Page 6 of Voidwalker (Beasts of the Void #1)

It’s unfair to look that sexy

The city of Thomaskweld, capital of Antal Territory, didn’t dust the slopes of its valley.

It consumed.

Where once a mighty river reigned amidst the pines, the city tamed the banks with concrete carriageways and train stations of vaulted glass, high-rises plated in decorative copper, trolleys clacking down tracks with silver energy capsules humming at their rears.

Factories rose like cathedrals of sheet metal.

The Summer Plane grew produce of every variety.

Spring Plane flowers were unmatched, and the Autumn Plane boasted a mean maple syrup.

The Winter Plane generated energy. Workers in the power factories Shaped their magic into capsules and chips, energy to keep the city humming, to trade for what the Plane couldn’t grow or mine.

Fi led Aisinay along the river parkway, cobblestones clacking beneath hooves and cart.

Pruned fir trees lined the center of the road.

Along the sidewalks, copper energy conduits fed streetlamps of wrought iron and silver light.

Shop windows framed in geometric metal designs displayed the latest Shaping-powered coffee kettles, books in foiled dustjackets, mannequins in embroidered fleeces with colorful scarves.

Fi’s tailored black coat with fur collar looked tame by comparison, though her Void-and-rainbow hair drew glances from several passing pedestrians.

Other curious eyes followed her Void horse. An unusual animal, in a city of trolleys and caribou-drawn carriages.

Fi wasn’t concerned, even considering recent drama with Autumn trade wardens. Law enforcement rarely crossed territories, much less Planes. Daeyari were conscientious carnivores, one ruler per territory to space out resources, keeping competitors off their hunting grounds.

A kindness, they called it. Protection for their human subjects, a boon to only have to feed one predator.

Fortunately, daeyari never walked their streets alongside lowly mortals. Let the bastard roost in his capitol building; Fi had a deal to settle.

Cardigan’s address led her to a riverside hotel—a busier one than she’d have liked, but who was bothering to ask her opinion? A young man in a navy bellhop uniform hurried out the glass door to meet her. When he reached for Aisinay’s bridle, Fi’s grip tightened.

“Afternoon, miss. I can take your—”

“No, thank you.”

“We have stables in the back for—”

“No. Thank you.”

Fi slipped a small energy chip into his hand to shoo him off, then appraised the metal ribs of the building, panels of stained-glass auroras glowing with interior light. Short days, this time of year. Late afternoon, yet the sun set hours ago.

A woman stepped outside. Her wool dress fell to her calves, powder blue with fur cuffs, a contrast to dark hair and brown skin. She smiled with a demure air, a crafted calm to her strides, yet keen eyes snapped to Fi’s cart.

“Pleasant afternoon,” she greeted.

“Are you sure this is public enough?” Fi returned dryly. “I could add a sign on my cart: illicit deal occurring here, everyone please look ?”

The woman tutted. “Why don’t you come inside and warm up with a drink?”

Fi ran down her mental list of reasons why not to cuss out a client in public.

She fully planned to enjoy the city’s recreations—a strong drink, a riverside bar thrumming with music and dancing, some man or woman to push her against a wall and kiss her senseless.

On her own time. After getting rid of the explosives harnessed to her horse.

The woman headed inside. Fi, an immaculate professional, resolved to keep this brief. After a firm chat with the bellhop to not let horse or cart out of sight, she followed.

Marble tile squeaked beneath her boots as they crossed the lobby.

Energy conduits formed geometric patterns across the ceiling, more decorative than those on the street, inlaid with glass channels to display silver magic flowing into the chandeliers.

The lounge was dimmer, tile replaced by plush carpet, windows swathed in cream curtains as thick as Fi’s coat.

That morning, she’d debated the appropriateness of silviamesh for civilized company, but the protective fabric hiding beneath her outerwear offered reassurance as this job turned stranger.

In a secluded corner of the lounge, Fi’s guide gestured to an armchair.

The deep upholstery attempted to swallow her, a moment of flailing, but she recovered by plopping her boots upon a low table.

Across from her sat another stranger, a white man with mussed hair and gaunt cheeks.

Too much stress or not enough calories. Either was perilous in an eternal winter.

A plate of pastries waited on the table: layered chocolate cakes topped with raspberries and powdered sugar, ingredients imported from warmer Planes. A clever bribe. Glasses clinked as the woman poured three shots of amber liquor, wafting a scent of anise and orange.

“I’m Milana. This is Erik.”

