Chapter 20 #2
“That’s never happened before,” Lunara whispered, listing to the side before righting herself again.
Almost absentmindedly, she reached into the ether with her other hand and withdrew a flask of blood—his, though she didn’t know it. He tracked the movement as she twisted the top off and took a long pull, her skin flushing with renewed life.
Helpless as he’d been, it was a relief he had this to offer—to her, to the Fae. A paltry contribution amongst the wreckage surrounding them, but it was something.
Lunara replaced the lid and cast the flask aside with a sigh, pushing to her knees. More of that prismatic light sprang to life and lit the space between her fingers and the Fae’s head, threads of white-hot power dancing down like lightning bolts.
A sharp howl rent the air then, distant but still within Glynmor’s borders.
Magnus.
In the chaos, he hadn’t realized his brother had left. Hadn’t considered him at all.
Fuck, the sound of it was pure suffering.
“I’ll go check on him,” Hedda said softly, already making for the ladder.
Faldir only grunted as he joined his twin, leaving him and Lunara alone.
“I have to still her particles to move her,” she murmured, almost to herself. “There’s no way for me to heal her here like this. I have no idea what it is, but her damage runs… deep. So much deeper than we can see.”
A glowing barrier began to spread from Lunara’s outstretched fingers, flowing over the Fae’s limbs until it wrapped around her, encasing her supine form in a pod of light.
It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. There were no Sorcerit he knew capable of such a thing. Between this and what he’d witnessed her do to Caius, with Baldrir, there was no more doubt.
Her power was astronomical.
“Lunara.”
She must’ve heard something in his voice, known what he was about to ask, because she was already shaking her head when she locked gazes with him.
“Please,” she begged. “Not now. Maybe… maybe not ever.”
Burning Solyrian, she looked so damned tired giving him even that infinitesimal admission.
All he could do was nod, the realization that he would likely give Lunara anything she asked for hitting him with startling clarity.
Lunara watched Magnus pacing at the chasm’s edge, back and forth, his ruined hands fisted at his sides while he gazed into the black abyss.
He’d attacked the roof of that tower with a vengeance.
She’d spared a single glance up as the Imperial Wolflord had ripped and shredded the shingles away, just long enough to see the silent tears flowing down his face.
Before she’d known it, only the rafters had been left, sunlight pouring in for her to work by.
Only, that hadn’t quite gone to plan.
Understatement. What were you thinking jumping in like that without assessing her?
To be honest, Lunara had been so damned desperate for a victory, for one life to make it out of that festering pit, that she’d acted without thinking at all.
Weeping Sisters. After what the Fae must have gone through, she shouldn’t be alive.
With the first touch, there’d been no such thing as give and take. The Fae’s broken particles latched on so thoroughly that Lunara’s body had no longer been her own, shutting down completely beneath the sheer weight of the female’s pain.
The level of damage she’d sustained, the absolute fucking agony…
Something in the Fae had grabbed hold, greedy, immediately siphoning her power and fusing them together. It had swarmed Lunara’s mind and set her veins on fire. Had tried to tear her apart, piece by tiniest piece. She couldn’t have detached herself if she’d tried.
The Demon Son is right. You’re a bloody fool.
Maybe. That wouldn’t stop Lunara from trying to heal her again. Somehow.
Once they’d calmed him enough to shift back, Magnus had quietly refused her offer of healing before trudging off. The only reason she hadn’t pestered him further was that she sensed it was a sort of penitence for him. For the brutal loss of people who’d been his.
She understood the sentiment all too bleeding well.
Stubborn Wolflord.
The Fae lay on the ground at her feet, safe within her stasis until Lunara could dedicate time to healing her.
It had nearly knocked her over to realize that most of the mangled flesh surrounding the creature was her own wings, shredded and peeled apart.
The deep, verdant gossamer of them seemed beyond repair, barely clinging to the bird-like bones beneath, but still…
Lunara would try. Fuck, she would try.
Footsteps sounded behind her, but she wasn’t worried. She knew exactly who was approaching.
Brand didn’t say a word, and no wonder. The evidence of their trying day was there in the lines that had settled in deeper around his eyes, the tense set of his wide shoulders. He had to be just as exhausted as she was.
