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He nodded and Thaddeus stepped forward, half a head taller than his father. “You look bonny as anything, Lunara. The circlet suits you, aye? Mam would’ve loved to see it.”
She resisted the urge to reach up and fiddle with the silver chains. At least she was getting used to the infuriating dangle of the crystal at its center.
A wave of murmurs sounded and Araxis leaned in again. “Raise your hand.”
Lunara did so and the room immediately went silent.
Sweet baby Sisters in a cradle.
“I would have loved both her and my own mother to see it”—her lip trembled even as she smiled—“so I might’ve had at least two honest people to tell me how bleeding ridiculous it actually is.”
The Wolflords laughed, but the Council and Elders were eerily silent—except for Cordelia, whose shaky sigh and twisted lips bolstered Lunara.
“What is it you seek from us?” she asked.
Better to get to the business before she mucked it up any more and damaged something she couldn’t repair. Before she thought too hard about where she was and what she was doing.
“Ach, well.” Thaddeus scrubbed a hand down his chin—or beard, rather, since he was now boasting quite a dashing amount of dark stubble. “This is a tad awkward, but I imagine you’re the one person who’ll understand.” He glanced back at Caius, who gave an encouraging nod. “Tensions are high with our Demon allies, particularly on the former Ghostbor Dread Chasm border. A lot of blame and accusations going around.”
His jaw ticked, and Lunara’s heart sank. She had a good idea what those accusations were. The Wolflords blamed Brand and the Demons for their wretched circumstances, and the Demons were wary of the Wolflords, convinced they kept Bal’s sword a secret and purposely endangered a contingent of their warrior brethren to further their own ends.
A mess.
Simple and easy, Araxis said. Liar.
She wasn’t surprised.
“I come here to ask my mother’s people—my other people—to honor her memory, and the realm she called home in the end,” Thaddeus continued. “My hope is that Nachthelliae might lend her aid to our cause—whether through warriors or healers, it doesn’t matter—that both Demon and Wolflord will see the support and receive a boost to their weary spirits, which I believe to be the true source of their resentments.”
From the front row, approximately a quarter of the way around the Hollow to Lunara’s right, a low voice asked, “What would you offer in return for our assistance?”
Runex the Breathbane, smirking as always.
Spooky arsehole.
Araxis cleared his throat, but another piped up before she could interject. “It matters not.” Obernal the Rootsinger crossed his arms. “We helped once already, but that was temporary. Deliberating whether this is something we would even consider being involved in on an ongoing basis, regardless of payment, will take time.”
Oh good, another one.
“Indeed,” Estelle mused, agreeing with her twin brother. “We have our own problems. We don’t need Thodelebor’s as well.”
“This would be the time to shut them the fuck up,” Araxis hissed beneath his breath, barely audible as more Council members started in on their harping.
It’s fine. You’re absolutely fine. You know right from wrong, remember? And they’re fucking wrong, all the way around.
Shite.
Instead of struggling to scoot down in the chair to stand, Lunara misted to the center of the Hollow in front of Thaddeus and faced the curving seats.
“Enough!” They glared down at her but blessedly closed their mouths. “How many of you joined us at the Thodelemaia Chasm before I cleared it? Go on, stand up.”
About half of the room stood, Cordelia among them.
“How many joined our Imperial Son, Araxis, near Fanghold in the Westglen at the same time?”
Another approximate half, those left the most aged among them, like Novan and Astra the Mindcleaver.
“Interesting. Please sit.” Illamiata pulsed, prismatic light flaring, and they rushed to obey. “That means most of you, Council and Sorcerit of the Elder Tier alike, saw those horrific battles and their aftermath with your own two eyes.”