Fi downed her drink in one gulp then flipped the glass upside down, a thunk against the table. The liquor left a lovely burn in her stomach. “I mean this in the kindest way possible when I say: I don’t care what your names are. I’m here with the cargo.”

Milana took a modest sip. “We appreciate the work, Miss Kolbeck.”

“I’ve found that payment is an excellent way to communicate gratitude.”

“And you’ll have it. Though, we have one more request, if you’ll entertain us.”

There it was. Fi traced a nail around the edge of her glass. First Cardigan’s shady cargo descriptions, now this?

“That wasn’t the agreement,” Fi said.

The man, Erik, leaned forward. “You didn’t think we’d offer so many energy chips for a simple delivery? We had to be certain you were up to the task. A test of—”

Milana set a hand on his arm. At least she noticed Fi’s ice-crusted glare.

“We apologize for the duplicity,” Milana said. “Nothing to reflect a poor opinion of your services. We’ve been told you have a formidable constitution. That you don’t back down from challenging contracts.”

Fi made a sour face. She had worked very hard to fabricate that reputation, hadn’t she? A different person from the flimsy girl who’d run away from home ten years ago.

Wasn’t loving the trajectory of this conversation, though.

This woman didn’t speak like a black-market reseller. Milana spoke like a politician—far more concerning. And Fi had to be cautious with clients who paid this well.

“What’s the rest of the job?” Fi asked.

“We need you to move the capsules into the capitol building.”

In the following silence, Fi could have heard a mosquito cough.

Or was that ringing sound in her own ears?

She wouldn’t bat her mascara-lined lashes at evading backcountry police. Slinking past border checkpoints. Emptying estates for scheming mistresses. Success relied on avoiding routes of highest risk. The capitol building rolled every conceivable risk into a single glass-coated cage.

“You’re joking.” Fi looked between them. “ Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You’ll be finished by this time tomorrow,” Milana said. As if that was the issue.

“The governor is in the capitol building.” Along with his retinue of security. More trade wardens than Fi could hurl an energy chip at. Rooms full of people faithful to the territory’s law and order, to say nothing of the greatest danger. “And the Void-damned daeyari .”

“The Lord Daeyari is currently gone from the city,” Milana said. “Inspecting his eastern holdings. And the governor will be busy with meetings tomorrow.”

This was a joke. A test. Cruel retribution for Fi not paying taxes—but merciless Void, everyone hated taxes. “What business could you possibly have in the capitol building?”

“We’re looking to acquire a ceramic art piece of considerable value from the governor’s personal collection. The energy capsules you’ve transported will be our route into the safe.”

“You need that many capsules for a safe ?”

“A precaution. You get the capsules into the building, then get us out.”

Fi blew out a breath, attacking a rainbow curl that had escaped onto her cheek. “Ah. See. Here, we have another issue. I transport items. I don’t infiltrate.”

“We’ll infiltrate. All you have to do is move us.”

“A Void smuggler never reveals her routes.” Neither was she thrilled at the idea of becoming a glorified getaway driver.

“There are no existing Curtains within the capitol grounds,” Erik chimed in. “Security policy during construction.”

Fi’s brow lifted, but before she could argue—

“We need you to cut a new Curtain,” Milana said.

Fi fell silent as permafrost.

Most Curtains existed naturally, remnants of whatever cataclysm shattered the Planes. The ability to cut new Curtains was a difficult, dangerous skill. One of Fi’s greatest secrets to success, used only in dire need.

“And what makes you think I can do that?” she asked, her tone a warning low.

“Don’t be modest,” purred a new voice beside her. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Fi spun fast enough to pop a few vertebrae. Her boots thunked off the table, fingers clawing instinctively for the sword hilt beneath her coat—only to freeze, at the appearance of a phantom in the dim lounge light.

The newcomer circled their table. She had even paler skin than Fi. Her Void-black hair was shaved on one side, cut straight to her jaw on the other.

Atop her head: two short antlers, black with dual points.

For a moment, Fi’s entire stupid heart forgot how to beat.

A vavriter.

What in the merciless Void was a vavriter doing here?

They must have been brave, the early mortals who fucked daeyari, inviting predators into their beds.

Perhaps there was allure in the danger. The restraint.

Since becoming immortal, daeyari could no longer make children with humans, but in the lost ages when the beasts had been similar flesh and blood, their pairings produced vavriter.

Millenia later, the hybrids’ descendants still walked the Planes, now a species of their own.