Chapter 3
Brand dug his toes further into the crimson sand, the sea lapping at his ankles. Solyrian had dipped into its depths a few moments ago, staining the sky pink and purple, and making way for the stars to begin their shining.
The crowd roared behind him, a breeze carrying their raucous merriment straight to his ears, and he didn’t have to force his smile. His people were happy, and it filled his heart to know it.
He was just moving to stand when that singular crow from the square landed beside him, sidling up and shaking its glossy feathers. At first, he thought it meant to search the tiny holes in the outcropping for supper, but it started pecking at his legs instead.
“What the?” Brand’s voice was strangely distorted, his arms refusing to move the way he wanted them to. “Get out of here!”
He gaped when it jumped and the stone beneath him wobbled, jostling his body—before it leapt into his lap, barked at him, and drew a tongue like wet sandpaper across his face.
Brand jolted awake with a curse, cheek wet beneath his palm. Blinking into the darkness, he was met with two huge, golden eyes, Pet’s huffing breaths wafting in the space between them.
“Damn it.”
A soft growl was the only warning he had before a giant maw was wrapped around his torso.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Brand warned, grabbing a fistful of flaxen fur. “I’m awake. There’s no need to—”
He was not the least bit surprised when the arsehole tossed him clear to the balcony.
“Mangy prick!” he shouted, blood boiling as he stomped back inside.
It was nearly impossible to see, but Brand swung a fist anyway.
There was a flash just before his blow connected, a calloused hand shoving him backwards.
“I tried, you wee shite.” The deep and rumbling chuckle that followed only served to fuel Brand’s ire. “By the time you came to, I’d already promised Pet his fun.”
“Oh, of course. Thank the Sisters the beastie’s needs have been met!” He made his way towards the washroom. “Anything else before I have a piss?”
A massive arm came out of nowhere and snaked itself around his neck, knuckles digging into his scalp to violently ruffle his hair. “Aye. I’ve not had my own fun yet.”
Brand gritted his teeth against the chokehold, but struggling was futile when he was this damned tired. Besides, Magnus was even bigger than him—a downright colossal brute, and probably the only creature in all of Bordoroth who could get away with calling him a wee anything.
“Ach, come on!” Magnus bellowed. “You’re not even trying!”
Brand snarled as black spots began to crowd his vision, fighting to pull air into his lungs. Mag had caught him on the wrong day, and he suddenly didn’t give a starry shite that this Thodeleborian had yet to dress after his shift and was naked as the day he was born.
“Fine. Just remember… that you… asked for it.”
Brand cranked his arm and struck, an explosive oof! sounding before the booming thud of Mag hitting the floor like a felled tree.
Cheap elbow shots aimed right for the groin will do that to some people.
Stumbling backwards, Brand crashed into the bed frame, gasping and coughing as the blood rushed back to his head. He reached out and called to the stone, finally brightening the room enough that he could focus on his intruder.
A Wolflord through and through, tattoos in various patterns and symbols covered nearly every inch of Mag’s tanned skin, his face the only part of him that was clear of the black ink.
Rings of silver cascaded down his ears to match the ones in his nose and chest, beads of the same woven into the braids that kept his long, blond hair swept back on the sides.
A few stray waves had fallen across Mag’s face to tangle in his teeth and beard as his mouth gaped on a silent scream and—writhing on the ground, with the light glinting off of every decorative bit of metal—his older brother looked like a glittering, hairy worm having the worst day of its life.
Not for all the riches in Bordoroth could Brand have contained his laughter then, wheezing as he collapsed and hit the floorboards.
The mirth left him on a sigh when Magnus rolled to his own back, their shoulders brushing.
“Well, I probably deserved that,” Mag finally said.
Brand huffed, sitting up. “You definitely deserved that.”
“Aye, well”—Magnus grunted as he stood—“it was worth it.” He crossed to a satchel by the door, bending to rifle through it. “Anyway, you can thank Hedda for the rude awakening. She’s the one who let it slip you were napping. Otherwise, I’d have headed straight for the food.”
“Weeping Sisters, Aldiat and Frida’s feast.” Brand sprang from the floor, trying to sort his thoughts. “How late am I?”
So much for spending any time in his workshop.
Mag pulled his ceremonial robe from the pack, shoving his arms through the short, embroidered sleeves and belting the intricate garment with a practiced skill only the Wolflords could manage.
