Chapter 13 #2
Lunara didn’t have the strength to stand anymore. Everything that had happened, the aches and pains, caught up with her.
“How so?” she asked, hissing as she plopped down too hard on one of the chairs.
Lyriat swiped the goblet of blood from the tray and handed it to her, a knowing look on his face. “I want you to go to Thodelebor with the rest of them.”
She paused with the cup halfway to her face, then went ahead and loosed that hysterical laughter from before. “And if I say no?”
“Then I will be disappointed.”
Lunara considered the king. It seemed to honestly be that simple for him, but she didn’t trust it.
“You won’t blackmail me into agreeing?” This was possibly the most ridiculous quarter hour of her life, and she fought to control her giggles.
“You won’t go running straight to Nachthelliae, to tattle on me to the Council? ”
He looked genuinely disgusted at the suggestion. “What sort of friends have you had?”
That sobered her about as quickly as anything could.
May as well throw another humiliating truth out there into the world..
“None. One, if you count Cordelia, but that’s something of a grey area.
I may once have said Caius and Thaddeus.
” She looked away, towards the window where golden light was streaming in, oblivious to the sudden darkness shrouding her.
“Let’s stick with none. Nought by choice feels better than three I’m unsure of. ”
Lyriat scrubbed at his forehead. “I assure you, blackmail never once crossed my mind. I’m observant, and curious, and inclined to know for sure whether the instinct to beg your services is well-placed.”
“What are you specifically asking me to do?” Her voice barely carried, but he heard it nonetheless.
“I’m about to blindly send four of the people dearest to me into Sisters-know-what. I want you to use your skills and ensure they remain safe and well.”
“Just get them home in one piece, and we have a deal?”
Deals were too important to Nachthellians. Specificity mattered.
“Whatever trials come up, whatever ailments or surprises—you stay by their side and see them finished. My hope is that I’m being overly paranoid, and that you spend however long basking in the Westrealm’s sunshine while Brand works his magic, and Hedda and Faldir stand as irritable sentinels nearby. Who knows what Magnus will be doing.”
That pulled a huff out of her. “Sounds easy enough. And let me guess—you’ll give me a sizable bag of gold in return?”
Useless shite.
“Lunara the Moonweaver, I will give you whatever absurd thing your mind can conjure up if you do this for me.”
She sat up a little straighter. “Anything?”
“I swear to the Sisters.”
Stars and arses. Whatever you want.
After a lifetime spent worrying, she knew instantly what to ask for.
“I would have sanctuary, without question, should I ever ask or have need of it. Not in the court or castle—somewhere remote and quiet, where no one would ever be able to stumble upon me. As well as your assurance that you will never reveal my location to anyone who comes looking. And…” She wasn’t sure why she hesitated.
Maybe because it felt like one more thing she was revealing about herself.
“I want a clear, unobstructed view of the night sky. I want to be able to watch the twin moons move from one horizon to the other, with stars as their backdrop. Give me that, and I will do it.”
Lyriat held out his hand, and she took it. “Done,” he said, giving a single, firm shake.
The promise of freedom, just like that.
She grinned as Lyriat moved to leave, new hope flooding her veins.
He stopped short of opening the door. “And Lunara?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad to have caught you before you were able to run away,” he said with a pointed look at her overflowing bag. “It would have been awkward to have to send Thaddeus after you again.”
Blessed moons. For the reward he offered? She was far more than glad.
This was stupid. He was stupid.
Apparently, all confidence had fled along with Lunara after the meeting, when she’d whisked herself out of the great hall. As far as he knew, she’d come up here and never left, which meant she had to be in there.
Just behind that door.
The one he’d been standing at for the last ten minutes.
Right.
He sucked in air, and let it out in a harsh puff. Again. And again. Finally, his hand obeyed and hovered there, inches away from seeing her again. Steeling himself, he tensed to rap against the wood.
At which point, he whipped around and stomped down the corridor. He made it as far as the glass hall before remembering how ridiculous he was being. Back and forth, a little further, a tad closer…
Great. Now he was pacing like an idiot.
He wanted to do something nice—something anyone would like—to express his gratitude for everything she’d done. So what if he’d planned it in a way that only she, perhaps, could appreciate?
There was no reason for her to linger now that Baldrir was healed, and he and the others were leaving for Glynmor in a few days. If he didn’t see her now, he might not get another chance.
Why, in the stars-forsaken realms, could he not bring himself to just knock on the door?
Only the Sisters knew how long he was there, repeatedly convincing himself that he was a total prat before reminding himself of the opposite.
A low laugh in the near distance penetrated the fog of his mental acrobatics and he froze—until the thought of someone seeing him there, like that, spurred his feet in the opposite direction.
