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That left the damned Moonweaver. Now, that interfering bitch most certainly could and probably would end up finding him.
Except…
Would she, if she didn’t know she needed to?
Based on a missive meant for Caius from the Demon King, she and Brand were about to disappear for a while, not to be disturbed. A much needed break, for the heroes of Bordoroth.
The cogs whirred in his mind, all the pieces shifting until they clicked together.
It had been pure chance that Astrellion arrived at the healing tent wearing Andreus’s skin when he did. His only aim had been to lure Thaddeus away, but fortune was his that night, and he lingered to listen.
Four of the Imperial Sons were on to him. Or, at least, they were on to the fact that their shapeshifting imposter was wearing the skin of someone important. Someone close to them. And when he overheard them talking about Thaddeus in hushed, apprehensive tones, wondering if it might be him, well…
The binding oath had twinged within, shoring up his earlier choice to imprison the contrary bastard, and his path was set. After all, what could Astrellion do but hide Thad to keep him safe from their false accusations?
And now, one of those four was lying perfectly incapacitated before him, both cleared of suspicion and known for his long absences.
Oh, it was too perfect.
To the world, Caius and Thaddeus were doing their duty in the Northern Glens, unreachable for the foreseeable future by nature of their task. Since that was a lie and Astrellion wasn’t actually doing a damned thing in Thodelebor’s frigid foothills, he’d thought it would finally give him a bit of free time, but no.
This was an opportunity he’d be a fool to waste.
Lyriat turned from the dawn beyond Brand and Lunara’s balcony and faced his friends, hands clasped behind his back. “Anyway, I know it’s silly, but I wish to have this moment between us,” he murmured. “A happy close, when so much else is dark and waiting.”
“If you truly believe the terms have been met, then I would love to,” Lunara said, a soft smile on her sun-blessed lips.
“Many times over, my friend.” More than Lyriat could count.
“Besides,” Brand teased, “Lyriat loves settling debts.”
He chuckled even while his heart turned over. That was usually true, but some were out of his control. “Indeed, I do. And so I shall see you in the Great Hall soon to check another off my list, and get you on your way.”
Lyriat crossed their tower chamber and was reaching for the doorknob when Lunara’s voice rang out.
“Wait.”
The mates glanced at each other, their fingers interlacing. He practically saw the silent conversation taking place. The perfect, visceral accord between their minds and bodies.
Lovely as anything could be.
He didn’t dare ask the Sisters for such a thing. Not for himself. Not when he was already screaming a different request at them, over and over and over. He only wanted Bal and Nyri back. And if he could have that, if they bestowed that gift, he’d never ask them for another thing again.
“We have something for you.”
Lyriat blinked, confused for a moment because he swore those words were an answer to his own damned thoughts, the slightest warble in Lunara’s voice. “I’m sorry?”
“A gift, sort of.” Lunara plucked a roll of parchment from the ether and handed it over. “As Endellion said, it’s not for us, but that doesn’t mean others won’t know what to do.”
Goosebumps ran down his arms when he took it, his heart turning over. And when he unrolled it, Lyriat barely believed what his eyes were seeing.
No fucking way.
“How did you get this?” he rasped.
Amunkar refused to share it when he delivered his Imperial Edict, and Lyriat had lost countless hours of sleep over the knowledge of its existence, thinking it would be too late before he ever got his hands on it.
And here it was.
