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Lunara gaped at him while the Demons and Fern jeered and whistled.

“Didn’t you know?” Lyriat said, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Our Lunara doesn’t believe in money. She thinks it’s grotesque.”

“It is!” she argued.

“Hear, hear!” Fern shouted. “Fuck the gold! You did the right thing, Lunara. Don’t listen to them.”

“Mmm. No.” The king shook his head. “I’m afraid the majority of the world disagrees with you, darlings. Unfortunately, Lunara, you can’t take it back. I might be able to find a way to contribute because this arrangement might help us in our search for my cousins, but it’s going to make a rather large mess if we aren’t clever.”

Lunara fought her stomach, bile rising at his mention of Nyri and Bal. She had yet to figure out a way to break the news of Endellion’s foretelling, too sick whenever she thought of it, and unwilling to snuff that dim spark of hope in his eyes.

This might be the time. You can’t keep it from him forever.

Before she could even think of where to start, Magnus growled and stomped closer. “Since when is it a mess to treat your neighbor with compassion? To help them when they ask for it? I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind listening to this shite.”

You know, waiting a bit longer is probably fine.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Lunara hiked her thumb at him. “He gets it.”

Lyriat lifted a staying hand. “I’m sorry, but leading and ruling is not as simple as that. This is not a shared street and a request for help with some new roofing tiles. This is separate realms with separate needs and systems. Sorcerit are going to die. When they do, they will leave families behind to scramble without them. Normally, we can mitigate wartime losses by offering compensation—which you, Lunara, have just made more complicated. You both have a lot of hard things to learn.”

“It’s cold when a sack of coins is all there is in the end,” Faldir said, “and it’s wretched to be the one delivering it, but it’s something for them.”

“And, as Araxis so artfully pointed out, that’s not counting feeding the masses or keeping them sheltered.” Hedda sighed. “The Sorcerit do have their ways for those things that make it less of an issue, but it’s still going to take some fiddling so they aren’t left completely high and dry.”

“You know what?” Magnus flashed a rude gesture. “Everyone but the witchling and Fern can fuck off.” He marched over to Fern, tugged open the pouch on her belt that used to be his, and dug out a toll. “I’m going down to the city for a walk so I don’t have to keep listening to the rest of you talk about how my people aren’t worth her generosity right in front of me. Fucking arseholes.”

Lyriat stood. “Magnus, that’s not⁠—”

“No. It’s fine.” One by one, he looked the Demons and Araxis in the eye, jaw ticking. “Wouldn’t want to stop you from your leading and ruling. It must be agonizing, worrying about money and the hypothetical deaths of reluctant Sorcerit while Wolflords are actually, already dying with no choice in the matter. Real harrowing shite.”

When Magnus turned his golden stare towards her and Fern, he softened a little. “Never change.” He spun, heading for the portal, only a few steps away when he shouted back over his shoulder, “We can discuss my payment for doing Brand’s job the last few months later.”

And then he was gone.

“Ooh.” Fern rubbed at her sternum, shaking herself. “You wankstains really fucked it sideways, eh? Shit, that actually hurt, and I was on his good side. You don’t even want to know what Pet was thinking.” She plucked her mace from the table, hopped down, and shoved a final bite of pastry into her mouth. “I’ll go make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless. Lunara, he was right—never change. Good fucking luck to the rest of you.”

Once she left, Lunara turned wide eyes on the others. “Um.”

“Shite.” Faldir scratched at one horn.

“I forget, sometimes…” Hedda said, staring at the portal.

“What’s that?” Lunara whispered.

Tears blurred the mossy green of her irises—a rare sight, if ever there was one. “That he isn’t one of us.”

“Please,” Araxis snapped, almost toppling his bench when he stood. “Save your pity for someone who needs it. Magnus is finally learning his grown up lessons—shite the rest of us have been doing for years while he drank and sang songs and worried about nothing.”

Lyriat raised an imperious brow. “A rather harsh view of your own brother, Araxis, even if it is maybe accurate.”

“I don’t have time for worrying about anything but Nachthelliae. He’ll be fine. Thanks to Lunara, Thodelebor will also be fine. Damn the consequences, right? Speaking of”—Araxis pulled a scroll from the ether and tossed it down in front of her—“the first vote was called yesterday. Congratulations, Blessed Keeper. Despite Auren’s best attempts, the Elder Council has decided not to cull you. This time. You have an hour before you’re expected in the Hollow.”

Lunara felt Araxis mist away, but she was locked on that roll of parchment. Before she convinced herself to pick it up, Faldir did it for her.

“Do you want to know?” he asked.

She nodded, words failing her.