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Argoph erupted, shouts and ringing bells sounding over the falls. Lunara was too busy quaking in ecstasy to care, screaming to the galaxies above while Brand emptied himself inside her.
She must’ve blacked out because the next thing she knew was Brand’s wheezing amusement, his forehead pressed to her sternum as he shook.
“I’m not entirely sure what the fuck that was,” he said against her, “but I’m not complaining.”
Neither was she.
Combing through his hair, Lunara untangled a particularly rough snag in one hank and asked, “Am I allowed to grow this back yet?”
“You can do whatever you want to me.” He looked up, grinning. “I don’t—” His eyes went wide at the same time she froze. “Burning Solyrian.”
No shite.
“Please.” She reached a shaking hand to his face, to the pointed ray drawn like sienna ink through his bottom lip and disappearing down into his beard—his side of their matching mating mark, though none of his other whorls of power were present. “Please tell me mine is there as well.”
Brand mirrored her actions, pinching her chin between thumb and forefinger. “They will sing songs in your name,” he whispered. “Ballads, for the little moon bathed in sunlight.”
Answer enough. The same he’d given on the night of Straelon’s Occurrence.
She loosed a joyous sob. “How? Why?”
“Who cares!” He threw his head back and laughed.
The sound was so free that a lump formed in her throat, and she had to force her words out around it. “Not me.”
“Neither do I.” Brand pulled her upright, hands cradling her cheeks. “Fuck, I love you, Luna. I love you so much that it sits like an ache inside me.”
Stars above, she felt that same ache herself, fluttering like a moth’s wings in her chest. “I never want to be without it.”
“And so you won’t,” he said, and sealed the promise with a soft kiss.
The tiny steps cracked away at Brand’s command, crumbling as they plummeted to the raging waters below. He didn’t want a single chip of them left behind in the design he and Luna had chosen.
They hovered on a floating slab over the Montriver, held aloft by her magic. Luna held his drawing in one hand, Stirling in the other, while Axanderus swooped back and forth between them and the Palace of Argoph—the fox and the owl that saved them. That would be immortalized forever in stone.
Solyrian was creeping over the tops of the distant mountain range, the soft glow of dawn breaking over the Weeping City. They hadn’t slept a single wink, but it didn’t matter.
This was it. The last step towards healing.
Brand felt it in his bones, that final piece of his inner puzzle waiting to settle into place.
Okthana was her own problem that needed to be dealt with, but he finally realized—she held no power over him anymore. No matter what happened, or how they got her, he was well. His spirit was whole. There was nothing she could do to take that away from him.
He wasn’t a fool. Brand had no doubt there’d be rough days ahead. That his mind would make the mistake of remembering from time to time, and he’d have to endure the numbing of his lips and limbs while ringing sounded in his ears.
But for the first time in his life, Brand wasn’t terrified of the prospect. He knew that, when it did happen, he would be alright. He’d make it through to the other side, where his little moon would always be waiting.
“Fairly certain this is going to cause an uproar,” he said, one half of his mouth ticking upwards.
“Good.” Luna giggled, the tinkling notes burrowing into him. “Who’s going to stop you, anyway?”
“Fair point.”
“Look at it this way—if Amun ever has a child fortunate enough to be Blessed of Straelon and they absolutely hate it, they can do whatever they want after we’re long gone unto the Veil. For now, this part of Argoph is yours. Do with it as you wish, Demon Son.”
“As my mate commands.”
Brand planted his feet and called to the rage. The transformation swept over him in a blink of light, no pain in the curling of his horns or bulking of muscle. As easy as breathing.
