Page 13

Lyriat’s lip trembled, his voice a dreadful rasp when he said, “They’ve found something in the rubble.”

“Where?”

“Just south of the Main Square, where the group was last seen. Where Nyri and Bal were last…” The king leaned forward, knuckles going white as his own horns against the wood. “Magnus, please. I need you, my friend. I need Pet.”

Shite. Just like that, both feet sank deeper into the muck. He would swear hands were clawing at his ankles, trying to pull him down and under, the sensation wholly unfamiliar.

—I’m right here. We’ll be done before you know it. Besides, our brother would hate knowing you were sitting by fretting over his limp bones when you could’ve been out there. And just think, you might even find them before he wakes⁠—

A lovely gift, to be sure. Aye, Pet, you’re right. You’re right. It’s…alright.

Mag shook himself, ignoring the tremor in his fingers as he loosened his robe tie. “Araxis, will you please mist us down there?”

The quicker they went, the quicker he could get back.

Fern’s hand landed like a comet against his arm. “I’ll stay,” she murmured, a honeyed burn that sank right into him. “Don’t worry about them.”

He didn’t want to think about why that was such a comfort.

Soft, pink light beamed down on the scene, the twin moons peering over Lyriat’s shoulder. He was grateful for the density of the dark beyond their perfectly situated glimmers. The shadows fooled him, hiding the worst of the Horned City’s destruction. Tricked him, momentarily, into forgetting the horror of digging bodies out of it for a month. The devastation of knowing their faces, and the gut-churning realization that it was getting harder to do so with the passage of time.

“You’re certain no one touched them?” he asked Faldir. “They were exactly like this?”

“As certain as we can be.” Faldir shrugged. “There was nothing of falsity in Gaulnir’s account of finding them. He’s rather shaken, actually.”

“Why’s that?”

“Apparently, the glinting seemed to be movement and…”

“And Gaul thought he finally found someone alive enough to need help,” Lyriat finished, an ache sitting heavy in his throat. “Yes, I see. I think that’s enough for now. Ensure he makes his way safely back to Byrlan.”

While Faldir saw out his order, Lyriat stared at Aldiat and Frida’s weapons—his gift to them on their mating day mere months ago. The matching broadsword and war hammer were laid upon a staged mound of wreckage, crossed over one another exactly as he’d presented them to the incandescent couple on that most lovely of days. Utterly pristine, down to the notch that locked them together for display.

Impossible. And yet, there they were.

Not at all what Lyriat hoped for when a young warrior barreled through the portal nearly an hour ago, claiming they found something important and insisting he come quickly.

He took hold of the roiling disappointment, the agony, and shoved them down, burying both in the deep dark where his people wouldn’t see. His personal pain over losing Nyriadne and Baldrir, the torture of still having no idea what happened to them after an entire month, was not their burden to bear. Above all else, he was king, and the Demons of the Montrealm deserved his calm.

Even if it was a damned facade.

Once more composed, Lyriat shifted his attention side to side, quietly cataloguing every creature in the vicinity. The fact that he could address most residents of the Horned City by name was not only for the benefit of their feelings. A point of pride for him, a joy, but a necessity, too.

“Hedda.”

His other cousin was there in an instant, though he hadn’t raised his voice.

“Cordon off this entire block, as well as those that immediately surround it. Residents whose homes are still blessedly standing within that perimeter are to be moved to the castle before Solyrian sets again tomorrow. Direct the staff to add more tables to the Great Hall.”

How he would feed all of them beyond a few weeks was a problem for later.

“As for who will be allowed to continue the search”—Lyriat crouched and ghosted a finger over the hammer’s handle—“if you have not dined with them, drunk their mother’s ale, and held their children, they are no longer allowed within the boundary.”

She gave a curt nod and spun, barking orders and clearing the area.

Hedda didn’t do children, so she would understand he wasn’t being literal. That only the most trusted were permitted anywhere near this place until they found answers.

Not that his trust extended far these days. Hence why she was tasked with choosing.