Page 117

So much confidence, but how does she know that? She can’t even recall her own name!

Lunara was tempted to send out some of her magic right then and there, to see what in the realms was happening inside her friend’s head, but Fern continued before she could broach the subject.

“Anyway, where’d you come from if you’ve never been to Arrajnekkat? Are you Sokar’s bonded one?”

Another laugh from Kala, almost wheezing that time. “Silly. No, I broke free of the Fount and followed him down here ages ago. I was bored in the waters and he looked sad.” She tugged a curling strand of Lunara’s hair free with one of her clawed feet and examined it more closely. “Goodness me. You’re only a child.”

Ooh, the nerve. Wasn’t she just going on about being polite?

“I’m not⁠—”

“No worries. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re a youngling.” Without batting an eye, Kala coiled and tucked the hair under her wing. “Now, what was it you summoned me for?”

“Er, the washroom, please.”

Kala chattered all the way there, and all the way back. Pleasantries and mundanities mostly. But between whatever was happening to Fern, and the fact that she was conversing with a dragon in a secret library beneath the Fountain of All Life, Lunara was bewildered through all of it.

Stars and arses, there was just too much happening at once.

Lunara was settling back into her pile of cushions to start reading again when Kala asked, “So, what is it you’re looking for exactly? Creatures rarely come down here, and only when it’s important. Perhaps I can help.”

Of course, Fern answered before Lunara decided whether sharing was wise.

“She’s trying to save her mate from the malevolent parasite that’s currently possessing him and eating away at his mind and memories, which may or may not also be the chasms’ evils incarnate. Like, it’s a person? But not. Anyway, since they’re both named in the Shadow Prophecy, it’s probably something to do with that. Then again, the voice that talks to Lunara—who also happens to be the Oracle that foretold said prophecy—fucked off and stopped helping, so it’s hard to know for sure. Let’s be honest though, eh? It all started when this creepy cunt abducted him, so I hear, but that bitch is also nowhere to be found. Oh, and⁠—”

“Yes. Thank you, Fern,” Lunara deadpanned. “I think that’s enough for now.”

“The world is a funny place, isn’t it? Even within this little library.”

Little is pushing it.

“I’m glad I asked. He said someone would be down here because of that exact thing, and I should show them”—Kala hopped from her shoulder and glided over to one of the nearby shelves, using one wing claw to pull the corner of a small book free—“this one.”

Lunara stared and stared at that sliver of tawny leather binding, just barely peeking out. “Who is he, Kala?”

“Just as I will never tell a soul that you were here, or why, I will not be answering that.”

Fern snatched up the list Sokar gave them and took it over there, mumbling beneath her breath. “Ah ha. Blimmin’ second-to-last one on the list, but it’s here. We can open it.”

She plucked the book from its place and tossed it into Lunara’s lap.

Plain, almost flimsy, it had too few pages to seem relevant. She picked it up and⁠—

A shift and pause, the universe holding its breath.

Lunara hadn’t felt it this strongly since Thaddeus showed up on her doorstep begging her to heal Baldrir. Once again, exactly as that fateful day, she stood on a quiet, inner precipice, where destiny awaited at the end of a running leap. She released a shaky sigh and the stillness settled into her. No fear or doubt. Without even looking at it, Lunara knew.

Everything hinged on this little volume.

It was older than she first assumed, the leather so worn it was almost velvety. Flipping it open, she thumbed carefully through the pages until a piece of paper caught on her finger—thicker than the rest in the book. Holding the place it had been stuck, she pulled it out.

Her vision narrowed down to nothing, the words all she perceived, the rush of her blood all she heard.

She’d seen this sharp and tidy hand exactly once in her life, months ago, on a random note where it shouldn’t have been—tucked into a dress box with love letters from Brand, its presence still a chill in her veins that never fully went away.

The world went dark and swam beneath you, but you forgot to remember, it had said.

Lunara still didn’t understand how the writer knew about Endellion’s cryptic prophesying within her own head, but it didn’t matter. Not when the same writing was staring at her now.