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Fern and Mag refused to let him go alone, an almost identical look of outright mutiny in their eyes when he tried to object.

Avoiding the balconies that looked down over the atrium, the three of them ascended through the halls level by level. From one shadowed alcove to the next, from platform to platform, huddled low—hard to do when he was more than a dozen bloody feet tall. When they were unlucky enough to encounter any of the scrambling Sorcerit guards, Brand commanded the dark, iridescent rock of the floor to rise like water, encasing their bodies before they raised the alarm and drew attention.

Somewhat more involved and thought out than the fit he threw as a boy, but Magnus was right—it saved them from engaging in any skirmishes. Brand was mostly glad he retained enough presence of mind to leave them some breathing room.

“There’s no telling where she is now,” Magnus said, peering down a seemingly deserted corridor with his nose to the air. “Everything’s drenched in perfume and oil. So what now?”

Brand drew a steadying breath and focused on shoring up the wall he’d built around their bond. He swore he would never do it again after his father talked him through it in Argoph, but there was little choice in the matter. If she picked up on it and felt the things Brand the Lesser was enduring, she’d lose her ever loving shite.

Another breath, more clarity with it. As long as Luna made the choice willingly, he had no desire to stop her from doing her sacred duty to the Evesong. There was no rush or emergency. She wasn’t necessarily in danger. It was his own promise eating away at him and muddling his thoughts.

“I need to be near her,” he answered. “That’s all. I have no machinations otherwise.”

Mag nodded. “Then I say we make straight for the top of the spire, where Illamiata rests between Keepers. That’s where she’s going to end up anyway.”

Sound logic.

Fern groaned. “Gird your loins, twig dick. That staircase is fucking endless.”

“I’m well aware.”

It had been a long time, but Brand visited its heights and looked out upon the Evesong in all its evening glory before. The effort of ascending was worth it just for the view. If it meant seeing his little moon? He’d gladly climb the stairs a thousand times and count it a privilege.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining, lass,” Mag mumbled under his breath. “You get to ride a Demon steed all the way up while the rest of us suffer.”

She considered that. “Huh. Excellent point.” Fern grabbed Brand’s head and waggled it, the irreverent chit. “Onward, twig steed. Fast as you can. We’ve got a Moonweaver to rescue.”

Brand was tempted to dump her on the ground and leave her to make a point, but he probably deserved her antics for all he’d done. Still, his patience was essentially nonexistent and she was pushing it. Probably on purpose, knowing her.

They encountered fewer and fewer creatures, the Elder Halls narrowing the higher they got. Maybe four or so floors from where he suspected them to be, Brand was flirting with the idea of loosening his hold on their bond to help him locate Luna when Araxis rounded the corner and nearly slammed into him.

Brand pulled up short, barely keeping himself in control. “You.”

“About time,” Araxis whispered through his teeth, apparently unsurprised to see them there. “What took you so bleeding long? Lunara has been losing it since she first heard you bellowing all of Starkeep down.”

Fern launched from Brand’s shoulder, swung herself around, latched on to Araxis’s waist from behind with both legs, and pulled her mace handle tight across his throat. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, you sneaky fuck.”

A bead of sweat trailed down her pale brow, her white-knuckled grip trembling.

She was still terrifying.

Pet flashed over Mag’s features. “Aye. What she said,” he growled.

Araxis rolled his eyes, grunting, “Do you really want to do this right now?”

“Where is she?” Brand asked, not caring about anything else.

He’d chastise his little brother for being a secretive fool later. Luna was all that mattered.

“She has just been bathed, and⁠—”

So much for that.

Brand fisted Araxis’s robes so fast that even he wasn’t sure how his hand got there, lifting both his brother and Fern until they were all face to face. “By who?”

“Her chosen attendants, who hold her in the highest esteem and treated her with nothing but respect after she gave them her explicit consent.”

“Before or after you laid hands on her?” Brand’s fangs lengthened, itching to tear something apart.