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Oh, that’s rich, considering he sleeps while you go out at night to keep ‘fighting.’

“And what would you call my useless trip to the Archives, hmm?” The laugh that left her was an ugly thing, goosebumps breaking across her own skin at the sound. “I was trying to fight. To help. But I was there for days and discovered nothing. And would you like to hear what he said earlier, sitting on his throne in front of the entire Great Hall?”

A rhetorical question. She didn’t care whether or not he’d like to hear it. He wanted her to fight? Fine, she’d start with him. With loosing some of her pent up fucking hurt.

Since her return from Argoph a few days ago, these few moments on the beach with Magnus were the only time Lunara spoke to anyone other than Fern anymore. The only time neither one of them was at his side, taking on the task of protecting him—and others from him—in shifts. Not that Brand knew she was there. Hiding in the ether was the only way she could get close without him losing his stars-damned shite.

Everything she did set him off. Her mere presence, the very sight of her, was an offense. And sisters forbid she made the mistake of feeling any sort of way about that fact. One tear, one sniffle, and he flew into a rage she didn’t know him capable of.

Not the rage, though. The Greater seemed to have abandoned her mate, leaving Brand without his other half. Without balance. Stability.

Her attempt to remind him of the day they truly met was a perfect example of what she was up against. She thought seeing her likeness across the hall, looking to all the world like she was transfixed by the sunstar, would jar something in him. That the same spark of curiosity might overtake him and draw him to her side.

Meanwhile, she’d actually been standing behind him, one hand on the back of his seat itching for a fleeting touch. She was milliseconds from doing it, too, her fingers just shy of contact when he leaned towards Lyriat.

That morning, Lunara made the mistake of getting her hopes up. But she was too excited, too sure of her idea, and the only thing she accomplished was realizing just how fucking pathetic she was.

“Brand said ‘She makes my fucking skin crawl. I don’t trust her’ while his disgusted gaze bore a hole into my likeness across the room. As though being mated to me was a fate worse than death.”

Magnus flinched, not meeting her eyes.

Exhaustion suffused her bones, chipping away at what little strength she had left. Giving in, Lunara sank to the sand, the robe she’d stolen from Magnus tangling around her legs.

“Want to know the saddest thing?”

Magnus crouched in front of her and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me.”

He’s safe. He’ll understand.

“There’s this part of me…” The tears welling in her eyes were useless, stupid things, and she dashed them away. “This pitiful, romantic part that wants to be enough. Wants him to look at me and remember and get better because what we had was powerful enough to render its own sort of healing.”

But it never happened. No amount of silent wishing or hoping or begging made a difference.

And so, she pummeled Brand with her magic any chance she got. Shoved and shoved at the dark monolith in his mind, doing whatever she could to get it to budge. She searched, over and over, for the golden pinprick in the dark, but…her power was useless in the end. It only served to anger the thing inside of him, until it eventually shrank away, Brand was returned to some semblance of normal, and they were right back where they started.

“I feel like I’m going mad.”

Magnus loosed an explosive sigh as he enveloped her in strong arms. “I don’t think you’re going mad. Just like the rest of us aren’t, even though we’re all thinking the same thing while we tiptoe around and try not to set him off. He just needs time, you’ll see.”

She relaxed into him the slightest bit, more than happy to cling to any reassurance. “I’m just so tired, Mag.”

“We’re all fucking tired, and sad, and ready for it to be over.” He gave her a squeeze and a shake. “Come out to the real world for a little while. Take a drink with your friends, feel Solyrian on your face. You’re not alone, so stop acting like it, aye?”

Her eyelids slid closed. “Okay. I think I could do that. Maybe just⁠—”

A shriek rent the night air, drowning out the crash of the waves.

Fern.

Brand watched from bed as Magnus went out to get fresh air, fighting the urge to follow his brother. If he did, there’d be no way to avoid seeing the Horned City and facing reality.

A quiet voice inside whispered there was nothing to avoid. That none of it was real, so what was the point?

The Sorcerit’s power swelled before snapping away, the singing in the stairwell leaving with her and wrenching a gasp from Brand’s lips. Her power choked him, but the sudden absence was a punch in the face. An ache in his chest he’d never felt before. A yawning emptiness that was ever expanding, stretching out and away from him.

The thought made him long for company. For someone to fill that clawing void so he didn’t have to do it by himself.

Lifting his head from the pillow, Brand scanned the open doorway to the balcony. “Mag?”