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“My dear, you healed him so well that he’s probably somehow younger than he was before. There was nothing for me to do, let alone disfigure.” Cordelia laced their fingers and inspected Lunara’s sharpened nails. “This actually rather suits you, you know. It all does.”

Weeping moons. There was so much left unsaid between them. So much hiding behind the shade of the past, waiting for the day it finally saw the light. So much hurt and anger, love and affection, tangling together until Lunara couldn’t make sense of it except to be relieved she didn’t have to do this without someone who cared nearby.

“I know, sweetheart,” Cordelia whispered as Lunara’s eyes welled. “It’s a lot, but you must relax. If nothing else, you’ll ruin your liner, and I’d wager your attendants won’t appreciate their work being criticized because you can’t remember what a fucking force you are.”

That snapped her out of it. “Cordelia, did you just curse?”

“I lead armies and set fires as my daily occupation, Moonweaver. You’re missing the point.” She gestured at the crowd. “Behold your rapt and loyal people, Blessed Keeper. They will follow you to their very ruin, if for nothing else than the hope you offer them.” She leaned in. “As I’m sure Araxis tried to make clear in his impossible way, almost no one here fits your perception of the Council anymore. Most of those you hold responsible are gone, and the ones who are left…” Her white hair twinkled in the low light as she shook her head. “We have much to answer for, and more that we can’t. Give it no bearing over your own honor, I beg you. And whatever you do, don’t.”

A shudder worked its way down her spine as Cordelia repeated Araxis’s written warning with a pointed look. Something deeper was at play than Lunara grasped. Something that scared them.

Shite. It had to wait. Everything had to wait until this was over.

Lunara nodded in answer, though she barely understood.

“Good. Ready? Excellent.” Cordelia walked away and climbed the nearest set of stairs, standing in front of her seat and lifting her arms to the domed, starry ceiling.

One by one, the Council and Elders followed suit, all hands reaching for the immaculate depiction of the cosmos above, rendered in midnight and emerald, and gilded in gold.

“Yea, Sisters come,” they intoned. “Rain thy goodness down upon your most favored of servants, Lunara the Moonweaver, your Blessed and chosen Keeper, that she might be a conduit for your might and gift benediction to Nachthelliae on your behalf.”

A sourceless breeze kicked up, teasing the long ends of her hair as it swirled around Lunara. She had no name for the scents it carried, but they were warm and fresh at once, like sunlight and falling water.

Their arms lowered and they presented their palms to her. “Yea, Keeper come. Open thy soul to the cosmos and present that most sacred of gems, Illamiata, to her eternal womb, that you both might be consumed by hallowed evelight.”

The Tear Stone faintly pulsed, so slow at first that she didn’t perceive it with her eyes. More of a feeling at her center, burrowing in and drawing out, its rhythm like deep, calming breaths.

Gazes dropping to the floor, they spread their arms at their sides. “Yea, Evesong come. Turn up thy weary faces to the sky and feed on the immortal honey of sweet, Celestial magics, that you might be rendered into the fullness of yourself through blood and starlight.”

Veins of luminescence appeared in the onyx on the edges of the Hollow, racing towards her. Lunara was overjoyed to see them, no urge to avoid their crackling energy as it greeted her. As they pulled her further into the sweet arms of an all encompassing tranquility.

With that, everyone bowed at the waist and straightened once more to look upon her.

A deep voice rang out behind her. “You are to climb the steps, one by one, and find that state most sacred.”

Another from the other side, higher pitched. “Plant feet and heart and soul in Illamiata’s resting place.”

From somewhere else. “Feel fall and thunder of the twinning moons twixt your bones and breathe.”

More, from every which way, the Council casting their spells.

“Set free that which is not your own but is, that stone might remake you to remake all of us.”

“Ascend, grasp that which no other may touch and raise your invocation—Creatures of the Evesong, land of endless night, accept the blessing of your Keeper.”

“Descend, feel all that you have wrought beneath your soles and call out your offering—Creatures of the Evesong, land of endless night, accept the gift of your Keeper.”

Every word sat heavier, sleep permeating muscle and sinew, a low buzz humming away at her nape. It was all so pleasant. Peaceful. She was almost tempted to curl up right there and let her body sink into the earth.

“Lift iron honed and strike it down,” Cordelia said at last, eyes locked on Lunara’s as she ambled over, “and spill your blessed blood for the Evesong.”

She placed a blackened dagger into Lunara’s hands, its shape and feel the antithesis of the one Brand commanded to stay with her. Where his was born of Solyrian, this was born of the shadowy places the sunstar never dared to go.

Sharp and pointed at every angle, a jet stone cut to mimic Illamiata at the cross where hilt and handle met blade. It was stunning and wrong at once—an expertly crafted tool that held warning by virtue of its looks.

Running her fingers down the etched fuller, Lunara decided that she loved it.

She startled out of her reverie when more than five hundred voices shouted, “Yea, Sisters! Yea, Keeper! Yea, Evesong!”