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That’s it, Pet. I’m throwing myself into the sea. I can’t take it.

—Aye, Vann’s not the only one feeling things⁠—

I swear to the Sisters, I’m going to find a way to skin you myself.

Except, instead of gloating over Pet’s nonsense, her expression changed. Slowly. Softly. And damned if that furrow carving its way between her brows wasn’t the sweetest shite Mag had ever seen.

Not a word, I’m begging.

A creak sounded as the washroom door opened, just enough for Lunara to peek into the room. “Fern, could you, um…?”

Whatever connection they had for those few seconds snapped like a dry branch when Fern hopped up in a blur, no hesitation.

Mag willed his lungs to start working again as the two of them murmured back and forth. He didn’t quite manage it before Fern broke away and he found himself following her to the wardrobe across the room.

“Is she well?” he asked her.

Fern huffed. “She’s fine. Asking for clean clothes and feeling guilty about the rest of it.”

Magnus glanced over at Brand, his brother still wholly unaware of everything going on around him. “Here,” he said, opening the other side of the cabinet and selecting one of his own robes that he’d stashed there. “Give her this.”

The strangest look fluttered across her face as she accepted the willowy green garment. “Why?”

“Has she fed?”

“You know she hasn’t.”

Mag nodded. “Then she’s hurting. Even if she shrinks it down to fit her better, this’ll still be looser and more comfortable than anything else until she’s ready to accept a blood gift.”

No one needed to know he picked that one because it was the same color as the viridescent sheen on Fern’s wings when the sunlight hit them just so.

—Go on, lass, he’s got a point. The witchling will appreciate it⁠—

It took everything in him to keep the bland expression plastered on his face, even as utter shock bolted down every one of his limbs.

Are you mad? You cannot be fucking serious talking to her directly like that.

“Alright, we’ll see what she thinks.” Her smile was so genuine, Magnus almost couldn’t be upset. “Maybe she’ll forget it started as my and Hedda’s little prank.”

Next Mag knew, she was shut in with Lunara again while he stared at the wooden floorboards.

The main door opened again, Lyriat and Faldir joining them.

Is Fern going into washrooms some sort of spell for summoning newcomers?

—The universe does have a strange sense of humor⁠—

Aye. There is that.

Fal set a heavy tray in the center of the table and snatched up the letter from Nachthelliae. “This the first one?”

“First one?” Vann asked, leaning forward to pluck a small wedge of cheese from the assorted food offerings.

Lyriat presented a second glowing parchment—a perfect, though less crumpled, match for the other.

Hedda pinched the bridge of her nose, like she already knew no good was about to come from whatever the contents were. “Please tell me that’s just some tepid apology.”

“Well, that would’ve been lovely, but no. In fact, Araxis misted away and it wasn’t ten seconds before a Sorcerit messenger was stepping through the portal with this.” Lyriat cleared his throat and read it aloud. “Greetings once more to His Majesty, The Demon King Lyriat of Straelon. We are saddened by the news that our Blessed Keeper is as yet too unwell for travel, and offer our prayers to the Sisters for her swift and full recovery in the coming weeks. It is our hope that we will still have the honor of celebrating the Evesong’s Occurrence with you and⁠—”