Page 286

I love you, she mouthed, the bond shimmering.

And what a relief it was, to be loved by one such as her. By all of them.

The next couple days passed in a blur, numbers and schemes weaving themselves together in Brand’s mind. Comforting in their organized chaos.

No matter what other shite he dealt with in life, planning had always been his forte. War was his domain, and though conflicts of this magnitude were unheard of in his ninety-eight years of life, he was damned good at it.

There was laughter, too, in spite of the rest.

The mornings were spent in Argoph’s practice ring with his brothers—Luna, Fern, and Amal adding something new to an old dynamic. It was fun. Ridiculous. And he left with an ache in his cheeks, mirthful tears still drying on his face.

His parents canceled as much as they could without raising suspicion, joining their meetings instead and offering valuable insight. They were disallowed from joining the fight in person, the laws strict about Emperors or Empresses being involved with certain matters, but they did whatever they could to contribute to the success of it. Amun and Vann were in a similar predicament, but if Brand knew his oldest brothers at all, they’d find a way to circumvent the rules.

Alwyn already had the Masters scouring the archives for clues about the Shadow Prophecy, and Luna gave what little clues she remembered from her interactions with Endellion. Fionerys showed her cunning mind, the sweet mask she wore for others dropping away to reveal the ruthless strategist behind it, and Fern was right there with her.

And the evenings…

They were spent buried in Luna. Tasting her. Drinking her in. Worshipping at the foot of their chamber altar. Reveling in the fire-forged mating bond that only grew stronger. More intense.

While she slept, Brand filled flask after flask, his blood flowing into silver vessels—gifts offered freely, to ensure she would be safe no matter what happened to him. To help himself find peace, despite the looming danger. It reminded him, though, of something Araxis said immediately following the Evesong’s Occurrence, about needing to discuss something with Brand regarding Luna feeding. Unfortunately, his younger brother left at the end of the first afternoon to oversee the Sorcerit preparations.

Apparently, they’d be discussing whatever it was later.

It was bittersweet when they left Argoph and returned to Straelon, especially after a particularly difficult conversation with his parents that Brand wasn’t ready to face. But there was a war to start and finish.

Right after a final moment of peace.

“So, are you planning on reshaping this tower as well, or do I get to keep my favorite place to relax in all the realms?” Vann raised a questioning brow, the ember at the end of his rolled herbs glowing hot as he took a drag.

The smoke twined around him, clinging to his silver hair before he passed it on to Mag. Beyond the balustrade, Solyrian was setting in the Serpent Sea, the sky burning in starry shades of pink and violet—their last evening together before they invaded Thodelebor to rid the land of its infestation.

Among other things, which Brand was decidedly nervous about.

He hadn’t seen the former Ghostbor Dread Chasm since the day they went into the tunnels looking for Nyri and Bal. The pain of it still lay heavy in his heart. The guilt. He should’ve gone back long before now to fix his transgression, but there’d been no choice in the matter. Without his powers, he’d been useless. Without a plan, it would’ve been futile.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would begin to right his wrongs and beg their forgiveness.

“We heard about that within an hour of it happening, even from here,” Faldir said, swigging from his tankard.

Hedda scoffed. “We fucking felt it from here.”

“Yes, well”—Fern laid her head in Hedda’s lap, tugging the Demon’s hand to her mass of curls for pets—“if you fuck hard enough to shake the entire world, creatures are bound to hear about it.”

Brand threw his head back and barked out a laugh just as Luna choked on her wine, spewing it all over herself and Lyriat at her feet.

The Demon King turned around from his spot on the floor, burgundy droplets trailing down his gold and ivory horns. “Do I have to wear it the rest of the night, or are you going to clean up your mess?”

Everyone cackled while her power swelled, the liquid evaporating.

Except Araxis. “Is this really what we should be doing right now?” he asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and a foul look on his face.

“You’ve checked every manifest and map ten dozen times over,” Luna said. “I know, I was there.”

“That doesn’t mean we didn’t miss something,” Araxis snapped. “There’s no such thing as being over prepared.”

“Ach, relax,” Mag chided, shimmying farther down into his lounge. “It’s about to be wretched for Sisters know how long. The weeds and wine are enchanted, the sunset is the only spot of beauty we’ll see for a while, and this might be the last time we’re all together. Have a drink and a smoke. Sit your arse down. Try something other than avoiding us and anything even remotely resembling joy.”

Araxis scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say—you’ve no responsibilities. No command. There aren’t hordes of soldiers relying on your direction. Meanwhile, I’ve got⁠—”