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Maybe they could find a way to occupy themselves for the duration.

No shite, eejit.

Lunara stifled her giggle.

Still, it felt strange to leave the world behind when it was still so broken. When it might never be the same again.

They would be recovering from all Okthana had wrought for a long time. Thodelebor was in shambles, its fields and furrows razed to nothing, the Wolflords left with empty pastures and thousand-yard stares. The Horned City still wore the scars of the dreadwyrm attack in shades of black and piled rubble, and the Demons wore the scars on their hearts. And beside those aches lay the one for Nyri and Baldrir, for the others who might be with them—a wound that would never heal for as long as they were missing.

And yes, rebuilding all they’d lost meant their looming list of tasks was long enough to stretch its way to the moons, but…

The worst of it was over. Reining in her relief was impossible.

“No grievance, Your Majesty,” she breathed, power already gathering on her fingertips. “I come to collect the payment that is due to me.”

Lyriat eyed her for an interminable moment, then said, “Thank you, Lunara. For everything.” He flashed an indulgent grin and waved an imperious hand. “Brand knows where it is.”

She leapt through the ether and into Brand’s lap before anyone could change their bleeding mind, Stirling hopping from his shoulder and into her arms.

“Mountaintop first, little moon,” he whispered into her ear. “I need to tear that hideous fucking robe from your perfect body before we do anything else.”

Fern waited for the inevitable growl of that low and earthy voice to come around the corner. Any second now…

—When in the world did you get so tetchy, lad? Honestly⁠—

Ah ha! If nothing else, he was blimmin’ predictable.

—The end of one thing doesn’t mean the end of everything, Maggie… Aye, lad, but… Ach, away. You’re more than that and you know it. Besides, our garden’ll be needing us⁠—

She watched Magnus pass by below, all golden and towering as he stomped his way from the Great Hall, obviously in a state. She had a feeling that witnessing the exchange between Lyriat, Brand, and Lunara might set him off, and she was right.

Why, she had no idea—only that it would and he might need a friend, or…something. Calling herself his friend seemed a stretch too far, considering the fact that she seemed to do little more than piss him off.

Mutual.

Fern leapt down from her perch on an old Demon statue, hitting the flagstones without a sound a few steps behind him.

—Aye… Aye… See? There’s an idea. Glynmor was beyond beautiful, once. You can make it so again⁠—

His bare feet pounded into the floor, hands fisted at his sides while he argued with Pet. Despite the sparkling sunshine and renewed hope in the air, Magnus looked to be one breath away from picking a fight with the next creature he came across. She was tempted to make sure it was her, but she didn’t think the Demons in the castle would appreciate the bloodshed. They were fussy like that.

—And you were doing so well. The lass could have everything to do with it if you’d just open your damned mouth… Ach, now you’re just being difficult for the sake of it⁠—

That pulled her up short, the fated hand that lived in her chest squeezing for all it was worth. If she wasn’t ‘the lass’ Pet was talking about, she’d eat her own cunting foot.

Everything to do with what, though?

Fuck, it made her crazy.

Gritting her teeth, Fern raced to catch up as Magnus rounded the last bend at the far end of the corridor, peeking around to make sure he went up the spiral stairs to Brand and Lunara’s tower before heading there a different way.

Sprinting back to the hall of windows outside her own chamber, she wrenched one open and took to the air, flying up around the castle spires and into the open balcony doors.

The door slammed open just as she wedged herself in the rafters of the glass dome, and Magnus kicked it shut behind him with a curse—which he seemed to almost immediately regret. He just…stood in the middle of the room. Sagging. Aimless. Utterly defeated in a way she didn’t understand.

He was free of his duties here. Free to go home.

Fern ignored the desperate twinge that thought inspired. The little spark of panic. She didn’t fucking do fear or anxiety or whatever the fuck it was.