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One look at who it was, at how they were limping, and Lunara clicked her tongue. “We really must stop meeting like this, Gaulnir.”

“You may be right, m’lady.” The aging Demon offered a wink as he sat heavily on her wooden bench. “But I was right jealous of my brethren getting to have a chat with you. Seemed like the easiest way to have my turn.”

“Nonsense,” she chided, plopping down on a low stool in front of him. “For you, I’m always free, wounds or no. What did you do this time?”

Gaulnir’s grin was sheepish. “Would you believe it was a nail to the foot again?”

Lunara huffed, recalling the first time she healed him all those months ago. “I would if it was true.” She scooted forward and examined the deep laceration from toe to heel across his sole, gritting her teeth against the aching throb in her joints. “What was it really? And remember, I prefer my tales on the pages of books. No fibs for the sake of pride, or I might be tempted to turn you into fish, if only to ensure your feet are safe from any more misfortune.”

The Demon laughed. “Don’t tempt me. These bones aren’t what they used to be. I might enjoy spending my days in the sea, so long as my Byrlan could join me.”

“Let me know what he says, and I’ll see what I can do,” Lunara teased, then raised a brow at him. “And I believe you’re stalling.”

When he still didn’t answer, she turned to Brand. “Did you see what happened?”

“Please, Brandir. Don’t,” Gaulnir murmured, a pleading note in his voice. “I might joke, but I’m not truly ready for it.”

Lunara blinked at the casual use of Brand’s name, Gaulnir ever proper and respectful.

Brand knelt beside him, though, gathering Gaulnir’s gnarled hand in his own. “Do you remember when we met?”

“How could I forget?” Gaulnir leaned in. “All of fifteen years old, hardly more than a babe. And it took you three months to finally greet me in the morning. I nearly keeled over then and there.”

“What was there to say? You nattered enough for the both of us.”

“And you heard every word.”

“I did. Like when you said, ‘Hard work speaks for itself. Go on and let your touch do the talking until your mouth and mind are ready. I’ll be here when you are,’ on the first day.”

Gaulnir nodded, his lip trembling. “So I did.”

“I’d forgotten it myself, until very recently.” Brand peered up, not quite meeting her gaze. “Gaul taught me everything that ever mattered. How to hold my tools and care for them. How to work the wood and bring its fibers to life. How to express myself without ever uttering a sound.”

“A better student I never had. You were quiet, so what? Look at you now—an artist through and through.”

“Perhaps. But being quiet means I listened.” Brand’s thumb grazed over Gaulnir’s knuckles. “Hard work speaks for itself, and you’ve been working harder than anyone I know for longer than I’ve been alive. There’s no shame in finally enjoying a well earned rest. What better way to celebrate such a long and wonderful life?”

“Ah, you always did have the sweetest of hearts.” Gaulnir’s breath hitched as he planted a kiss on Brand’s forehead. “The Sisters themselves led you to the Square today.”

Lunara melted at the display of tenderness, tears blurring her vision. There was still so much to learn about her mate, so many stories to hear and enjoy—something she’d never get to do if she didn’t find a way to fix him.

“My body failed today,” Gaulnir quietly admitted. “These old legs went weak and right out from under me while I was taking a set of stairs, like they weren’t there at all. A shard of rock sliced me on the way down. Our Brandir got to me quick as he could, and I begged him not to tell, but I’m thinking you might be the one creature he’ll not lie to, even for me.”

Lunara swallowed and looked at Brand, just to find him staring back. Stars above, she could lose herself there for hours. It took everything in her to tear herself away.

“And how many times has your body failed you before?” she asked, shaking herself.

“Too many to ignore anymore, truth be told.”

“I’ve heard the truth will set you free.” Lunara took Gaulnir’s foot between her palms, then glanced once more at Brand. “It worked for me, anyway.”

With that, she sent the gentlest threads of her power into the Demon, her lungs clenching when the agony of his wound hit. Too much for a simple laceration. A rush of saliva gagged her, bile rising as she pushed against the pain igniting in her bones. No, not igniting. Cold. So cold, it burned all over again, a crackling freeze that raked over muscle and sinew.

Only then did she notice Brand was still holding on to him, and realization slammed into her.

Wrong again. The cold wasn’t cold at all.

It was empty—a void that sucked the unwitting life right out of her.