they walked. Across town, a pack of sled dogs barked.

Then a fitz . A clang .

The tavern sat at Nyskya’s center, the general store on one side of the common square, general socializing on the other. Though opening time wouldn’t come for another couple of hours, light glowed within metal-paned windows.

A woman stood in the yard. She wore a red wool coat lined in gray fur, a single dangling earring with a pendant of glowing silver glass, her skin a warm brown more common on sunny Planes. Her build was sturdy as a wolverine. She planted her boots and aimed a crossbow. Fired.

A silver energy bolt flashed across the yard, clanging into a metal target.

Spotting visitors, she rested her crossbow on one broad shoulder.

A sleek copper piece, powered by a silver energy capsule in the stock, heat from the mechanisms snagging as steam in her short black bob.

Her family moved from Summer to Winter two generations ago, seeking prospects as weaponsmiths.

She stayed because she liked the calm of long nights. Fi could relate.

“Well, well.” She tilted a brow. “If it isn’t Nyskya’s two biggest miscreants.”

Boden nodded. “Morning, Kashvi.”

“Mayor,” she returned, respectful with a tease of familiarity. For Fi, only the tease. “What’s got you looking like frizzed shit?”

Fi debated tackling her to the snow. Boden intervened with a hand on her shoulder.

“We’re hoping for breakfast,” he said. “If it’s not too early.”

Kashvi flexed stiff fingers against her crossbow, dark eyes narrowed to prospecting slits. “What’s it worth to you?”

Boden held up the milk bottles.

She grinned. “I suppose that will do.”

They stepped inside to a swell of warmth, a dark tavern room.

Dim light fought through windows fogged with condensation, framed in energy conduits to fight the infringing cold.

Brighter light slanted out of the hall, glinting off copper tabletops and stools, timber floor and walls accented in brushed tin, a steel bar counter decorated with aurora stained glass.

Kashvi reached for a wall panel, conduits connecting to orb lamps in the rafters.

Her arm went rigid.

The lights flickered on then off again as she hunched, hand clenched, breaths shallowing to gasps. Fi and Boden shared a sympathetic glance but said nothing. When he stepped forward to turn on the light for her, Kashvi swatted his hand and took the crate of milk.

“Shit in the Void,” she rasped around strained vocal cords. “I used to shoot targets all morning. Now, I can barely Shape three bolts without a flare up. Oh, stop with the pitiful looks before I throw your asses back in the snow. You know it will pass.”

When she waved them to a table, an argent sheen glinted on her hand, an internal inflammation, veining her skin like quicksilver.

As part of the pact centuries ago, humans had learned more complex energy Shaping from daeyari.

But mortals were made of different flesh, more easily damaged when pulling stronger currents.

Fi’s overuse manifested as fatigued muscles, a cold stomach, usually fixed by food and sleep.

She’d only pushed too far a couple of times, hard lessons learned through energy burns, plus a nerve in her pinky that prickled at random times.

Humans with silver sickness suffered steeper penalties. A disease of the immune system. No cure. Heightened sensitivity to energy made the body attack itself, the corrosion worst while Shaping, affecting muscles in the arms. Legs. Lungs.

Kashvi was fortunate, the spasms had never struck her heart.

As with most daeyari gifts, boon came with burden.

Kashvi passed it off with several slow, steadying breaths to relax her diaphragm. A cautious stretch of stiff fingers. Then, “Iliha! We have visitors.”

While she toted milk and crossbow into the hall, Fi and Boden settled at a table.

A record player sat dark in the corner, glass case and steel frame brushed by overhead lights.

A flock of automaton birds perched on copper rails above the bar, lively with clacking beaks during open hours, currently dormant amidst shelves of liquor bottles.

Too quiet. Enough to hear each groan of wind over the roof.

What Fi wouldn’t give for a break in the silence, a reprieve from Boden’s dissecting stare.

She couldn’t fault him for it. They’d both honed perception from a young age: the crimped edge of their mother’s mouth, less and less subtle leading up to the day she left.

The hunch in their father’s work-worn back that preceded him reaching for a liquor bottle.

The overhead lights flickered. This time, no fault of Kashvi’s. Fi was used to fluctuating power, having to charge everything in her cottage, but Nyskya’s conduit grid ought to be more stable. Boden’s curse spurred her concern.

“What happened to those daeyari energy chips?” she said. “They should last months .”

“They will. Just some conduits acting up. We’ve been working on repairs.”

Boden didn’t speak with the confidence Fi wanted to hear. Nyskya needed power. They needed self-sufficiency. If they had to turn to Thomaskweld for replacement parts now, with a new daeyari seizing control… Fi fidgeted with her coat sleeves.

Boden tracked every move. “Fi. What’s wrong? You seem—”

Voices rose from the kitchen. Steps erupted down the hall. A wisp of a woman stormed into the room, eyes like seafoam, pale skinned with a bun of straw-blonde hair. She swept aside the ties of her apron, hitched her sleeves then cracked a wooden spoon across Fi’s arm.

“You’ve got some nerve, Fionamara Kolbeck! Waltzing in here after stealing my soup!”

Fi hissed, hands raised in defense. “Calm your tits, Iliha. I left an energy capsule!”

“Can’t even bother saying hello. Here and gone like a thief!”

“I was on a job!”