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“I believe the Moonweaver requires the guidance of her attendants,” Araxis said, “as it is her first Occurrence and she is understandably ignorant of the process.”

That snapped them out of it. The Elders scattered every which way to fetch their supplies from nearby shelves and baskets. One of them, a Sorcerit who couldn’t be any older than Nyri, summoned a low table from the ether and placed it beside the edge of the pool. She knelt in front of it, and the others handed her things they’d gathered, arranging it just so.

Bottles of oil and pots of cream, their herby and floral scents wafting. Rolled cloths and sponges, and a pair of jet combs, their teeth far too tiny to ever make it through Lunara’s curls.

Another attendant stepped forward and bowed to her, only straightening halfway as he asked, “Blessed Keeper, do I have permission to disrobe you for your ablutions?”

She stared at the top of his head, the radiant shine of his blond hair endlessly fascinating when faced with the prospect of someone besides Brand taking her bleeding clothes off—especially when Araxis was standing right fucking there.

Keep it together and get it done. It’s fine. You’re fine.

Shitting stars.

“You…do.” She swallowed. “Yes. Good. Thank you.”

He was raising his hand, a gentle rush of power stirring the air, when she blurted, “What is your name?”

Everyone stilled, Araxis included.

The attendant blinked. “Orion the Silkwright, Blessed Keeper.”

A wright, like her father. A name given to Sorcerit who were inventors and artists, masters of their gifted medium. A name she would’ve had, if her mother was less romantic and creative herself.

“Thank you, Orion.” Her shaking laugh was caught somewhere between nerves and emotion. “I figured I should at least know the name of the creature undressing me.”

His lips twitched as he looked away. “As you wish, Blessed Keeper.”

Araxis dutifully kept his eyes fixed on the floor when Orion commanded the particles of her ruined dress away and handed her down to the three attendants already waiting for her in the steaming water. They guided her to a bench on its perimeter, each claiming a side.

It was possible—as they lifted their soaps, and linens, and those ridiculously dainty combs—that Lunara had never been more uncomfortable in her entire seventy-two years of life.

And so began her transformation from ‘just Lunara’ to Lunara the Moonweaver, Keeper of Illamiata, the Evesong’s Cursed Blessing.

Nothing more than a divine and chosen vessel.

Brand swept into the Evesong ready to tear it all down as part of their distraction. From what, he didn’t yet know. Didn’t care.

Unfortunately, the Sorcerit gathered in Starkeep to celebrate the coming Occurrence took one look at them—at Brand the Greater with a crazed Fae shrieking from her perch on his shoulder—and scattered in every direction on their own. They were the ones overturning tables and wreaking havoc at the sight of Magnus, Hedda, and Faldir beside him. At one of their Council members being escorted in chains between them.

He would’ve happily added to the mess to release some of his pent up fucking rage, but that was a waste of time they didn’t have.

Brand didn’t give one, starry fuck that the twin moons were beginning to flirt with their coming alignment. That there was maybe only an hour or two until Luna mounted the peak of the Elder Halls and performed her duty as Illamiata’s conduit. He needed to lay eyes on her. Needed to hold her, touch her opalescent skin, and breathe her in. To twirl a hank of her impossible hair around his finger and never fucking let go again.

But most of all, Brand needed to stand beside her when she faced this trial, as he vowed he would.

“LUNA!” he bellowed to the sky.

There may be no need for destruction, but he could make some fucking noise. Let her know he was here.

“I don’t think they can hear you back in Straelon, twig dick. Louder!” Fern jostled his head and started hurling her own insults at panicking Nachthellians, threatening them with all sorts of shite.

“You heard her, Your Highness,” Cordelia said. “Louder.”

Gladly.

“Araxis, you bring her to me right now!” he roared. “LUNA!”

“For the record, the rituals will have already begun,” Cordelia added. “He cannot do as you ask.”