Page 134

Then again, weren’t they already wondering? Somehow, it made no difference in their respect or deference, for all he didn’t deserve it.

His failure to adjust to his circumstances with resilience and fortitude was something he’d be unpacking for a long time. Helping them in the interim was no real hardship.

Second—Sisters save him—Brand wanted to know what it was like to reach out and touch Lunara with a willing hand. Wanted to run his fingers through her wild, untamed tresses. To find out whether the scent of amber and moonlight was stronger up against her skin. To see if she might be able to heal him without ever using a drop of power.

Stars, how he craved it.

Brand padded into the chamber and found Magnus in one of the plush chairs beyond the cage barrier. The grey hour between moonset and sunrise bled the color from his skin and hair, his brother little more than a ghostly splash against the damask. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together, just staring and staring at the floor. Something about it broke Brand’s heart all over again.

“Did you sleep, Mag?” Brand quietly asked.

Magnus snapped out of his reverie, shaking himself as he plastered a too-cheery smile on, not really hearing him. “Ach, there you are, lad. Are you well? Do you need anything? I can fetch the witchling.”

“No, thank you. I’m…level. Still me, so there’s that. Otherwise…” He shrugged and sank onto the end of the bed, mirroring his brother’s position. “It is what it is.”

Magnus gave him a strange look. “Aye, so it is.”

Brand huffed at the repetition, so close to a real laugh that it surprised even him. “You didn’t answer me—were you able to sleep?”

“Don’t you worry about me.” Mag waved him off. “I’m fine. Wide awake. Besides, Pet never lets me go too long, aye? I’ll sleep when I actually need it, he’ll make sure.”

“Hmm.” His words rang false, but Brand knew trying to squeeze the truth from Mag was futile. His brother would never admit to any discomfort while viewing someone else’s as worse or more important.

Weeping Sisters, it was all so fucking sad.

They sat in a relatively companionable silence, both lost to their own thoughts for a while, until Mag finally broke it.

“Are you…” Magnus cleared his throat. “That is, I mean to say, how do you feel now that you’ve seen⁠—”

“Tell me about her,” Brand interrupted, not wanting to face that question yet. It was still too raw, too personal, and a small part of him felt like Magnus wasn’t supposed to be the first one to hear the answer regardless. “Please.”

As if Brand possibly meant anyone else, Mag tilted his head and asked, “About the witchling?”

Brand frowned, unsure why the nickname bothered him the tiniest bit, but nodded anyway. “I want the full Magnus special. No skimping on any details. Even better if you do the voices.”

The distraction might cheer Mag up a bit. Shite, hopefully it cheered them both up.

Magnus grinned and scooted forward, sweeping his hands out with an air of drama. “The first time any of us laid eyes on the mysterious Sorcerit, Lunara, was when she came hurtling through the portal in the Great Hall, went arse over teakettle through a puddle of blood, and fell straight into your waiting arms…”

Brand waited for the memories to flood in as his brother regaled him. For snippets to crop up and give him something to go on. When that failed, his mind a blank, Brand did the next best thing—he settled back, closed his eyes, and let his imagination paint the pictures for him.

Lunara miraculously pulling Baldrir from the edge of the Veil. Tending injured Demons as they readied for the Occurrence. Training before they’d left for Glynmor. Befriending Nyri with particular fondness. Finding Fern and saving Hedda. Accepting his greater half with awe. Going head-to-head with Lyriat. Pulling him back from the edge of an episode, their bond flaring in front of everyone in the Great Hall. Being marked by Solyrian in truth before all of the Horned City. Toppling dreadbeasts with taloned whips she made on a whim. Blasting craters into Thodeleborian fields and laying waste to every monster within the Thodelemaia Dread Chasm after misting half of the Montrealm’s Legions in one go. And so, so much more.

“…and next I know, we’re laying the two of you in bed here together,” Magnus murmured, his wild and wondrous tale drawing to a close. “You pretty much know the rest of it. We struggled with Lunara a bit after she woke up, just trying to get her to take care— Ach, well. That’s for her to tell, and she’s alright now, aye? You’ll both get there.”

“I hope so,” Brand said, standing. “And I’m ready now, if you don’t mind going to find her.”

“Thank the sweet Sisters for that.” Mag practically sprinted for the door. “My stomach is eating itself.”

A sharp ache took up residence in Brand’s chest as soon as he was alone, the sheer amount he was missing like an open wound. He had no delusions that Magnus told him everything. There were gaps and jumps in time that didn’t quite add up, incomplete sentences before Mag skipped ahead on a laugh, odd pauses and so on, but he heard enough. Felt enough.

Burning Solyrian, Brand wanted every fucking second back.

He just didn’t know how.

Working her magic in that too big, borrowed robe, glorious hair a mess and exhaustion carved into her features, Lunara was perfection.

Brand couldn’t stop staring at her.