Chapter 11
Brand paced in the corridor, Lyriat posted up against the wall with his arms crossed.
They’d come immediately to Baldrir’s sickroom, as fast as their feet could take them. Lunara had stayed glued to their side, her face a mask of determination, insisting she be allowed to examine him first and ensure he was truly well enough to talk.
Lyriat hadn’t batted an eye when he’d granted the request—and he argued about everything when he was in a mood. What they hadn’t quite expected was for her to race ahead and then lock them out of the room with a muffled promise to let them in when she was done.
Apparently, Baldrir needed privacy.
The waiting gave Brand far too much time to think.
Patience was easier when he knew, by virtue of the way things functioned in Bordoroth, that answers were not forthcoming. When he was forced to sit back and bide his time through the inevitable bureaucracy.
Unfortunately, those pauses also had a way of making reality drift off into the background, until he was able to convince himself that everything was normal because nothing was happening.
With Bal awake, it was all real again.
The endless possibilities he’d imagined flooded back in to rear their ugly heads, every last one sending an icy river down his spine.
At last, the door swung wide, Lunara’s voice sounding from deeper within the chamber a second later. “Come in! He’s ready.”
They found her perched on the mattress beside Baldrir, his gigantic hand held fast between her own. Brand couldn’t help noting a certain tightness around her eyes, dark smudges underneath that hadn’t been there half an hour ago.
“You’ll be overjoyed to know that Baldrir has retained full command of his speech.” She smiled up at Bal and bumped her shoulder into his. “And what a lovely voice he has, too.”
There was a collective sigh of relief, and then a different sort of tension entered the room.
“Thank you, Lunara, for all of your help,” Lyriat said with a respectful nod. “Your willingness to protect one of mine, even from me, has not gone unnoticed. It will be remembered when we discuss your payment later.”
It was a clear dismissal. At least, Brand had thought so.
Lunara just sat there, returning Lyriat’s nod with one of her own, brows raised as if she was waiting for them to begin.
Baldrir, too, heard the words for what they were. “She stays,” he said, his voice a pale imitation of what it had been.
Lyriat leaned down beyond Lunara and pressed his forehead to Baldrir’s. “It’s good to see you well, cousin.”
Baldrir lifted a shaking hand and wrapped it around the back of Lyriat’s neck. “Bloody damned good.” He pulled back and gestured to Lunara. “Thanks to the lady here.”
“Indeed.” Lyriat gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re certain you wish for her to stay?”
It was almost worshipful the way Baldrir looked at Lunara. “She drew me back from the edge of the Veil, and was safety where there was none otherwise.” He swallowed. “Yes. Please, Lyriat.”
There was no heat in Baldrir’s gaze. No hint of possessiveness. His words were pure, if a bit shaky.
Otherwise, he looked amazing. His black hair shone, his skin was tight and clean. There were no scars left behind that Brand could see, or crooked bones. And he was speaking clearly—despite the fact that he’d been missing his tongue four days ago.
Lunara’s work was incredible.
Brand said as much, unable to hold the words back. “Truly,” he said. “Thad was right to trust you.”
And he owed his cousin an apology.
“Yes, well…” She cast her eyes down and away, cheeks flushing. “Thank you.”
Stars above, she was nothing like any of the other Sorcerit he knew.
Lyriat pulled a cushioned chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. “What happened, Baldrir?”
No one moved. No one breathed.
“I don’t know. One minute I was following the loveliest maid I’d ever seen up to bed, and the next…” His head fell back onto the pillows propping him up. “He…”
“He? A male?”
Baldrir looked so small when he said, “I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t.”
“Anything, Bal,” Lyriat whispered. “Anything you tell us will help.”
“Platinum hair, or silver, or white. Maybe.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. “Long… long enough to brush against my wounds when he was hardly bent over me. Moved like a blur, and his mood changed just as quickly, but I can’t picture him. It’s like he wasn’t really there and I’ve made him up.”
Brand knew one male who fit Bal’s limited description, but there was no way he’d done this.
Lyriat threw him a fleeting glance, obviously thinking the same thing. “What else?”
“He wanted to know about the Battle of Breamwyrm. I think.”
Brand shook his head, confused. “That was forever ago. What use is the knowledge now?”
“I don’t know!” Baldrir snarled, going wan. “I wish I did, but I don’t… fucking know. Shite, I’m going to—”
He wrenched to the side, and Lunara produced a basin from the ether just in time to catch his sick. She rubbed his back all the while, soft prismatic light glowing beneath her palm, until Bal finally slumped.
