Page 40

Many words had been bandied about in the last hour—taken, tortured, mutilated, manipulated—but that one sent a bolt of pure panic down his spine.

Brand looked at his family, mind blank of any intelligible response. His twin shadows lingered in one corner of the room, Lyriat with them. Magnus, Vann, and Amun had taken the settee. His father had one arm around his mother, both crowding the bed.

The Sorcerit, Lunara, was nowhere to be seen.

Understandable, Brand supposed, if the story of his attempt to kill her that morning was to be believed. Since he recalled no such thing, he was having difficulty wrapping his mind around it.

A pair of stunning sea glass eyes flashed within, and Brand swallowed against a ripple of nauseous guilt.

“Mother, I believe Brand needs some space,” Amun said, rising from his seat. “Perhaps you and father would like to accompany the others elsewhere for some refreshment.”

Fionerys arched a blue brow at her oldest son. “And you?

“I would like to speak with him alone, if it pleases Their Majesties.”

“Only if you stop calling us that when we aren’t in mixed company,” Alwyn chided. Brand’s father shimmied off the mattress, his wings fluttering. “Come, my darling. The future Emperor of Bordoroth would like a word with his brother and I, for one, could use a drink.”

“If Your Majesty is feeling particularly bold, there’s a pub down in the city that escaped the worst of⁠—”

Hedda’s hand met the back of Faldir’s head, cutting off the rest of whatever he was going to say. “You must ignore him, Your Majesty. It would seem the Third Commander has already found the ale this afternoon if he’s actually suggesting such a public outing.”

An awkward pause followed until Magnus clapped his hands once and said, “Alright, everyone. Let’s go. I’m fucking starving and you’re blocking my way to the food.”

They filed out one by one, only Lyriat left. “Are you sure, Amun? Amal will have my head if anything happens to you.”

“What could possibly happen to me? Besides, my ajma will have to find me, first.” Amun chuckled, throwing Brand a conspiratorial wink. “In fact, when she and Nakarat inevitably arrive, try to send someone ahead of them so I stand a chance of escaping over the balcony.”

Lyriat huffed, his gaze lingering on Brand for a beat longer than was comfortable. “As you wish,” he murmured, and closed the door softly behind himself.

“Thank the Sisters.” Amun pulled a chair up beside the bed, settling in and adjusting the wide sleeves of his airy, maroon overcoat with a sigh. “What a day, hmm?”

Against all odds, Brand was tempted to laugh. “I hardly know where to begin,” he admitted.

Amun crossed one arm, the other angled up, his knuckles running along a sharp cheekbone. The golden scales beneath his warm brown skin glinted with every pass, the thick ring on his forefinger doing the same. He reminded Brand of their father when he was like that—lost in thought and trying to find the right words—but Brand didn’t want diplomacy or careful sentences.

He wanted to understand what in the bloody realms was happening.

One side of Amun’s mouth quirked up as his umber stare met Brand’s. “I know you want answers, but the irony here is that we have none.” He tapped his temple, then pointed at Brand. “You’re the only one who knows what happened to you beyond a certain point. Whether you trust us for the rest of it is up to you. How you behave is up to you. But know that we’ve been worried sick. Everyone cares. And no one here is an enemy.”

The way he said no one had Brand gritting his teeth. Especially when enemy was exactly the word that popped unbidden into his mind. “You mean the Sorcerit.”

Amun leaned forward. “I mean Lunara, your blessed mate. You don’t remember, that’s fine. You may not even feel anything for her, also fine. But you will show her the respect she deserves.” He ticked off fingers. “She is an Elder Sorcerit. She voluntarily and regularly heals your people. She is beloved by your family. And she’s saved your life many times over. Even without the mate aspect, not a drop of the derision in your tone just now was warranted.”

Brand couldn’t remember the last time Amun had spoken to him in such a way. Maybe never.

He despised it.

“And while we’re at it,” Amun added, “Fern, too, since she is equally unfamiliar to you, but just as welcome.”

An invisible vise appeared, ratcheting tighter and tighter around his ribcage, numbness starting to tingle in his fingers, his lips.

His brother reached out and gripped his forearm. “I know. I’m sorry this has happened. Above all, though, you must remember who you are.”

Who he was? He hardly knew his own body. Could barely form a thought. “And that is?”

“Brandir aht Bordoroth, Fourth Imperial Son and High Ambassador to the Montrealm of Straelon. Your people are counting on you, and they need the hope you offer.”

No, that wasn’t right.