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Bringing the creature meant the end of sneaking away, but it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of leaving them there. And if this was the day she faced the beast and saved her mate from its clutches…

Then who cares if they know?

Exactly. She wasn’t going back. Not for the same reasons, at least.

The Greater told her to do what she must. The Lesser said to save herself.

And Lunara was certain neither one of them actually considered what it meant for her if he died at her hand.

She’d never survive it.

Lunara stared out at the Serpent Sea, willing herself to stay upright. Axanderus slipped from her control, his spectral form dissipating as fire licked down her nerve endings and settled into swollen joints, locking her limbs into place.

Even so, Lunara stayed there. She wanted to watch over Brand one more time. Just…just in case.

At least she knew the names of his aggressors.

Okthana took him for a reason, and was probably the source of Night. The slick of the magic was the same, oily and cloying. And its scent of burnt roses and rot was one she’d never be able to erase from her senses.

There was comfort in that. Even if the worst happened, Lunara knew exactly where to turn her agony. The inevitable torrent of violence. Vengeance would be hers, as soon as she found the bitch.

So. Annihilate Night. Hope Brand survived. Hunt down Okthana with or without him. Heal Fern. Find the imposter, which would lead to Nyri and Bal. End it once and for all.

Then maybe, eventually, possibly acknowledge the fact that she was the Blessed Keeper of Illamiata, and that the Elder Council would only be patient for so long. And figure out what happened to Gaulnir.

Of course, the Evesong’s Occurrence was…very soon. As in, less than a week away.

Might have to rearrange the order of things.

Shite. Fuck. It was so much. Too much.

Thunderous power rolled in, even more tempestuous than usual.

Looks like they’re finding out sooner than later.

Perfect timing. Lunara was perilously close to falling over.

Fern shot by and barreled down, landing with a boom. She was absolutely seething, the twin moons doing their best to highlight only the most contorted of her features.

“Where in the fuck have you been, you pixie loving—” Her stomping steps slowed and stilled. “Who is that?”

More tears welled, and Lunara did nothing to hold them back. What was the point?

“I don’t know who they were. They died before I found out. I tried, but the shadows and my power…” She sucked in a ragged breath. “I couldn’t leave them there alone.”

“Alright.” Fern approached, hesitant, like Lunara was a wild animal. “That’s fine. We’ll figure it out. Let’s get you both down to the castle, eh? Here.”

Fern tried to scoop the Fae out of her arms, but Lunara refused to let go. They were touching, though, and that was enough.

Blessedly aware enough not to cause another scene by taking them to the Great Hall, Lunara misted into their chamber. She collapsed to her knees as soon as they landed, crying out. Fern caught Lunara and relieved her burden, gently laying the Fae on the plush carpet.

“I’ve been going to the Woodmaia Dread Chasm every night,” she whispered, “trying to figure out how to save Brand. Save you.” Lunara curled in on herself and confessed everything, eyes never leaving the lifeless creature. “It ends with the beast before Solyrian sets today. If nothing else, Endellion has never lied to me.”

“That is…” Fern clasped her hands at her nape, tilting her head to the ceiling. “Fuck. Why didn’t you tell us? Me? I would’ve helped you.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing, I thought everyone would try to stop me, and I didn’t want any of you to be in danger.”

“This is exactly what I was talking about in the library. I should’ve known when you asked Faldir to bust out that damned scythe. That thing was blimmin’ terrifying.”