Chapter 13
Lunara had to get out of the Montrealm.
She’d done her duty as a healer. Baldrir was good as new, barring any damage to his psyche, but that sort of care wasn’t included within the scope of her capabilities.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t gotten to go outside to see Solyrian. Or the sea. It didn’t.
Lunara shoved the last dress into her bag, and—
A knock sounded and she froze.
Pretend you aren’t here until they go away and forget you ever existed.
It might work, too—until they busted down the door and it became a million times worse than if she’d just answered it.
Ignoring the pulsing throb in her joints, she limped over, hand hovering over the knob while she tried to decide which part of herself to listen to.
Climb through the window. Find a portal down in the city. Just don’t—
“You know, Wolflords aren’t the only ones with excellent hearing.”
There was an impish lilt to Lyriat’s voice, and it prickled over her. She should pretend she hadn’t heard him just for saying out loud that he’d perceived her in such a teasing way. Obviously, she was trying to hide and have a moment alone.
Be honest with yourself, at the very least. You’re trying to escape.
Yes, okay. Fine. She was. Obviously. But he wasn’t aware of that!
“Please, Lunara.”
Hard to ignore a ‘please’ from a king.
Damn it all.
She swung the door wide and turned away, walking further into the room. It was probably a felonious offense to snub a Realm Ruler in such a manner, but maybe if he didn’t see the guilt written across her face, he wouldn’t note the packed bag and start digging.
“I thought you might be needing this,” Lyriat said, setting a tray on a nearby side table.
Lunara homed in on the goblet, standing proud beside a bowl of strawberries, its crimson contents gleaming.
Her body cried out for the relief that gift of blood would give her, and she took a mindless step forward without meaning to—only stopping short when she saw the burning scrutiny in the king’s eyes.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” It was amazing her voice was so steady when she felt anything but. “Though it seems below the duties of a king to bring a healer sustenance.”
He let out a low sound, not quite a laugh. “You reduce us to our positions in this life so easily, rather than account for the intensity of the days we’ve spent in each other’s company. Why is that?”
Lunara didn’t know how to even begin to answer his question.
“Every individual here has expressed a desire to welcome you in and treat you as a friend—to honor you for what you’ve done—but you refuse it. Repeatedly.”
If she hadn’t been able to respond before, there was no way she had words for such a bald statement.
“I think it’s because you’re scared,” he murmured, crossing his arms.
She plastered on a false smile, tittering like a nincompoop—all while her heart pounded hard enough to bludgeon her to death from the inside. “I can’t imagine what it is you think I should be scared of, Your Majesty.”
“Hmm.” He pretended to pick at a thread on the shoulder of his sleeveless tunic, sniffing.
“Tell me, Lunara—why is a Sorcerit with skills worthy of the Elder Tier hiding herself away in the Northern Forest of the Evesong, and not living comfortably in a bespoke tower on the Upper Block of Starkeep amongst her equals?”
It was remarkable, really, the way she could stand so very still while the world around her crumbled to nothing. The way she could cease to hear, or breathe, or speak, and yet she didn’t fade away.
“Why should I know such a thing?” She knew the words left her lips because she felt them moving, but her mind had emptied so thoroughly that Lunara worried it might never come back again.
“Maybe because we all just watched you heal Caius in seconds—no salves, cloths, or incantations—when I know I saw shredded tendon and exposed bone beneath the river of blood. Do you deny that it happened?”
“I am simply proficient in my craft,” she rasped, swallowing.
“Yes, you are. As proficient as any other healer on the Elder Council. Maybe more so, if my modest experience with them is anything to go by.”
“A fluke, nothing more.” Lunara was clawing for any excuse, any explanation that would make him back down.
Lyriat knew it too.
He offered her a smile, no less gentle for its insight. “Was Baldrir also a fluke then? Because I happen to know that Thaddeus mistakenly delivered your things here, instead of Bal’s sickroom.”
“So?” Her voice was little more than a croak.
“So, you healed a male who should’ve been dead without the common implements of your people and profession. There’s only one type of Nachthellian capable of that feat.”
Goosebumps broke out across the whole of Lunara’s body, as if her flesh could break free piece by tiny piece and allow her to disappear that way.
“What is your name?” Lyriat asked softly.
Lunara knew what he was really asking, and it was amazing she stifled the sob his question tried to rip forward. Barely.
