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“How is she?” Alwyn asked.

Fionerys laughed. “Threatening to murder our youngest son to my face, while apologizing that I had to give birth to such a, and I quote, ‘creepy fucking wankstain licker.’”

“And her wing?” Alwyn cringed, his own wings twitching in seeming solidarity.

“Well, I got there before Cordelia could fuck it further. I don’t know what kind of peace offering she was meant to be, but I’ve seen Sorcerit children with more skill at healing. The Firebane was made for battle, not its aftermath. That’s for damned sure.”

Magnus growled. “She’s just another insult on top of a pile of fucking insults. I’m not surprised.”

“Or”—his mother wrapped an arm around him and drew him back inside, barely half his height—“she’s the only one Araxis trusted, and there’s a reason he sent her instead of someone you might deem more technically appropriate. Your brother is not the villain you want him to be, Maggie, I don’t care what you say.”

She hopped up onto the bed, frosty flakes trailing behind her, and sat cross-legged next to Brand. “Besides, Brand will be vengeful enough for all of us when he wakes up. Nothing will stop him from getting to her.”

Shite. His mam looked so small sitting there, a little bundle of Fae winter next to the warm earthiness of her Demon son, more love on her face than any of them deserved.

Would he even recognize her if he opened his eyes right now, Pet?

—I don’t know, Maggie⁠—

“Aye,” Mag rasped, “if he remembers Lunara. If he remembers anything. The magic involved, the sheer fucking power…” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s naught left of his mind, mam.”

Fionerys laughed, waving him away. “He’s fine.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?”

“Fern said she could feel it.” She ruffled Brand’s cropped hair and smoothed her thumb between his brow. “Cited that as the only reason she hasn’t stomped her way to Starkeep. Apparently, she plans to take snacks with her to watch Brand bring that, and again I quote, ‘giant lump of cunting comet shit crashing to the ground.’ Not that she actually called him Brand.”

Magnus almost barked out a laugh, but he clawed it back in time.

—Wild, lad. Just like us⁠—

Aye, the radge wee thing.

“I don’t suppose Fern had one of her damned feelings about when this might occur?”

He would absolutely, at no point, ever admit that he was even considering taking the answer to heart.

“As a matter of fact she did.” Damn that wicked glint in his mother’s eyes. “She informed me that you should all prepare yourselves to witness Nachthelliae’s Occurrence, just as the Firebane suggested. Apparently, the timing will be—quote again—‘delicious fucking perfection.’”

Brand’s name moved as a prayer on Lunara’s lips but there was no sound, no matter how hard she tried.

She heaved upright on a gasp, numb body trailing like leaden weights before plummeting back down. Every sawing inhale was knives being shoved down her throat, the ragged exhales no better. It was the only part of herself she felt. The rest of her was missing. Missing. She wasn’t able to speak, or see, or⁠—

A hand scooped her head up, cradling her nape in a firm grip.

Thank the⁠—

“Shh. It’s alright, Lunara. You’re safe.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Why in the stars-forsaken realms was Araxis murmuring into her ear?

Shite. Shite!

She tried to scream at him, to thrash and throw herself out of his hold—anything to get away—but it was no use. It was like she no longer had a body and was just existing within the tortured space of her own mind.

Weeping, fucking moons, she didn’t even know if Brand survived.