Chapter 48
Lunara had never witnessed an Occurrence before. The last time they’d happened, it had only been two years after her parents’ death, and she’d been in no place for celebrating anything.
Besides, without Malachyr, Nachthelliae hadn’t been able to have one at all.
The Evesong needed its Keeper to act as a conduit, taking all the raw power from the twin moons and funneling it down into the land and creatures. She knew it required a blood gift, an offering of sorts, but that was as far as her knowledge of the particulars went.
Doesn’t matter, because you won’t be doing it.
Right.
Straelani of every age surged around Lunara, their raucous merriment so full of joy that it was almost impossible to dwell on her own shite.
She clung to Magnus as they wound their way through the throng of Demons, the aroma of rich perfumes and countless foods bombarding her as they dodged feet and elbows, trying not to be trampled.
Because every last one had undergone their change.
Males and females alike had forgone most of their clothing, their Sienna skin glowing under the hazy lamplights, horns and fangs glistening. So many whorls and patterns in their individual markings, all of them incredible.
The first topless female had been something of a shock—mainly because it had been Nyri, and Lunara hadn’t ever thought to see that much of her young friend. Now, all she saw was their absolute freedom.
And she was probably overdressed, despite nearly every part of her threatening to spill out.
Nyri crowed in front of her, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Look at it!”
She ran off, her absence revealing a magnificent wooden dais—and a stone obelisk jutting up from its center, so fucking huge it may as well have been a monument to how bleeding distracted Lunara was.
The pillar shot into the sky, as tall as any of the surrounding trees and so black it put the chasm’s shadows to shame. She probably could’ve lived inside of it, it was that wide.
But when Magnus led her up the steps, every other thought fell away because she was finally high enough to see.
So much color. Flowers strewn and strung everywhere amidst boughs of evergreen and silk garlands, tiny twinkling lights among them. Canopies and booths dotted the square, brightly still in the chaos.
The crowd was a living thing, writhing and churning before her, the sea a glittering backdrop behind them.
Most were Demons, but creatures from other realms had come to bear witness as well.
Children clung to their parents, perched on shoulders and grasping horns of every shade in their little hands.
Families and friends mingled, heads tipped back in laughter or bent towards lovers.
Her heart squeezed as she watched one couple, tangled together for all to see. It was like a sickness how starkly she missed her own Demon. How desperately she wanted to touch him.
Magnus bumped his shoulder against hers and pointed, and she followed the gesture to the other side of the platform. There, perched on the corner in an elaborate stand, was a golden spyglass.
“Ever hopeful, my brother. He had it placed there just in case, so you could see him.”
“I need a spyglass to see him?” she asked, as confused as she was relieved for the moment.
She wasn’t ready. He’d asked her to come, had practically begged but still.
What if…
Magnus chuckled. “Aye, he’s up on the mountaintop for now.” He pointed up beyond the city and castle, and Lunara gasped.
The Sacred Sisters.
Beholding the two jagged peaks from the ground like this—jutting into the sky and making the rest look like hills in comparison—stole her breath.
The only thing more incredible was that she’d actually stood upon their majestic heights, watching a sunset with Brand as their souls had taken the first shy steps towards melding together.
“What is he doing up there?” she whispered, almost to herself.
“He’s to announce Solyrian’s rising. Lyriat will answer him, and Brand will join us quickly after. Then, the Occurrence.”
“What do you mean Lyriat will answer him?”
Mischief glittered in his eyes. “Ach, witchling—let an old wolf keep some of his secrets, aye? The surprise is half the fun.”
Something in his tone sent warning bells pealing through her mind, but the dais rattled and Lunara had to grab him to keep her balance.
She saw his horns first as they cleared the top step. Gold and ivory twisted and knotted themselves together into a crown befitting the highest royalty. How appropriate it was, then, that a king’s visage followed after them.
If Brand was impressive in his ‘greater’ form, then Lyriat was something else entirely. She hadn’t known it was possible for him to become even more magnetic, commanding awe as he cleared the steps and headed straight towards them.
He absolutely towered over her and Magnus, easily larger than Brand by several feet when he was raging. The telltale markings of his change had manifested in thick bands of pulsing light around his calves, forearms, and neck—the perfect match to the pearly stone circlets at his biceps.