“There you go,” she murmured, swiping a cloth over his chin. “You’re doing so well, but you don’t have to continue.” She lifted her eyes to Lyriat. “Not if you don’t want to.”
Stars above, that was bold.
“No, I—” Bal loosed a weak sob. “I can do it.”
“Just take your time.” Lunara helped him settle back. “Deep breaths.”
Bal was quieter when he spoke again. “I was telling the story of our great grandparents for the hundredth time. How they fought the sea serpents on the shore, piling them up one by one until none were left. I can’t— I don’t know exactly how I told it, or what I said that would be of note.”
Lyriat patted Baldrir’s shin. “It changes every time, cousin. We know that well enough.”
“He kept going on about the secrets, but I didn’t understand.” Baldrir’s lids slid closed. “Secrets, secrets, secrets. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t know how to give him what he was asking for. And he was so fucking angry.”
In some ways, the more Bal spoke, the better Brand felt. Vann might have long, silver hair and move in the way all Fae did, but his brother was almost level-headed to a fault. In all his life, Brand had never seen him angry.
“Can you remember what you said that finally made him stop? It may be your answer.”
Lunara’s tender questioning surprised Brand. Rather discerning for a simple healer.
“Maybe. It was something about the war council, or the trap they’d made. I think?” He lifted his head and speared them with a stark look. Raw. “I’ve told it so many times, in so many ways, that I don’t know the truth anymore. I tried to lie, but I-I might’ve told him everything.”
“Ah, cousin. Even the truth we think we know probably isn’t real. Don’t worry yourself.”
Baldrir sneered against his welling tears. “I tried—fuck.” He blew out a breath, blinking them back. “I tried to get away, to hold out. Anything. I tried. But he was strong. So fucking strong. And the haze of everything… Fuck, I just wanted him to stop.”
“You did well, Bal,” Lyriat said, gently extracting Baldrir’s hand from Lunara’s and holding it tight. “I’m sure you did the Montrealm and our forebears proud. We’re just glad to have you back.”
Brand didn’t want to interrupt, but he had no choice. “Hedda said that you have a message for us.”
Hopefully it would point them in the right direction, since none of the rest of it made any damned sense.
“Yes,” Bal rasped. “That I fucking remember, like he’s planted it inside of me.”
“And?”
“And it’s not for everyone. It’s for you, Brand. Specifically.”
Brand stopped breathing altogether, a buzzing thrum ringing in his ears. “Me?”
Baldrir nodded. “First, he said to tell you ‘I’m close. So, so close. And you’re all so very far away from knowing it.’”
“The rest?” Brand whispered.
“A riddle of some kind. ‘Glynmor thinks she’s safe and well, tucked tight in her field of green. But what do you and her flesh have in common? I know what I hope it will be.’”
So much for the message helping.
He would’ve sworn Lunara loosed an odd sound, but he was too busy trying to stay upright to question it. “I have no idea what that could possibly mean. Who is Glynmor?”
“I’ve heard the name,” Lyriat said. “Somewhere. It’s just there, on the edge of my mind.”
Brand ran a hand absentmindedly over one horn, pacing. “The others might know. I could send another letter to my father and Uncle, my brothers—one of them is bound to know it.”
“Fuck. Where is Nyriadne?” Bal gripped Lyriat harder, pulling him closer with a trembling desperation. “Where is my sister?”
“She’s here, in the castle. She’s well.” There was a question both in Lyriat’s voice and on his face. “You’ve already seen her this morning.”
The assurance didn’t placate Baldrir in the least. “H-he threatened my family.”
Lyriat’s horns curled ever so slightly, his markings flashing. “His exact words.”
“‘You’re going to deliver a message for me. If you don’t, I will find every person you care about and I will ruin them in ways you can’t even imagine.
’” Bal started hyperventilating. “You and the twins, you must guard yourselves. Even you, Brand. And Nyri is to go nowhere alone. Do you understand me?”
A knock sounded on the door, and Hedda pushed her way in. “We’ve just received word from Thodelebor. Caius is on his way.”
Lyriat threw him a sardonic look, laced with a righteous sort of fury. “Convenient.”
“Yes, well…” Hedda hesitated, and her gaze fixed on Baldrir.
“Speak, Second,” Brand commanded.
She flinched, then faced him. “He’s demanding that Bal be seized and presented for questioning.”
“Why the fuck is that?” Lyriat growled.
“They’ve found a maid in the Keep at Fanghold, in his chamber. They think Bal’s the one who murdered her.”
“Ten gold pieces says Caius wears that hideously embroidered purple robe he’s been favoring lately,” Lyriat murmured.