Page 88

Eventually, Lunara’s spasming lungs ceased fighting her, filling near to bursting. Each subsequent pull did its part to restore a semblance of normalcy, until it went beyond and thrust her into numb acceptance.

It was all for nothing.

Fern helped her stand, then sighed. “A ruse, then.”

“All this for a trick?” Brand whispered. “To what end?”

As much as Lunara wanted to deny such a thing, the truth had been revealing itself since they stepped foot in the maze. No trace of a living soul, no foul creatures guarding its bowels. Decrepit spells and leavings. Bones old enough to crumble with a touch.

“No. Not a trick.” Mag’s head drooped, hanging between his shoulders. “A game.”

It clicked into place, and she knew he was right. “Playing with us for…fun.”

“No. This can’t be it. All our searching…” At that, Brand threw his head back and roared, the muscles in his neck and chest straining with the effort. A cry from her own heart.

Nyri and Baldrir weren’t anywhere near here.

“Lyriat is going to lose his ever-loving mind,” Magnus said.

“We’ll have to worry about that later.” Lunara shook herself. “We still have to make it out and get back to the Montrealm, and I don’t know if I’ll manage it without a rest somewhere.”

“Rest here? Are you mad?” Magnus barely ticked a nod towards the ceiling, eyes pointedly widening. “Can’t you just…?”

She knew what he was suggesting, but she couldn’t risk misting in front of Brand. Not yet.

It was necessary earlier, pulling Magnus and Fern from the illusion spell to regroup them, and checking the useless things they’d come across. Thank the Sisters Brand hadn’t spoken to her likeness as they walked.

“Can’t she just what?” Brand snapped.

“It’s nothing,” she answered lightly, then changed the subject. “Fern, what was it you wanted to show us? Maybe this journey hasn’t been a complete waste.”

“What the fuck?”

Brand was already reeling. His brethren had been stolen. Were being tortured. Murdered. Nyri and Baldrir were likely as far away from this place as they could possibly be. Probably suffering the same fate as him. One he didn’t remember.

The guilt was a weight he’d never felt before. They were living it at this very moment, and he couldn’t even fucking recall his own torment in order to empathize. A story he’d been told, not memories he possessed. Another thing that wasn’t really his.

To find himself staring at somebody’s bloody living room was a step too far for comprehension.

“That’s what I said.” Fern gestured at the space. “What. The. Fuck.”

They may as well have landed in a cottage parlor. Round and polished, the curved walls felt almost infinite. An ornate chair with needlepoint fabric sat off to one side, a table in front of it. Cutlery and candlesticks gathered dust on the worn wooden surface, fresh spiderwebs stretching down to rest on a book that had been laid face down to keep the reader’s page. There was blank paper, too, and a quill jutting from a pot of ink.

The arsehole had sat right there to compose his taunts. Right. Fucking. There.

Across the way, two torches flanked the mantle of a roaring fireplace, a gigantic fur tossed haphazardly before it. A single doorway off to the side on the same wall led to stars-knew-where—a damned circus probably, for all the sense this cursed labyrinth made.

In fact, it was a wonder the Fae found the room at all. The entrance was tucked behind the illusion of a solid wall, the massive boulder in front blending seamlessly with the cavern around it. It made Brand wonder what else was hiding in the tunnels and cracks and crevices they’d ignored.

“This chair…” Lunara whispered, running her fingers over the carved arm.

“Well, I’m just going to say it.” Fern hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “The fire still going is blimmin’ eerie.”

“Aye, that’s—” Mag’s eyes widened before he scrambled over and dropped, gathering the rug to his nose with trembling hands. Tears were pooled in his eyes by the time he turned around, a picture of stark fury. “I’m going to skin this bastard in centimeter strips when we find him, so he knows how it fucking feels.”

Shite.

The hide of a Wolflord, if Magnus was reacting so strongly.