They stood there, silent as Solyrian beat down on the land. Long grass swayed and birds sang, flitting between the wildflowers. Hard to believe such beauty existed beside such utter devastation, the flourishing landscape wholly unaware of the gaping wound in Glynmor nearby.
Across the yawning chasm, from amidst a lush forest on Kohamaia’s northern border, one huge tree had tipped precariously out over the darkness like it was trying to have a peek below.
And the frayed rope dangling from a branch near the top sent a shudder down Lunara’s spine.
The Fae’s home was right there. What in the realms had she been doing—
Brand cleared his throat. “We’ve searched the village and surroundings, but found nothing of note.
No tracks or scents. There hasn’t been a soul here in days, maybe longer.
” His voice was a soothing rumble, washing over her.
“We’re going to stay here tonight, though, to see if we can’t find more in the morning. ”
Stay… here…
He must have read the apprehension on her face. “Not in the village,” he rushed out, shifting to stand in front of her. “We’ll make camp in the woods.”
Only then did Lunara notice the swelling in his face and the blood tracking down his upper lip.
“Shite, your nose.” Without thinking, she clapped her hand over it and poured her power into him, swallowing back any outward reaction.
Not broken, judging by the pain she absorbed.
Just dreadfully bruised, thanks to her. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No.” Brand pulled away, flexing his jaw and neck. “No apology needed. It was good to see you using your lessons effectively.”
His smile was lackluster at best.
“Still, I didn’t mean to—”
“The rest of us can set everything up, if you wouldn’t mind giving us the supplies?”
They spoke at the same time, their words stumbling awkwardly together, but his look said everything. They both knew her words for the half-hearted regret that they were, and he didn’t want them.
Because you did ‘mean to’ and why apologize when you had every right?
Fair.
All she could do was nod and flick her wrist, Lunara’s dwindled power beginning to pull from her center in unpleasant ways. What were the odds they’d packed a whole slew of things at Lyriat’s insistence, just in case?
Brand huffed when it all appeared. “I envy that ability. Always have.”
His rueful smile cracked some of the ice that’d formed around her since that morning. The way it slowly fell from his face to be exchanged with soft concern almost melted it completely.
“You’ve done so much today already,” he said. “Have a rest. We’ll have food and a fire in no time.”
It felt like a dismissal when he stepped away, turning his palm towards the ground.
At his silent command, a slab of earth lifted the supplies she’d summoned, and he waved it along.
The make-shift cart followed obediently as he backed away, gaze roving over her for a moment longer before he spun and headed for the woods.
Lunara stared after him, Magnus and Hedda joining him with grim determination.
Have a rest, he’d said.
There was no way in the bleeding realms she could sit there doing nothing. Even as she knew that she didn’t have it in her to be around anyone else right now.
Then again…
Faldir was pacing at the village outskirt, looking as lost as she felt—exactly the type of person she could simply exist beside.
She knew what to do.
Lunara closed the distance between them. “I’m wondering if you might assist me.”
Faldir’s eyes narrowed on her, pursed lips pulling at his puckered scar. “Depends.”
Short and to the point. Perfect. As a male of few words, he wouldn’t wish to prattle on—and he’d be able to protect her.
“I don’t want to talk to anyone, but I also don’t want to wallow alone with my own thoughts. If you’re willing, I think we might be able to do something… helpful?”
Lunara peered at the village, a mere stone’s throw away. To the pain and horror painted in red over its homes and streets and gardens. Over the people.
The dead wouldn’t expect anything of them.
He followed her look. “I’d say they’re a bit beyond help at this point.”
“Physically, yes, but their dignity isn’t. Magnus isn’t either. I need to do something, Faldir.”
“I understand that.” His sigh was heavy, but mostly for show. “What did you have in mind?”
She explained her plan. To his credit, he only hesitated for a moment, unsure it was worth it but agreeing in the end.
“Just so you know,” he said as they entered the ravaged square, “I’ll be laying the blame squarely at your feet if Magnus is pissed.”
“Something tells me that’s not even a little bit true.”