All of his other markings, the ones she would’ve expected to grace his olive skin, had been reserved for the massive set of membranous wings hanging from his muscled back.
They were so covered in the glowing whorls, they looked to be made of pure sunlight, rather than the fathomless pitch beneath the markings. Wicked, bony talons tipped the peaks and ends, dragging across the wooden planks in jarring opposition to the silent, graceful steps of his feet.
As she stared, transfixed by their king, a reverent hush fell over the entirety of the crowd below, their faces turned to the Sacred Sisters above.
Lyriat passed by her with a wink and moved to the back of the platform as Magnus whispered in her ear, “Now might be the time you’d want to use that spyglass, witchling.”
Heart pounding in her throat when she finally reached it, she had to blink a few times for her eyes to focus—that same heart stopping when they finally did.
Brand was there at the other end, power in every solid inch of him. Hedda and Faldir flanked him on either side, matching dual-bladed battle axes planted in the ground, their hands folded and resting on the pommels
A gargantuan horn curved from Brand’s mouth to rest on the hard earth at his feet where he stood in front of the Solyr Prism. Sunlight and shadows moved around him, pouring over his body as he pressed his lips to the mouthpiece.
Velvety and rumbling, a low note tumbled down through the morning air, as if to say The sunstar comes—no less quiet for the distance.
The crowd gently surged as their feet began to pound rhythmically into the ground, their bodies swaying with the movement.
Then came their chanting voices.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo…” they intoned together. Over and over, the deep sound like the beating of a heart, each inward breath between like blood rushing.
Nothing could have prepared her for Lyriat’s answering call.
The same note Brand had played pummeled directly behind her, the king’s horn flaring in reply. How she’d missed it there was beyond her. The boards of the dais actually rattled beneath her feet, beneath the overwhelming force of its colossal sound. We are ready, it bellowed to the sky.
She could only perceive with her watering eyes that Magnus was cackling as it whipped her hair and dress forward—there was no hope of her hearing him.
Stars and arses, she might never hear anything else again.
He was here. Sisters above, he was right in front of her.
“Tell me you’re real,” Brand rasped. “That I’ve not lost my mind and imagined you.”
Fear, sharp and gnawing, hit her. His, through the bond.
“I’m here,” she croaked, the lump in her throat aching.
Fear was replaced with a spark of wary hope.
She nodded when he knelt and sent her a questioning look, his arms wrapping around and lifting her from the platform just when the first rays of Solyrian started spilling over the mountains and making their way to the Solyr Stone.
The chanted chorus reached staggering heights as she was finally pressed into the chest that was possibly her favorite place to be.
He nuzzled his face into the side of her head. “Tell me you’re staying. That you’re mine. I can’t… I don’t think I could take it if you left again after this.”
“I’m staying. I’m yours. I’m sorry.”
Joy. Unbridled, effervescent joy.
“Shhh.” His shaky sigh matched her own. “Say the prayers with me. Blessed Solyrian,” Brand breathed into her ear, the light growing and growing as she repeated him, “mark my mate especially. I am theirs as I am yours. Shine on us both, and grant us your power and protection.” He turned her fully and pressed his forehead to hers. “Brace yourself, little moon.”
She didn’t have to be told twice, not after that second horn blast. Not when she wanted to hold him so much that it hurt. Her teary eyes locked with his, the hazel depths of them glittering back as she latched onto one set of his curling horns and pulled herself tighter against him.
No sooner had she done it than the sunlight reached the top of the Solyr Stone.
The ground shook with a shockwave of power, rippling out from the obelisk and sweeping over them.
Then another.
And another.
The cracking shudders echoed along the mountain peaks. Waves crashed harder against the shore. The land roared with its triumph, with the gift it was being given.
On and on, pressure building, Brand’s markings blazing bright each time and spreading in spiderweb veins across his skin.
A muscle ticked in his bearded jaw, his teeth clenching against the onslaught even as his eyes changed and began to glow, golden and fiery.
A stark hunger filled them as she watched, his chest rumbling against her when he joined the others in their primal song.
Stars, was it primal.