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He growled at that. “Why would I ever give in to anything she asked?”
“Because I’m about to sever your bond with the Moonweaver. Mostly.”
“Not on your fucking life, creature.” Brand fought against the heaviness in his limbs to no avail, and something perilously close to the panic of his lesser settled in behind his ribcage. “Release me!”
“It’s not my life I’m particularly worried about at the moment. And no.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Oh, I really am. For ages.” She shrugged. “You, however, have a choice to make, because I cannot do this without your permission—hurt her now to save her later, or save her now to hurt her later.”
“There is no world in which I would ever hurt her, so try again,” he hissed.
“Wrong. You absolutely will bring agony on Lunara, no matter what you decide here. The question that remains is which agonies it will be.”
His breaths sawed in and out, a fist around his throat. “Explain.”
“Hurt her now means you, Brandir aht Bordoroth, will try to murder Lunara within a matter of hours in your confusion. It gets progressively worse from there. Try being the operative word, though. The good news is that subsequent attempts aren’t really you. The bad news is that she will be miserable and not at all herself for the foreseeable future. There are some grey areas at the moment, but she’ll at least live through this first part.”
Brand wanted to roar to the grotto’s disappearing ceiling, but instead choked it back and asked, “And later?”
“I sincerely hope you don’t choose later.”
Luna trusted this creature, but Brand was fairly certain he hated her. “Explain.”
“Lunara will be ecstatic for a time, thinking you’ve been restored to her. All will rejoice! Huzzah! The Shadow Prophecy is over! But once she realizes you are not you at all…” She shook her head, gaze going distant before snapping back to him. “Tell me—how do you feel about wasting away in here, watching while your body is used to violate and breed her? In case that doesn’t convince you, she will then die a horrifically slow and excruciating death at your hand.”
Something deep within Brand broke at the mere thought of such a thing.
“As I said,” Endellion murmured, smoothing his brow, “I hope you don’t choose later just to save her a little strife now.”
“I…” It wasn’t even a choice. Not really. Still, Brand couldn’t breathe. “I try to murder her now? I truly have to choose such a thing, such pain, to ensure she lives?”
Endellion nodded. “You have your reasons, heartbreaking as they are. If it helps, my hope is that we all find joy after the suffering, though.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“There are too many pieces, pieces, pieces, all moving, moving, moving.” Her sigh was long and tired. “Nothing is ever certain until it is. But I swear on the life of my blessed mate that there is absolutely nothing good to be found in later.”
A fire started at Brand’s fingertips, his toes, licking up his limbs and settling into the joints. He was too full, stretched too tight, splitting apart, like he suddenly couldn’t fit within himself.
Fuck, was this the end? He thought the same when Okthana took him, but this was worse. So much—
“What’s happening to me?” Luna’s voice rippled around him, such unbelievable torment in the breathless question.
“You’re out of time,” Endellion whispered, the sound layered twice over. “You must choose, or die.”
“I think I’m already dying.”
Brand gasped in tandem with the echoing thud that followed Luna’s rasped declaration, the air leaving him on a sob.
Not that. Anything but the loss of his most precious little moon.
“Please.” Brand sucked in another tight breath. Then another. He called on the rage to fortify him and felt for the blessed threads that tied them together one last time. Its infinite length pulled taught, glittering within—all that was lovely and blessed in this world, everything that was good—and met Endellion’s violet eyes. “Do it, damn you.”
The Oracle didn’t hesitate. Without another word, she released a shattering cry as her ivory, feathered wings spread wide, and impaled him with the blade of shadow.
It sank like serrated ice into his flesh, burrowing frigid, clawed fingers through muscle, vein, and tendon. It chilled his blood and turned his stomach. Stole his strength, his breath, his reason. Searched and searched, digging ever deeper, until it reached the center of everything he was and devoured it.