“Please. Don’t make me answer that.”
Names were of the utmost importance in the Evesong. So silly, when they were just a jumble of letters strung together.
And yet…
If a Nachthellian was powerful enough to have one, that series of syllables distinguished them in ways that had nothing to do with family or which realm they were from.
Lyriat was right. She was terrified. Had been for decades, ever since her parents had been taken and Cordelia had helped her to die alongside them.
“I swear on the Sisters who made us that I will never reveal it,” he promised. “Not unless or until you are ready for it to be known. But I need to be aware of who I’m hosting in my home, for obvious reasons.”
“You ask too much. They ask too much.”
To deny a Realm Ruler was lunacy, but the words had blurted out before she could tear them back.
“Ah. It’s the Council you fear, then.”
His level of discernment had to be a gift from the Sisters, nigh mystical in its precision. It was the only explanation for how he could know exactly what had haunted her for so long.
There was no more sense in trying to deny it.
A tear slipped free, damn the useless thing.
“Wouldn’t you? The Elder Council lures with false promises.
They would groom me, until I was obedient, dutiful, mindless.
They’d make me forget there was ever a time I was my own person.
My hopes, dreams, all gone. And for what? A garish tower in an overrated city?”
The floodgates had opened and she was practically yelling, pacing like a caged beast.
“What hopes and dreams could anyone have when living half a life in hiding?”
That pulled her up short, too close to the truth for comfort. Fine. She might have had hopes and dreams if she wasn’t afraid for her life every second of every day.
The Council wouldn’t order her literal death, but they’d gladly cull any parts they found to be offensive in order to more easily pull her strings.
That, she couldn’t live with.
And your parents would never forgive you if you tried. You may as well have killed them yourself.
Bolstered by the integrity of her choice, she looked Lyriat right in the eye. “My hopes and dreams may be small. Nonexistent, even, by some standards. But they’re mine.
“Meanwhile, the Council thrives on using their collective power for their own, sordid ends. On ensuring creatures like me come to heel, whether they want to or not. On protecting the monsters they control, rather than the people who need them.”
Sisters save her. Just the thought of those abhorrent beings, the individuals even worse than the Elder Council themselves, nearly brought her to her knees.
Talk about being scared of a name. She refused to let her mind even think theirs. His.
Lyriat’s brows had punched upwards, his lips pulled down at the corners. “You seem to have a lot of opinions about them.”
“More than I ever wished to have, I assure you.”
“How is it you even have such a name, if the Council isn’t aware you exist?”
Lunara had the insane urge to laugh—so contrary to what she was really feeling. “I was not yet of age when—”
No. He’s asked enough of you already. He doesn’t need that insight as well.
True. Her agony made no difference to him. She could keep that one thing for herself.
“My parents never announced it. Cordelia thought it should be my choice, when I was ready.”
Half truths mixed with lies, but she didn’t care.
Unfortunately, he picked up enough of the true portion. “Cordelia the Firebane?”
Piss and damn and shitting stars.
“Interesting, that you would view the Elder Council with such contempt, but have tenderness in your eyes when speaking about one of them individually.”
She really did need to learn how to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. And tenderness was an overstatement.
“There are exceptions to every rule, Your Highness,” she ground through her teeth.
He chuckled at that. “Why should you not be one of them?”
“I’m trying. Hence the hiding.”
Lyriat nodded, then drew himself up straighter. “I would have your name, Sorcerit.” When she didn’t answer, he murmured, “Speaking it will not summon them. They’re not hiding in the shadows waiting for you to say it. They aren’t here.”
Lunara deflated somewhat. She was beginning to understand that he, as a person, was ever a voice of reason. Level-headed to his core. Something of a comfort, if she was honest.
“First, I would have your promise as the Demon King of Straelon that it will never be repeated. It can be my payment, if you wish.”
“How about my promise as a friend?”
She threw her hands up. “You Demons and Wolflords and your insistence on friendship.”
He just stared and smirked, waiting.
Defeated, she uttered a name that hadn’t left her lips in over fifty years. “Lunara the Moonweaver.”
She sounded like an ill-tempered brat, but it was as good as he was getting.
“It is my honor to make your acquaintance, Lunara the Moonweaver.” Lyriat sketched a shallow bow. “Now, about your payment. I would add to my debt before I settle it.”