“You’re not. Yet.” He plopped down onto the settee in front of the fireplace and leaned back to set his feet on the low table there.
“The sunstar has barely set, and I passed Lyriat in the corridor on my way here—heading away from the great hall. You’ve got some time. ”
Some of the panic bled out of Brand. “Please tell me you’ve brought Baldrir back with you.”
The Demon was not only Aldiat’s best friend, but had a knack for drawing attention, and Brand had counted on his presence more than once to get out of sticky situations he had no desire to be in.
“Ah. Right.” Mag’s eyes darted away, his face twisting into something between a grimace and a grin.
“You see, what happened was… Well, I… Alright, there was this scullery maid. Vausta, Fausta, something like that,” he muttered, waving his hand.
“They stumbled off last night and have been together ever since. Trust me, I heard far more than I wanted to when I went to knock on his door and fetch him this evening. In the end, it didn’t feel right to drag him away to attend a party and fall asleep here, when he could stay another night with her instead. ”
Brand blinked, sure he hadn’t just heard what he thought he did. “I sincerely hope you are fucking with me right now.”
“What was I meant to do?” Magnus argued. “I’m nothing if not a romantic, Brand. I swear to the Sisters, I think she might be his mate with the way she was carrying on. That, or he’s the best lover in all of Bordoroth.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Who was I to separate such bliss?”
“A bloody fucking Son, maybe?” Brand pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Bal’s sake, I hope she is his mate. It’s the only thing that’ll keep him out of trouble.”
“We’ll know tomorrow, one way or another. Caius and both of the Chieftains were already abed, but I left a note for them to send Baldrir on his way come morning.” Magnus laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. “Now, get dressed. You’ve a mating ritual to get to.”
“We’ll both be lucky if Frida doesn’t brain us with her warhammer,” Brand grumbled, already digging through the wardrobe.
“Ach, don’t worry about that sweet lass. I had Hedda point her out and already spoke to her. She was practically beside herself with glee at the thought of another mating so soon. Left her with hearts in her eyes, lad. We’ll be fine.”
If only Brand could have a fraction of his brother’s smug self-assurance.
“Oh, and there’s something else you should know.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, the tone of Mag’s voice making him wary. “What?”
“I brought Thad.”
Brand swore, eyeing the bed, more exhausted than he’d ever been. “You two are here to kill me, aren’t you?”
Mag’s laugh clapped like thunder as he stood. “No, we’re here to make sure you have fun! Hurry up,” he said, crossing to the door. “We’ve got mischief to make and I’m fucking starving.”
A salty breeze teased Brand’s hair as they strolled down the winding High Road, lifting the long waves of it and tickling his cheek. Pounding drums and vibrant fiddle joined the sound of crashing waves, their combined music luring revelers in from the farthest reaches of the Horned City and beyond.
Lantern pillars lined the tight, cobbled street at intervals, cloth garlands strung between them that hadn’t been there when he’d walked by earlier. The carved, wooden columns twisted up to the glowing, stone orb perched on top, bathing everything in amber light.
It was beautiful, peaceful, and all Brand could think was that he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Think there’ll be anyone wanting to try a Wolflord on for size?” Magnus said, stopping before a dark shop window and adjusting the fall of his collar—making it wider, naturally—and smoothing a hand over his hair.
Brand rolled his eyes, tilting his head up with a long-suffering sigh. The wooden shingles lining the rooftops seemed to almost disappear as they reached upwards and blended with the night sky.
He wished he was one of them.
“You already know there’ll be dozens who are more than happy to entertain an Imperial Son, regardless of his species,” Brand answered. “Try to not be a complete arse about it.”
Mag laughed. “I only show my lovers the utmost respect. Besides,” he said, wrapping an arm around Brand and continuing their walk, “I was only riling you up. You asked me to come for a reason, and I plan to see it through.”
Right. That.
Shame hit him like a tidal wave. He gritted his teeth against the flush spreading across his cheeks and turned his face away. Still, he managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
“Ach, never mind it. You know I don’t mind.”
Brand did. Aside from the fact that Magnus was more free than the rest of his brothers—having not taken his place as High Ambassador of Thodelebor yet—he genuinely adored this part of their life.
Which was why Brand often took advantage instead of getting the fuck over it and growing up.