“Perhaps not.” He crossed his arms, waving one hand in a get on with it motion. “Guess you’ll find out.”
Lunara called on her dwindling power, gritting her teeth. She could do this. Her pain would be nothing compared to theirs in the end.
Not in the least.
Solyrian had begun setting, casting long shadows over the village. Images of nameless faces and faceless bodies continued to flow through Lunara’s mind in the encroaching darkness, and the number of them—the sheer weight of it—nearly broke her.
She hadn’t bothered to try moving the rock and dirt as Brand did.
At the end of the day, living or not, bodies and blood were her true domain.
So, she’d used her power to call every last piece of every last person to herself, swallowing her screams and trapping them in the vice of her already shredded throat.
In the middle of the town square, as lovingly as she was able, she’d lined them up in neat rows and commanded their flesh to sink into the earth. Somehow, all of them being there didn’t quite feel like the usual indignity it might have. Instead, it seemed fitting that they should rest together.
Then, she’d cleaned up, disappearing the gore and righting timbers. She had no wish for anyone to feel like she was erasing the travesty as if it had never been, but she’d wanted the village to be beautiful again.
For them.
Faldir had understood without being told. He’d made trip after trip while she’d worked, assigning himself the job of collecting flowers from wherever he could and laying them silently at her feet until they’d surrounded her in a mounded ring of rainbow colors.
When she’d finally noticed them there, a new ache had bloomed—one that had nothing to do with the cost of her power. Adding that tender hurt to the rest of her pain had almost been too much, but the moons were already rising. She’d be fine soon enough.
The last blossom sank its roots into the ground at Lunara’s command, and a single tear broke away.
She blinked the rest back, refusing them freedom, and sucked in a deep breath.
She’d held it together so far, and she couldn’t bear losing it now.
Not with the wretched evidence of those who’d suffered so much worse spread out before her.
“Is it worthy of them, Faldir?” she whispered.
“It’s not exactly the way they do it, but close enough.
Damn close, actually.” He crossed his arms, head tilting to the side.
“Besides, what fault lies in an action taken with love in mind? This endeavor was selfless, and others have only benefitted. Anyone asking for more than that is not your friend.”
“Hmm. Rather more poetic than I would’ve expected from you.”
He looked away. “I have my moments.”
“I know very little of friendship,” she admitted. Though, how the unguarded confession had gotten free was beyond her.
“You probably know more than you think. Putting it into good practice, well… That’s another matter.”
She chose to blame the cold shiver running down her spine on the fact that they were standing over a mass grave, after a day that would probably haunt her for eternity. It had nothing to do with his words being too perceptive for comfort.
Nothing at all.
“I—”
A twig snapped, familiar power approaching in the wake of its sound, and she was glad for the interruption—even if her nerves were still trying to convince her she’d overstepped.
The others were silent for a long moment before Magnus strode forward and dropped to his knees among the wash of wildflowers.
“This is a lovely thing the two of you have done.” His voice was thick with tears, the sound trying to draw out more of her own.
“I… I wasn’t sure. If this was okay, I mean. I don’t know anything about how you—”
“It doesn’t matter,” he rasped. “They’ve returned to the fields as they were meant to, however it happened.”
With that, the bass of Magnus’s voice rose above the din of evening in a tongue she didn’t understand, chanting a lilting lament to his fallen.
Lunara closed her eyes as the insects and owls joined his mourning with songs of their own, like they were crying out in tandem. His language and theirs were lost on her, but… Stars above, she felt their meaning right down to her soul.
It might’ve been hours before she shook herself and glanced up, only to see Brand already staring back.
He looked bewildered when he softly said, “I find myself wondering if there are any bounds to your kindness.”
Weeping Sisters, she was too bleeding tired for this. Too raw.
The truth was that there were already days when Lunara struggled to remember what kindness was.
When she was so full of fear and sorrow that there was barely room for anything else.
When she was numb to everything other than her hatred for the Elder Council, and the atrocities they’d allowed in the name of preserving Nachthelliae’s power.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say so, her mind and body almost too wrecked to care that she shouldn’t.
Almost.
“I hope not,” she answered instead, taking a step backwards to put some distance between them. “What good is kindness if it has a limit?”