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—Aye, lad. You and me, both—
Lunara gasped, and skipped to the end of the next section. “It waits in the rafters, the corridors, the rooms, the fourth now a feast for malevolent doom.”
The silence that descended cradled their shock as one by one they realized—
“Brandir aht Bordoroth,” Lyriat breathed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fourth Imperial Son of Alwyn and Fionerys.”
Weeping, fucking Sisters.
“A feast…” Lunara shook her head, a furrow carved between her brows. “If this damned prophecy is about me and Brand, which I think we can all now agree is the case, then I need to know what I’m dealing with. Someone, somewhere, must know something.”
Alwyn glanced from Fionerys to Amun, the three of them having a silent conversation. At last, his da nodded and asked, “How would you like to visit the Imperial Archives?”
Lunara lit up for the barest second. “I would like that very much.”
“We already have someone combing the stacks for references to the prophecy, but perhaps we’re focused on the wrong things.” Alwyn gathered up one of Lunara’s hands in both of his own. “And I think it would do you some good to get some space now and again.”
“A-alright. Fern, will you—”
“If you’re about to ask whether I’ll go with you,” Fern interrupted, “save your breath. You already know my answer.”
“Excellent,” Amun said, nodding once at Amal. “Vann and I must also depart. We’ve been looking into something for Brand, and our task is far from complete. Considering everything, I believe now it may be urgent.”
“I will ready Nakarat. Your Majesties.” Amal bowed to Alwyn and Fionerys, then turned to Lunara. “You are strong. Don’t forget it.”
With that, she left.
“You’ll keep us updated, yes?” Amun asked.
“Of course,” Lyriat answered.
Vann paused before Lunara. “May I say farewell to you properly, little sister?”
“A trick of the Fae?” The closest she’d come to a real smile in a long time.
He shrugged. “And a bit of good luck, perhaps.”
Lunara stood and embraced him, Vann planting a gentle kiss on top of her head. There was a bit of color in her cheeks, a sheen to her hair, when they broke apart.
Magnus almost asked for a Fae kiss of his own, desperate for a sip of Vann’s life-giving magic, but he caught the strain in Vann’s body, the tightness in his jaw, as he limped toward the door.
“Sisters be with all of you,” Vann said, the door closing behind him and Amun.
“If you’re willing, we can take you and Fern back to Argoph with us tonight,” Fionerys said to Lunara. “You can have a rest at the palace, and we’ll show you the Archives in the morning.”
“Right now? I…” Lunara’s breathing kicked up, her face a mask of panic. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll keep him safe while you’re gone, witchling,” Magnus said, his voice rough. “On my own life, I swear it.”
—Aye, we swear it—
Fern met his eyes. “Just as I will keep you safe, Lunara.”
“I’ll agree if I can go straight to the Archives. Please.” She was back to tangling that curl in her hands. “I won’t be able to rest away from him, but I think I can stomach it if I’m busy.”
“Agreed. It’s settled.” Alwyn helped Fionerys to her feet and offered a hand to Lunara. “Come, darling. We’ll get this sorted in no time, eh?”
The witchling paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder. “You know where to find me if anything happens. Promise you will find me, Magnus. Don’t wait thinking you’re doing me a favor.”
