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Her breath shuddered and she pulled back, wiping her tears away and flashing a bloody smile at him. “My first time in the Hollow, right before the Occurrence, I locked eyes with Sunestra the Arcsmith—Malachyr’s mate. I saw the agony she lives with even now, and I knew then and there that my parents’ fates were sealed long before the day they died. As soon as Malachyr and Sunestra solidified their bond, it was over. And I…” She pierced him with a stark look, utter devotion there. “I understood her more than I’ve ever understood anyone. As long as there were only rumors and speculation, they could’ve called the vote every hour for a million years, and there always would’ve been one in his favor to keep him from being culled. And I don’t blame her, because I would have done the same thing.”

Luna laughed but it wasn’t amused, her eyes wild as she started pacing. “No matter what anyone did, he was bitter on top of the madness. Spiteful. He would’ve had his revenge regardless. And my parents—” Her lips peeled back, fangs flashing as agony painted itself across her face. “Damn them, but they were just as obsessed with each other.”

She shook her head. “Twisted as it is, I’m glad they went together. I’m glad neither one had to live a single day alone, while the other passed on to the Veil without them. You and I have felt that terror and emptiness at the mere possibility. They were bonded for decades. Their pain would’ve shamed our own. So what do I have to be upset about, really?”

“No one likes being lied to, Luna. No one likes secrets being kept from them. Even if the lie makes perfect sense. Even if they can justify the secrets. You’re allowed to feel it.”

She buried her head in her hands and laughed again. “I did, though. I already felt the torturous loss. Felt all the pain and betrayal and heartbreak. Experienced the emptiness. I’ve been without them more than twice as long as I had them in the first place. What use is it to dig it back up now, just to know the why? It would do nothing except cripple me all over again, and we have more important things to do than rehash my old wounds—wounds I’ve already let heal over. That I’ve let go of.”

Luna was in front of him in a blink, clutching his collar. “They would be over the moons to see the life their death gave me. They would be proud of me now, and they would love you. It has to be enough. I won’t sully the future I could have for the sake of mourning what wasn’t and will never be. I refuse to be angry at Malachyr anymore, when he’s already long gone. I refuse to let the Council, or Cordelia and Araxis, or all the bleeding secrets bother me. There’s been enough shite. I want to move on. I want us to be done with it so we can just…exist. Please.”

“Anything you want is yours,” he murmured. “Name it.”

Her eyes swirled with silver, Illamiata loosing a burst of prismatic light. There was a question in the bond. A testing, to see where he was in mind and spirit and body. Brand let her see all of it. All of the revelations and realizations. The festering hurts and rage. The abuse, and its ramifications.

Brand bared his soul to her, so she would know that he was ready.

“The worst parts of our lives…” she whispered. “All of it started with the Shadow Prophecy and our place within it, and there’s one creature who encompasses the worst of its warnings. One creature we both wish to ruin.”

“Go on.” His markings flared, her fury feeding him. Freeing him. “Say it.”

Luna’s fangs caught the sunlight when she sneered, “Okthana. I want to ruin Okthana.”

I want to ruin Okthana.

The words echoed through Okthana’s mind as her umbra alit from a stone balustrade in the Montrealm, no more than a curious crow to any eyes below. Mountains and trees blurred by in her split vision, but she blinked it away, uncaring about the scenery now that she finally found him.

Three fucking weeks he was missing, and the Bore still hadn’t fully replenished Okthana. Her muscles were weak and withering, bones aching, and she barely kept herself awake past early afternoon. Add in the number of creatures who’d succumbed in that time, that she had to turn…

Her plans were disintegrating like old parchment in flames while she hemorrhaged resources in the Westrealm, trying to gain the slightest foothold between the betrayals and frustrations.

It was too bloody early for this shite.

A hand landed on her waist, dragging her closer. “That sigh was too heavy, my sweet.”

Okthana turned over and burrowed deeper into the linens, taking in her mate. Amyrian was crafted in direct opposition to her. His skin was tinted a fresh, mossy green, his ivory waves and deep, wine red eyes stunning against the verdant shade. He was solid and lithe, where Okthana was sharp and hollow. Lush and thriving to her spectral and withered. Beautiful as the roses he called from the earth, but just as treacherous as the poisonous thorns when needed.

Those from Queen Melysandre’s Domains were amusing that way.

“There’s much to be done, but I don’t feel ready,” Okthana admitted, wedging one thigh between Amyrian’s to absorb his heat, head falling to his chest. “I’ve barely woken, still so exhausted, yet you’re already due to leave me and I still have to find a way to speak with Brandir again.”

He ran gentle fingers through her hair, no judgement in his low voice. “Have your birds spotted the Demon Son, then?”

“Finally.” Somehow, the shadows she left behind to keep track of him were burned away, and he was lost to her for a time. No longer. “He’s returned home at long last.”

She was going to ignore that fearsome look on his face as he told his mate to say Okthana’s name. As they began plotting revenge. He was simply misguided by the dark traitor inside him.

If she could speak with Brand in person, Okthana might be able to get through. To make him see that she wasn’t upset. He was still good. Still good. Not a traitor. Not another creature abandoning her. It wasn’t his fault.

“Hmm. You already know how I feel about all that. I wish you’d⁠—”

“No,” Okthana ground out, a spike of panic at the very thought. “I will never ask for anything again, Amyrian. I’ve wept and begged and screamed, and it did nothing. Now, I take.”

“Why take, petal, when it can be given to you?” He gripped her nape and forced her to meet his gaze. “Why make it harder for yourself?”

“Because it will be that much more satisfying once I’ve succeeded. I’ll know I stood on my own two feet and did it my fucking self, and it will be worth it.”

She would show all of Bordoroth the mistake they made in throwing her away like rubbish.