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It was like every grain of crimson sand fell out from beneath her, the weightlessness turning in her stomach.

“No. No.” Lunara shook her head, backing away. “His last memory is the feast after Aldiat and Frida’s mating ceremony. And he remembered our—my—battle with the beast. He even a-apologized.”

No, no, no, no, no.

How did she miss such a crucial part of his healing?

Lyriat matched her step for step and gripped her shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Lunara. For whatever reason, however it’s happening, he’s losing more of himself. We need⁠—”

“We? We need to what, heal him? Rid him of the beast? Purge the entire bleeding world of its darkness? Fulfill the Shadow Prophecy?” She shirked his hold and, apparently releasing what was left of her sanity, shoved a trembling finger into his angular face. “Don’t you dare. There is no we where Brand is concerned. Where any of it is concerned! This falls squarely on me—a fact I am all too fucking aware of every time someone decides to tell me how tired I look, or when I should feed, or where I should be, or who I’ve pissed off. That I’m not eating enough, or angry enough, or bathing enough, or smiling enough. As if I haven’t given up every fucking thing because no one in all of Bordoroth is more focused on what needs to be done.”

Lunara didn’t give Lyriat a chance to respond. She grabbed hold of his tunic collar and wrenched them into the ether, dumping him in the Great Hall. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

She leapt again, manifesting in her shared chamber as cold panic engulfed her. The only bright spot was the sound of Fern’s heavy breathing, her friend already fast asleep and unable to witness Lunara sinking to her knees on a swallowed scream.

What a wretched reality. All her effort, all the steps they’d taken forward, and Brand was worse?

No. It wasn’t possible.

Still. All the more reason to go, quick as you can. Just in case.

Yes. If it was true, she could fix it. She could.

Lunara misted to the bed, waiting only a moment before leaving her likeness behind and making her way to the chasm once more. She would burn through every Forgotten in Bordoroth if that’s what it took.

For Brand.

When Lunara rebuilt the cage, it was different than before. Instead of bars, Brand’s chamber was encased in a shimmering shield, the magic glittering in the moons’ light. As soon as he saw it come down, her elegant hands guiding it, a piece of himself was lost to her forever—whether his memories were restored or not.

It was a comfort, as so much about her was turning out to be.

Brand used his fascination as an excuse to draw out the inevitable. Experimenting. Touching. Part of him loathed the contact as his finger ran along the shield, white-hot trails in its wake. More of him loved the pain.

He didn’t give a starry shite what that smaller, fouler part was feeling. Let it squirm and curse. Let it bleed.

Brand quietly asked her to keep Magnus out of the enclosure. His brother was pissed as anything, growling and pacing in the sitting area beyond the barrier, but Brand didn’t want any witnesses for what he was about to do. They’d seen him break enough.

Solyrian was just dipping into the Serpent Sea when he looked up and out over the Horned City.

At first, Brand’s mind didn’t know what to make of the view, reconciling the black scars as twilight’s shadows, but it caught up with all the force of a comet and barreled through his entire body. He stumbled forward, hands slamming down onto the balustrade, catching himself. His knees threatened to buckle but he refused it. No more weakness. No more excuses.

The long, bass note of the war horn tumbled through his mind. Gargantuan bodies slithered in behind it, waves crashing and screams sounding. A flash and the world turned crimson. Howls and barks and Lyriat’s agony. Those broken snippets bombarded him as he absorbed the devastation.

Whole sections of the city, gone. Razed. Winding roads blocked by rubble. Roofs missing. Even the mountainside hadn’t been spared, chunks sheared from the cliffs and resting in the valley where they didn’t belong. Where people had lived.

That was what finally shattered him.

Hugging the banister, Brand slid down, kneeling before his home. For it to still be this ravaged, in a realm where mighty Demons commanded the earth and rock?

It had been worse than he was seeing now. How many were still picking up its pieces while lamenting those who’d crossed into the Veil? How many were down there weeping, even now? How many were lost?

The dust on Hedda and Faldir’s boots. The film that coated his brother’s skin night after night. The hollowness in Lyriat’s cheeks, the emptiness in his eyes. The wan cast of Lunara’s skin and the fact that Fern never left her side. The weight on all of their stooping shoulders right before they saw him and perked up.

They were catering to him. Protecting him. Having sweet little dinners and teasing him about a stupid fucking haircut. All the while, this was what they were dealing with.

He was the biggest, most self-absorbed fucking arsehole imaginable.

Brand’s roar shook the night, his guilt reaching a fever pitch. Faint whorls appeared on his fingertips, the death grip his greater half had on their power still not enough to stop that minuscule drop from getting through. To stop the rush of rage he needed to help him through his agony.