He had to escape. Couldn’t be seen acting like a—
Brand skidded to a stop, kicking himself for his cowardice. Why should he, an Imperial Son of Bordoroth, care whether someone witnessed him there? People paced all the time. He could do whatever he bloody well liked.
Nerves steeled for the hundredth time, Brand turned back. He was tempted to practice on the countless rooms he passed—just to prove to himself that he did, in fact, remember how to knock on a damned door—but refused to be deterred this time.
He rounded the final corner, and—
No. Still not ready.
Fucking ridiculous.
He was already mad at himself for earlier. He hadn’t had the faintest idea of how to respond to his uncle’s obscure drivel about fate, and she’d clearly been uncomfortable.
Weeping shite, they’d all been uncomfortable.
Of course, his temper had gotten away from him too, but he was sick unto death of the mystery surrounding Meliora’s illness. It wasn’t helping anyone to keep it secret.
Brand rubbed a hand along one of his horns and dragged it down his face.
Maybe he was an idiot.
Or maybe Lunara would be willing to enlighten him. As long as Caius hadn’t sworn her to a binding oath, the information was hers to give.
Unfair? Perhaps. But it didn’t hurt to ask.
Just one more reason to stop his faffing and get to it.
With the millionth deep breath he’d forced into his constricted lungs in the last quarter hour, Brand gave himself a shake.
This was it.
He was doing it.
What he did not expect, as his knuckles were about to make contact, was for the door to swing open on its own.
Or for Lyriat to be standing on the other side.
Brand forced his face into a bland mask. Hard to do, when he was standing here with a spear of white-hot jealousy ramming itself down his throat.
Lyriat shooed Brand away as he stole a glance back over his shoulder, gently pulling the door closed behind him.
The soft click of the latch was deafening.
It was the sheer disappointment of it that gutted him. All that wasted time trying to work up the nerve just to talk to her, and it was his own best friend with her instead.
Lyriat closed the short distance between them, Brand clenching his teeth so hard it was a wonder they didn’t shatter.
“This is rather fortunate,” Lyriat said, voice hushed though his grin was practically beaming. “I was coming to find you.”
He bore Lyriat no ill will. Truly. Brand had no claim on the Sorcerit’s attention, and it was his own fault he’d missed an opportunity.
So why couldn’t he stop staring at her door, wishing he could turn back time and do it over? Do it right, and get here first, and not be such a fool.
Lyriat was oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I have good news,” he said, clapping Brand on the shoulder.
Weeping fuck. The only way this could possibly get worse was if Lyriat was about to tell him that Lunara was his mate. Why else would he be smiling from ear to ear? The realization crushed him because, if she was his, then—
Fuck. He couldn’t even go there.
He only looked up long enough to see that Lyriat was staring at her door as well, a furrow between his brows.
Pining?
Lyriat turned back and tilted his head. “You know, it’s not at all what you’re thinking.”
“I’m sorry, but how could you have any bloody idea what I was thinking?”
Lyriat blinked once, and then threw his head back and laughed.
Brand couldn’t remember ever hitting Lyriat in anger, but his greater half was stirring beneath the surface of his skin, begging for the chance.
Maybe that’s what he needed. A solid rage. To call out his greatsword and hack shite apart until he felt absolutely nothing but an overwhelming desire to go to sleep.
“Brand, aside from the fact that I know how exceptionally talented your mind is at cooking up utter nonsense, your face says it all.” Lyriat shook his head. “I visited Lunara in order to secure her services for your trip to the Westrealm.”
That was about as far from what he’d assumed as it could get.
“What? Why?”
Lyriat sighed, pulling him further down the corridor. “I don’t feel good about it, for obvious reasons, and I don’t want you to find yourselves in any unexpected situations without a capable Sorcerit.”
Brand didn’t feel particularly good about it either, not with that message hanging over him.
Then again, it was his brother’s own project and their request made sense. If not for the mystery surrounding Baldrir’s abduction and torture, none of them would have thought anything of it.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s a farming village, Lyriat. What could possibly happen?”
“No idea. Which is probably what bothers me. Between Bal and the timing of the letter from Glynmor, something is off. I can feel it in my gut, Brand. Trust me.”
“Alright, fine.” He said the words but couldn’t find even a fragment of himself that believed them.
Traveling. With Lunara. When he couldn’t even knock on her door.
The Sisters had it out for him, surely.
“Now, I will leave you to finish whatever it was you were trying to start, with the knowledge that I’m in full support of you spending the evening with her, instead of alone. Good luck.”
With that, Lyriat spun and made his way towards the great hall.
While Brand stood there facing the same fucking dilemma as before.